February 26, 2022 by A.S. Van Dorston

Out of the vapor trails of post-punk came the sound of young Scotland, literate indie jangle pop.

The first major releases of 1982 were the challenging, sophisticated soundscapes of XTC’s English Settlement and The Fall’s similarly lengthy, gnarly Hex Enduction Hour. Orange Juice seemed on the surface much lighter fare, but the hidden depths of their music made for the best album released so far by mid-February 1982. After a string of brilliant singles from 1980 to 1981 on the Postcard label (collected on The Sound Of Young Scotland along with Josef K, The Go-Betweens and Aztec Camera), Edwyn Collins’ Orange Juice released their debut album. The Skids, Simple Minds and The Associates weren’t exactly old, but the shambling, jangly sound of bands like Orange Juice did seem to indicate a fresh detour from both the tiresome machismo of punk and the beginnings of the stadium-gazing grandiosity of Simple Minds and soon, Skids spin-off Big Country.

The album didn’t seem to make much of an impact at first, with a couple snide, withering reviews in music weeklies like NME. Trouser Press characterized the contents as “clumsy tunes about insecurity and romantic rejection” and not charming. The band had scrapped their initially planned debut with Postcard, Ostrich Churchyard, and they must have been wondering if their time had passed. Some were put off by the more polished production compared to the Postcard singles, including horns section and a balance of shimmering Byrds jangle and weedy guitar tones via Velvet Underground, Modern Lovers, Talking Heads and Television.

In retrospect, it’s the perfect balance of their falling-downstairs early sound and their more polished fusion of Roxy Music and Chic influences. Their exuberant, seemingly naive love songs packed with hidden piss-takes would soon be credited or blamed for influencing The Smiths, who would gain a million times more acclaim and popularity without actually surpassing the consistency of either Orange Juice’s debut, or the follow-up Rip It Up released that same year. Most of the lyrics are courtesy of Edwyn Collins, and while there is melancholy to be found, his vibe is more optimistic than miserabilist.

Their love of soul was reflected in the somewhat awkward take of Al Green’s “L.O.V.E. Love” the lone slightly weak moment in an otherwise flawless album, which combined punk, 60s girl groups, Northern soul, ska and disco into a sound that was ultimately just as influential as other celebrated peers from the era. Their Buzzcocks influences gave them some edge and had them somewhat awkwardly stuffed into the post-punk bucket, but they were also progenitors of twee pop and the C86 scene with Blueboy, The Field Mice, Shop Assistants, The Pastels and The Flatmates (“Falling And Laughing,” “Untitled Melody,” and “Consolation Prize,” where the coda is a celebratory “I’ll never be man enough for you”), along with jazzy sophisti-pop of The Style Council (“Wan Light” and “Three Cheers For Our Side”) and self-deprecating, literate, witty lyrics of Felt, Lloyd Cole & the Commotions, The Jazz Butcher and Prefab Sprout (“Tender Object”). The Wedding Present wore their OJ influence on their sleeve, covering James Kirk’s joyous “Felicity,” an album highlight, as did Belle & Sebastian.

The debut still has detractors, but it’s reputation has grown, elbowing their way into the top 25 in Acclaimed Music, enough to merit a lavish 2014 box set. Their top five standing here might seem audacious next to more important albums by Prince, Springsteen, Jackson, and popular albums by Duran Duran, ABC and Simple Minds, but You Can’t Hide Your Love Forever is my choice for accessible pop, that would have taken over the world in my own alternative history. Another reason it seems so fresh is that it was kind of lost for many years — it was impossible to find a copy since the mid-80s, and it wasn’t until filesharing in the late 90s and later CD reissues that many heard it for the first time. Measured up against it’s growing legend, it didn’t disappoint.