The first time I heard Liverpool's Hellfire Sermons I was scratched.
The first time I heard Hellfire Sermons (no 'the' - that would be boring) it was the late summer of 1987 and I was infatuated with sounds that came on like waves crashing over the harbour wall; sounds that stung like the salt water flung in faces from the hammering Easterlies. I was infatuated with sounds that drew and walked the fine line between the Kinks of 'I'm Not Like Everybody Else', the Subway Sect of 'Ambition', the Hurrah! of 'Hip Hip' and the Wolfhounds of 'Me'.
The first time I heard Hellfire Sermons the world stopped dead in its tracks, turned on its head and grinned at me like the sweetest angelic demon.
At the time, hardly anyone else seemed to notice. At the time it seemed too many were intent in chasing each down other alleys, all but oblivious to the astonishingly edgy and melodic, uplifting folk-beat-noise coming out of bands like The Claim, Emily and Hellfire Sermons on the proudly Independent Esurient record label. It was their loss.
It was their loss that they never got to hear the likes of the Jim Shepherd produced 'H.O.N.E.Y.M.O.O.N' and 'Penny Pinching Cathy'. It was their loss that they never got to hear the beautiful pull of 'The Best Laugh I Ever Had' or the awesome punch of 'Not Nailed Down'; a song I still cannot listen to without feeling my heart leap into my mouth and that has my favourite ending to any song ever.
After Esurient, Hellfire Sermons were similarly un-prolific, which was the fault of a myopic public more than anything else, but of course some things never change and most often the greatest treasures are the ones that sit right beneath your nose, getting on and doing It rather than writing manifestos about it. The Dishy label knew the score though, and put out a couple of the most startling singles ever in 'Covered In Love' and 'Sarasine', both of which prickled in typical Sermons style with scary guitars that punctured the psyche and seething vocals overflowing with marvellously controlled rage, like a Scouse Black Francis. Only better.
Now, finally, these singles and a host of other previously unreleased recordings that are uniformly magnificent are gathered into one peerless collection that ought to make everyone sit up and take notice of one inescapable truth; that for more than a decade, Hellfire Sermons were one of the finest glories the UK had hidden in the dark recesses of its vaults. This time, don't miss out on discovering the treasure.
copyright: Alistair Fitchett, Careless Talk Costs Lives magazine, 2002.