TRUE BRITS : Five U.K. Bands to Test Your Ears

Arcadia, Power Station, Frankie Goes to Hollywood, Go West, Howard Jones, Spandau Ballet, King, Dead or Alive, Belouis Some and Tears for Fears all helped give British rock a bad name during 1985.

But the hollow calculation of their disposable pop--and the dramatic resurgence of purposeful and passionate American rock--shouldn’t prevent you from checking the import bins. Though the days when almost every new British band seemed worth investigating are long gone, there is still a lot of stimulating music coming from across the ocean.

Bands like the Jesus and Mary Chain and the Waterboys may be as far apart as the radical Sex Pistols and the spiritual U2, but each stands as a band that can make a difference. They are groups with the ambition and boldness to lead movements.

Three other groups--the Cocteau Twins, Pogues and the Men They Couldn’t Hang--have more narrowly designed--though no less personal--musical visions. Some of these groups have been picked up by U.S. labels, but others can be heard only on higher-priced import albums.

The album demanding immediate consideration is the Jesus and Mary Chain’s just-released “Psychocandy.” The Scottish quartet’s local shows last month were uneven, but the record itself conveys all the heart-racing excitement of the most thrilling rock ‘n’ roll.

Other British bands--including the Smiths, the Cure and New Order--are worthy of examination, but they enjoyed enough support in this country during the past 12 months to register on Billboard magazine’s national sales charts and to move beyond the club level in local appearances.

By contrast, today’s five groups are still at the starting block, commercially speaking. For easy reference, I’ve linked the groups’ albums with other, more established benchmarks. The association doesn’t imply an exact musical parallel, but the linked artists share close addresses (or attitudes) on the broad pop map.

The Jesus and Mary Chain’s “Psychocandy” (Reprise)--Reference point: the Sex Pistols’ “Never Mind the Bollocks. . . .”

Albums like the 1984 blockbusters “Born in the U.S.A.” and “Purple Rain” serve a valuable function by pulling together the normally fragmented pop-rock audience and reminding us of the joy of a shared enthusiasm in a world of varying cultures and life styles. In touching so strongly on universal themes of desire and struggle, the LPs reassure and inspire.

On the other hand, albums like 1977’s “Never Mind the Bollocks . . .” invite us to reexamine our attitudes and feel secure in our differences. Forget about the exotic, safety-pin-in-the-cheek symbolism of the Sex Pistols and just think about the music: noisy, challenging, rude. If all that seemed totally unacceptable and out of place in the comfortable and controlled rock world of the mid-’70s, the problem wasn’t with the Pistols but with the cautious, synthetic nature of the rock world at the time.

The Pistols were a rock litmus test. If you turned red when listening to them, you had probably lost touch with much that was once liberating and truly important about rock. And most Americans--especially those in control of rock radio--saw red. The album was a commercial flop and the band, for reasons that had little to do with music, called it quits after fewer than a dozen U.S. performances.

But the lesson of the Pistols remained. Many of the musicians who now are at the forefront of the American rock renaissance, including the Replacements’ Paul Westerberg and R.E.M.’s Michael Stipe, were moved by the Pistols’ cheeky, go-for-it attitude in much the same manner an earlier generation was moved by the same revolutionary stance of Elvis Presley and Little Richard.

The Jesus and Mary Chain’s “Psychocandy” is quite possibly the most ambitious and accomplished rock litmus test since “Bollocks.” So be prepared to see red.

The opening track, “Just Like Honey,” is the ideal introduction to this Glasgow-spawned quartet led by brothers Jim and William Reid. It opens with the echo-heavy drum sound and haunting romantic sweep of ‘60s Phil Spector classics like “Be My Baby,” but Jim Reid’s understated vocal suggests the wary, romantic obsession of Lou Reed and the Velvet Underground.

Artfully laid on top of this is a mist of feedback from William Reid’s guitar--a dose of early psychedelia that adds a mysterious, dreamlike quality to the record. However bizarre it may seem, it’s a lovely piece of music.

The next tune, “The Living End,” starts off with feedback as shrill and unsettling as the chain-saw rampage of Einsturzende Neubauten, the German machine-shop group. This “noise” is part of the challenge--and controversy--of the band.

The brothers Reid have acknowledged that the feedback was applied, at least initially, as a way of attracting attention in a trendy British rock scene. But the guitar distortion has become so carefully tailored to the songs that the noise adds information and enhances the themes of restlessness and uncertainty in the band’s examinations of love and ideals.

Over the remaining 13 songs, the Reids--and sidekicks Douglas Hart on bass and Bobby Gillespie on drums--alternate between moments of gentleness (the acoustic “Cut Dead”), engaging, almost old-fashioned pop (“The Hardest Walk”) and a relentless, dentist-drill roar (“Inside Me”).

The music sometimes seduces and sometimes repels, yet it is is always commanding. Most pop albums come and go, hoping only to catch our attention for a brief moment. But “Psychocandy” reaches for much more. You owe it to yourself to listen to the album--not just for your evaluation, but for what it makes you think about rock ‘n’ roll in 1986.

The Waterboys’ “This Is the Sea” (Island)--Reference point: U2.

The fact that the remaining entries are so much shorter than “Psychocandy” isn’t a reflection of limited musical strengths, but of their more narrow ambition and/or potential to shape our musical sensibilities.

As long as U2 is around, for instance, you might say there is no need for the Waterboys. And a quick listen to the record does little to suggest that the group poses much of a threat to U2’s leadership in rock’s New Idealism school. There’s a nagging aura of self-importance to leader Mike Scott’s vocals, and the band’s arrangements are skimpy.

At the Roxy in November, however, Scott--another in rock’s growing Scottish contingent--was little short of amazing, exhibiting a Bono Hewson-like eagerness to reach out to his audience on a deeply emotional level. Musically, he combined biting, Dylanish narratives with the haunting, trancelike qualities of Van Morrison’s most disarming works. He is someone who believes in the power of rock to change lives and he seems driven to prove the point. Enormous potential.

The Cocteau Twins’ “The Pink Opaque” (Relativity)--Reference point: Kate Bush.

If Bush’s “Running Up That Hill” single caught your ear, this should be your next musical step. If anything, the Twins’ music is even more ethereal and winsome because the dramatic production touches in Bush’s work remind you that a record-maker is at work. With the Twins, the understated production adds a lovely, pastoral feeling to arrangements and vocals that invite you to lose yourself in the Cocteau’s world, though there are few clues to the nature of that world.

Elizabeth Fraser uses her voice as an instrument to convey emotion and color, not specific stories. You have to listen and respond with your own images and themes, so this music can seem far too distant if you aren’t in the right mood. If you give it a chance, however, it can be truly special. This retrospective LP brings together some of the trio’s most enchanting tracks.

The Men They Couldn’t Hang’s “Night of a Thousand Candles” (Demon import); the Pogues’ “Rum Sodomy & the Lash” (Stiff import)--Reference points: the Men They Couldn’t Hang and the Pogues.

The fact there are no easy reference points for these bands underscores both the individuality of the groups and a major problem facing them. Both bands have a strong sense of sing-along, English-Irish pub tradition that may not translate well to American audiences. The Men They Couldn’t Hang may have more success in this regard. The group’s socially conscious, working-class themes and lively folk/country/rock strains suggest a meeting of the Clash, Rank and File and Clancy Brothers. The group’s highly recommended album and live shows both have a warm, unassuming spirit that keeps the often stinging commentary from being too heavy-handed.

The Pogues’ LP is more elegantly designed--almost a history lesson in brogue. “Rum” deals with issues as timely as terrorism and as ageless as exploitation of workers, but the observations are in the form of folk songs that could have been handed down over the years. When the Pogues’ original tunes are placed alongside traditional folk songs, it reinforces the idea that men change, but problems don’t. In that way, the album serves as a salute to society’s hopes and a weary acknowledgment of its failures.