Written by: Dave Cantrell
Picture the archetypal writer’s desk with its stacks of this and sprawls of that crowded about the vestigial typewriter-replacing laptop whos owner would swear upon a teetering pile of burned and/or sent CDs that, despite its slapdash apearance, is actually a carefully curated chaos from which, at any moment, a gem of yet-recognized brilliance (at least by this listener) will emerge from its precious depths, and you have precisely the process that brought this rather remarkable compilation to the dinner table where the actual work gets done because, believe me, when you factor in the records and file cabinets and other scattered ephemera and mementos et cetera, that office space ain’t exactly conducive to the focus needed to distill the many rivulets of thought and reflection into anything resembling a flowing narrative. That said, however, in this case, with this startling album – released in 2018 on New Zealand label Failsafe Records – from the short-lived but ne’er to be forgotten early-80s Auckland lads This Sporting Life (quick note: for their first single, discussed below, the three were known as Alms For Children, hence this comp’s title), even were I forced to band out this piece in a kindergarten class overflowing with hyperactive five-year-olds fresh off a field trip to a sugar factory, it would barely make a jot of difference given the riveting, endlessly compelling evidence at hand.
Kicking off this tightly-controlled yet nuanced mayhem, the first three cuts here track – curiously in reverse order – the contents of this crack post-punk trio’s first recorded outing “Alms Not Arms,” a 7-inch released in 1981 on Rem Records. Sticking to their reshuffled order we plow through the period-defining “Failsafe” (I’m just an ordinary boy / not some kind of wind-up toy spouts singer Gary with what one might call a rather pugnaciously naive delivery), the equally immediate “Mother” with its depth charge bass, its lyrics pleading desperately to its subject Mother, where are you going? / don’t go outside, knowing (and if that doesn’t intrigue you we truly don’t know what will) before “Danny Boy” arrives all rough-edged hooks and a thriving punch-along structure that couldn’t better encapsulate that era’s DIY charm and efficiency no matter how hard it might’ve tried. As opening salvos go that batch of tracks proves as ferocious as it is promising but, as you’ve no doubt sussed, dear reader, we’re only getting started.
From there it’s a veritable romp though this band’s brief but blistering but astute tenure, every year and just about every recording accounted for, including not only the heretofore unreleased track “Wasting My Time” that quality-wise wastes zero time proving its worthiness of its inclusion but as well – and perhaps most crucially – an eight-song long live set recording from 1983 that ends the comp with a shambolic essentiality that’s so redolant of its time and place it should be on permanent display in Mr. Atkins’ Post-Punk and Industrial Museum, ensuring this release is among the most vital albums likely missing from your collection which, trust me, is this review/appreciation’s most salient statement, an assertion you’ll eagerly second once you have it in your hands and in your ears.
And, really, y’know what? That’s all that needs be said here. Sure, I could go on about how the four songs that constitute “In Limbo,” TSL’s final physical product (not, um, counting this one) that in the aggregate leaves one breathless both literally and figuratively and has to count among Flying Nun’s most solid, inspiring releases and, no, I’m not even close to exaggerating (“Too Proud” alone is now on my memory’s permanent rotation) but the extent to which the proverbial lily would be gilded were I to do so prevents me from bothering. By this point, you certainly get it, so, go on then, get it (which you can do here).
