BY LINDA LABAN | He has a voice that is as smooth and classic as the Single Malt whiskey of his native Scotland. He has been making pop music of note for 17 years and is possibly one of the snappiest dressers walking the streets of London, which has been his home since the early '80s. Yet Edwyn Collins is a name that few recognize, and until last year, hardly a soul could hang a tune to. It was Collins' hit single "A Girl Like You" -- a wickedly seductive concoction of Northern Soul beats, Isley Brothers guitar work and Collins' gorgeous, plush croon -- that brought wider attention to the ex-Orange Juice front man. Along with radio and MTV picking up on the song, which was taken from Collins' 1995 self-produced album "Gorgeous George," "Girl" was also featured in the unmemorable movie "Empire Records" -- and it was undoubtedly the best thing about the film.

"It had Liv Tyler in it," Collins said, speaking from New York during a recent visit. "But unfortunately the critical consensus at the time was that it made 'The Breakfast Club' look like 'Citizen Kane.'"

Let's backtrack a little, back to Scotland in the late '70s, Glasgow to be precise, to a little-known punk rock group called the New Sonics. That was Collins' first foray into music. But the New Sonics' greatest legacy is not the music they made, but the independent label the band created, Postcard Records, which also put out debut efforts from fellow Scots Aztec Camera and the Go-Betweens of Australia.

"That kind of fizzled out after '81," said Collins, now a boyish-looking 38-year-old. "It was a big influence though, even on Creation [Oasis' record label], because we were the first bona fide underground Scottish label." After the Sonics split, Collins formed Orange Juice, a soulful pop combo that lasted until the mid-'80s, scoring a handful of hit singles in the U.K.

"We split up at a benefit for the miners in 1985," Collins remembered. While that struggle, as the miners battled against Margaret Thatcher's notorious coal pit closures, drew national support, Orange Juice's own solidarity had been eroded by interpersonal conflicts that resulted in three lineup changes. The final nail in the O.J. coffin was when second drummer and soon-to-be world music artist Zeke Manyeka was offered a solo deal by Orange Juice's label, Polydor, which simultaneously dropped the rest of the band.

Somewhat battered by the experience, for a while Collins concentrated on learning production techniques in his studio in London's West Hampstead, and in '93 he became partners with a vintage audio dealer. That just about brings us up to date, if you skip the dismal failure of Collins' first two solo albums, "Hope and Despair" (1989) and "Hellbent On Compromise" (1990). It is perhaps Collins' newfound knowledge of modern studio practice, along with that access to vintage tube equipment, that contributed to the success of "Gorgeous George," which went on to sell almost 1 million copies worldwide.

"Sonically, I'd been frustrated both with Orange Juice and on my first two solo albums, and I realized that I had to take full creative control," he said. "We recorded "Gorgeous George" in '94 on a vintage Neve console which came out in 1969, that I bought from Goldcrest film studios. It had been used for things like Time Bandits and Brazil."

Details like these seem very important to Collins, who splatters his new album with much visual and audio pop culture iconography: lauded British eccentric producer Joe Meek, who shot his landlady in 1969 before turning the gun on himself; Wigan Casino, home of Northern Soul speed-soaked all-nighters; and even punk nemesis Queen Elizabeth II, who decorates the extensive liner booklet to "I'm Not Following You." Musically, the album moves easily and confidently from '60s and '70s soul ("Keep On Burning" and "It's a Steal") to psychedelic pop ("The Magic Piper") to trippy burlesque ("I'm Not following You") to agit-prop punk ("Adidas World") to, heck, even King of the Road classic balladry ("No One Waved Goodbye"). "Gorgeous George's" success afforded Collins a foot in the door, but this album will prove whether he's truly a major player or just one in a long line of cult artists. Either way, as the title of his latest album suggests, Collins is still distinctly his own man.
SALON | Oct. 24, 1997