Time to forgive sweet talkin' ELO

The band that dare not speak its name: there's an awful lot wrong with the Electric Light Orchestra. You can start with those silly afro haircuts; Jeff Lynne's habit of wearing sunglasses indoors; their unhealthy fixation with "orchestral pop"; an equally dysfunctional obsession with the use of spaceships in their live shows; their shameless plundering of The Beatles; their pristine naffness; and the fact that they are from Birmingham, writes Brian Boyd.

But liberate yourself from all the above and you'll find an awful lot right with ELO. Their long, slow rehabilitation starts here - nothing to do with the fact that some car company in the US is using Mr Blue Sky in one of their adverts, or that The Beautiful South recently accomplished a more than passable cover of Livin' Thing. It's just time to drop the petty objections, get in touch with our inner Horace Wimp and say it loud and proud: ELO, you rock our world.

Hell, even Revolver in a suitably "relaxed" mood has been known to step up to the karaoke plate with an "interpretation" of Can't Get It Out of My Head. Whatever way you slice it, it's a great, great tune.

"Why do people need a Beatles reunion," Paul McCartney once asked with no hint of sarcasm, "when they've already got ELO?" Which chimes nicely with Jeff Lynne's oft-repeated quote that the band's goal was "to pick up where I Am a Walrus left off". Lynne, of course, was later to live out his Beatles fantasy by working on the Anthology series and producing and playing on Free as a Bird.

Formed from the ashes of Move and originally with Roy "Wizzard" Wood in their line-up, ELO never had any problems with their songs - it was what they did to them that was the problem. Shoving on all manner of "classical flourishes" simply muddled things up, and it seems like just when everything seemed finished, Jeff Lynne would have to add a ton of a saccharine to the final mix. Not to mention that hapless French horn player who, it seemed, was dragged into every recording session.

And all those images of spaceships and general faux futuristic iconography? You get the feeling that everything ELO did would have been a "concept" unless someone talked them out of it. At the core of the band was a brilliant power-pop outfit fighting against their own misplaced sense of the grandiose.

And just when they would have put together a great run of songs - Sweet Talkin' Woman, Turn to Stone, Last Train to London - they would go and do something heinous such as writing and recording Xanadu. It reminds you of the little speech Morrissey gave on his last tour when he said "thanks for sticking with me; it can't have been easy sometimes". Remember, this is the band who performed from inside a flying saucer on their Out of the Blue tour just as punk rock was sweeping all before it. Maybe they thought their power cello riffs would knock The Pistols off their stride.

This is arguably where U2 got their "Lemon" idea from. ELO's on-stage spaceship (with ridiculous jets and flashing lights), far from being a "spectacle", would ruin every show because of the sheer amount of tinny reverberation it caused.

But they've spent enough time in quarantine, and with bands such as Grandaddy and Super Furry Animals openly acknowledging the ELO influence, there's a real mood of glasnost in the air. One of those tribute albums must surely be in the reckoning soon. Imagine: Radiohead covering Mr Blue Sky. Or even better, The Streets doing Diary of Horace Wimp.

Just a few things, though, before any reunion tours are inked: Disarm the afros, produce a written apology for Xanadu and burn all your cellos.

bboyd@irish-times.ie