Low-life.
Off the back of 1983’s Power, Corruption & Lies, comes another New Order album who’s title aptly describes Boris Johnson’s tenure as Prime Minister, Low-Life. The record continues down the path started by P,C&L in transitioning from the dying post-punk scene into the world of synthesiser-packed new-wave/indie mash ups with synth-dance-pop tracks such as “The Perfect Kiss” and the warehouse synth-techno banger in the mould of “Blue Monday”, “Sub Culture”; New Order also remember their roots on the Joy Division-esque rock tune “Sunrise” and dabble into the unknown with the chilling, atmospheric, instrumental elegy to Ian Curtis, “Elegia”, which wouldn’t feel out of place as a John Carpenter horror score. The euphoric dance sound that comprises much of the album belies Sumner’s melancholic lyrics; one can get easily lost in the ecstasy before discovering the dark current that lies beneath. A good album, but I prefer it’s predecessor.
Fables of the Reconstruction.
Another band transitioning sonically from their early albums in 1985 was REM. Their 1983 debut record, Murmur, was built on a foundation of jangly guitar and Michael Stipe’s mumbled vocals; Fables of the Reconstruction retains Stipe’s mutterings of cryptic lyrics, but dispenses with Peter Buck’s jangly guitar in favour of darker, more distinctive riffs as well as the introduction of orchestral compositions that would feature heavily on REM’s later albums. The stylistic change is owed to the production being moved to London and overseen by Joe Boyd, a prominent figure in the folk genre; the theme of American, Southern in particular, folk culture can be heard throughout: Buck’s funky guitar and Stipe’s Southern twang on “Cant Get There From Here” and the slow, country piano and banjo ballad of local eccentric, “Wendell Gee”. “Green Grow the Rushes Go” and “Kahoutek” convey themes in Stipe’s songwriting previously unseen as he begins to explore politics, the oppression of Native Americans and migrant workers, and romantic relationships, a broken one caused by his jealousy, respectively; themes that, again, will become more prominent in later releases. A solid entry into REM’s glittering discography.
Hounds of Love.
Going one step further than both New Order and REM, rather than waiting until her next album for a musical shift, Kate Bush transforms stylistically midway through Hounds of Love. Opening with the thumping drum machine and otherworldly synthesiser melody of “Running Up That Hill (A Deal With God)”, Bush contemplates how her lover would feel if they were to have their roles reversed or, in a wider context, the difficulty faced by women in a male dominated society. This is then followed by the album’s title track, featuring another thumping drum beat, this time accompanied by an intense cello to accentuate Bush’s lyrics of an impending intimacy and love she has been afraid of experiencing all her life. Once the LP is flipped over, so begins the “The Ninth Wave”, a proggy conceptual piece depicting a woman drifting in the ocean following a shipwreck, desperately wanting to sleep but, after momentarily slipping into a dream where she witnesses her own death, she is roused by her subconscious in the form of memories attempting to prevent her from drowning. After suffering hallucinations and delirious visions of the past, present and future, she begins to succumb as her consciousness disconnects from her body; ending with “The Morning Fog”, the woman either awakens with a new found gratitude for life following her near-death experience, or is reincarnated following her death at sea, depending on the listener’s preference. The first side is catchy new-wave, rock-pop heaven, the second is a spellbinding story wrapped in arty prog-pop; a record of pure musical genius.
Clan of Xymox.
The Dutch band’s self-titled debut is a more than decent album of sinister new-wave instrumentals, gloomy vocals and melancholic, bordering on morbid, lyricism. The record begins with the tone-setting “A Day”, dominated by a fast drum machine beat accompanied by an ethereal keyboard/guitar/synthesiser (it’s difficult to tell such is the pitch) and gothic vocals, creating a sense of dystopian fear; a paranoid feeling of dread in a totalitarian state that monitors your every move. This unsettling tone continues throughout the album, with the lyrics following the theme of romantic relationships: dealing with rejection on “No Words”, noticing an emotional distance and expecting an imminent separation on “Stumble and Fall”, the distance then grows to the extent that the subject’s lover becomes unknown to them on “Stranger”, and the final track “Equal Ways” whereby the subject has concluded that their relationships will inevitably follow the same pattern and they will never find their true love, nevertheless they won’t stop searching. While the record is no doubt a murky, depressing place, there is the occasional slight respite in the form of the Echo and the Bunnymen / Joy Division reminiscent “Cry in the Wind” and the 80s techno of the aforementioned “Stranger”. A unique experience.
Psychocandy.
The record that began Jim and William Reid’s careers and possibly the most significant release up to that point in the development of shoegaze, The Jesus and Mary Chain’s debut Psychocandy. The juxtaposition of a distant, scratchy, distorted, at times almost unlistenable guitar feedback noise wall, with 60s pop à la The Beach Boys is an entirely original, ingenious concept, as the Reids develop their own genre of noise-pop. Lyrically, the themes of Psychocandy are standard pop fare, though exhibited in TJAMC’s own unique way: from feelings of intense, unreciprocated love in bordering-on abusive, yet inescapable relationships on “Just Like Honey”, “Cut Dead” and “You Trip Me Up”, to the experience of seemingly never-ending loneliness on “Something’s Wrong”. An influential record, not only on the likes of My Bloody Valentine and other shoegaze specialists, but also on the indie and grunge scene throughout the following decades.
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