subvert [verb]: to undermine, overthrow, destroy nihilism [noun]: the rejection of everything decadence [noun]: new sensation arising from decay
[source: my head]
David Bowie spent so much money on drugs that he had to sell his shoes and travel third class to Berlin to record "The Idiot" and "Lust For Life" with Iggy Pop.
"Every pleasure which emancipates itself from the exchange-value [of a capitalist society] takes on subversive features."
Theodore Adorno [1903-1969]
A questing intellect requires both diurnal and nocturnal stimulation, all the more an artistic one. Here are three key albums which to me at least exhibit a dark cocktail of psychological emotion.
1. IGGY POP: The Idiot [1977]
The legendary four albums recorded in Germany in the mid 1970s by David Bowie, Iggy Pop and Brian Eno began with the issue of this landmark work. Described by Bowie as "a guinea-pig for what I wanted to do with sound", The Idiot features material which was both productively innovative and hugely influential. The impact of punk has often been exaggerated; in contrast, the influence of The Idiot is evident in the work of many important bands and musicians, including Joy Division, Gary Numan, Depeche Mode, The Jesus & Mary Chain, Human League, Sisters Of Mercy, Death In Vegas et al.
The Idiot stands out from the other three Berlin albums [Low, Heroes and Lust For Life] because of its dark, hypnotic, cerebrally-corrupting nature. It is dirty, highly-crafted subversion, evoking a sulphurous, poisonous atmosphere, not dissimilar to the nightmarish horrors of Poe's 'The Masque Of The Red Death', or the decadent eroticism of Baudelaire's 'Les Fleurs du mal'.
'Les Fleus du mal' [Paris, 1857]
To quote Nick Kent from the NME:
"[The Idiot] is totally riveted and fettered to a thoroughly unhealthy aroma of evil and twilight zone zombie-time unease....[the album is] damn unhealthy, perverse, harrowing and...strangely addictive."
Track Listing:
Side one
1. "Sister Midnight"
2. "Nightclubbing"
3. "Funtime"
4. "Baby"
5. "China Girl"
Side two
6. "Dum Dum Boys"
7. "Tiny Girls"
8. "Mass Production"
'I stumble into town
Just like a sacred cow
Visions of swastikas in my head
And plans for everyone
It's in the white of my eyes
My little China Girl
You shouldn't mess with me
I'll ruin everything you are
I'll give you television
I'll give you eyes of blue
I'll give you men who want to rule the world
And when I get excited
My little China Girl says,
"Oh Jimmy, just you shut your mouth."
She says, "Shhhh..."'
It is a constant source of amazement to me that this album is not more highly revered. It was recorded very cheaply and very quickly; it features some striking and memorable songs; and the sheer vocal ability of Marc Almond is at times astonishing. Perhaps Soft Cell pitched its subversive context too mischievously, as exemplified by the bizarre and disturbing tracks 'Sex Dwarf' and 'Seedy Films', both of which feature dangerous, arguably irresponsible lyrics, poisonous ideas which nevertheless flow through the mind with an evil, seductive charm.
The cynical and knowing references to the seamy underbelly of urban life in Non-Stop Erotic Cabaret was undoubtedly too unpalatable for the mainstream public in the Thatcherite 80s, no matter how popular 'Tainted Love' was to become. Indeed, I suspect that many purchasers of the album bought it on the strength of that phenomenally-successful hit single, but were appalled at what they found. Yet in songs such as 'Youth' and 'Say Hello Wave Goodbye' [and later, 'Torch'], Almond proved that he was supremely talented in both composition and delivery.
"Why do you hate me so much? What did I ever do except leave you?"
[Lyrics from 'Secret Life']
'Frustration' is an angst-ridden rant upon middle-aged repression. 'Bedsitter' is a grim 'kitchen-sink' glimpse into the shallow and empty life of the disenfranchised working-class youth seeking escapism via heavy partying.
'I was born
One day I'll die
There was something in between
I....I don't know what or why
I'm a man
I want to break a rule
I am a no, no, no, no, no, no, nobody
Everybody's fool
I am so ordinary
Frustration...frustration...frustration....frustration...
I'm so tired of endless hard luck stories
I'm beginning to not give a damn
I wish I could reach right out for the untouchable
Film starring Bruce, John Wayne, Elvis Presley
Experiment with cocaine, LSD and set a bad, bad example
Live a little, run a harem, be a tiger
Meet Bo Derek and be her Tarzan
Reach, REACH out, out, out, out!
Live, live, live!'
[Lyrics for 'Frustration'.]
Later versions of the album Non-Stop Erotic Cabaret include the club classic 'Memorabilia'. For me, the Cindy Ecstasy mix is one of the highlights of early electronic music, surely on a par with Donna Summer's 'I Feel Love' and Kraftwerk's 'The Model'.
And I don't care if you disagree with me, because you are wrong, wrong, wrong; so very wrong, wrong, wrong.
3. THE CURE: Porngraphy [1982]
"Arguably the album that invented goth, Pornography was the first of The Cure's 'Trilogy of Doom' that would suck Disintegrationand Bloodflowers into its vampiric cataclysms of sound."
[Source: NME]
"It's downhill all the way, into ever-darkening shadows...passing through chilly marbled archways to the final rendezvous with the cold comfort of the slab."
[Melody Maker]
"..a masterpiece of claustrophobic self-loathing."
[Uncut]
Track Listing:
"One Hundred Years"
"A Short Term Effect"
"The Hanging Garden"
"Siamese Twins"
"The Figurehead"
"A Strange Day"
"Cold"
"Pornography"
Pornography was the album that first wounded The Cure. Fiction Records were concerned about both the title and the hallucinatory, nightmarish wall of sound, which was compared to "Phil Spector in Hell" by NME commentator Dave Hill. The recording process had been an intense, substance-abusing torment, culminating in a surreal nightclub fight between Robert Smith and Simon Gallup, which led to the band's first major split.
The album cover artwork reflects the music within, featuring a distorted, expressionistic photograph of Tolhurst, Gallup and Smith, who resemble embryonic, malevolent clowns shimmering in a blurry, electric womb. Smith holds up his hand, perhaps by way of warning, perhaps in an attempt to connect with a reality beyond his reach.
The creative depth of Pornography is firmly rooted in its lyrical power. Smith's disturbing stream-of-consciousness narratives are liberally splattered with vivid imagery. Here are some random quotes, all of which demonstrate Smith's literary capabilities:
"Sour yellow sounds inside my head."
"Like an old painted doll in the throes of dance I think about tomorrow."
"Catching haloes on the moon gives my hands the shapes of angels."
"Cover me with earth, draped in black, static white sound."
"Move slowly through the drowning waves, going away on a strange day."
These are images that would not be out of place in fiction by J.G. Ballard or William Burroughs.
The tumultuous and crashing sound of Pornography was created during the intense production phase. Apparently the band slept in the studio for three weeks to save money, consuming vast amounts of drugs and alcohol, with tension escalating accordingly. This explains claustrophobic lyrics such as:
"It doesn't matter if we all die,
Ambition in the back of a black car,
In a high building there is so much to do,
Going home time,
A story on the radio."
It's all there in the opening verse, if you look hard enough, and think obliquely: a coruscating castigation of the record company, together with a bitter and sarcastic reflection upon their claustrophobic experiences making the album. They say that to 'write about what you know' is a maxim for writers, and in these lines Smith does exactly that.
It is a perverse quirk of nature that in order to produce a nihilistic and introspective work steeped in dark emotion, the artist must plunge him or herself into that psychologically-wounding environment, and suffer the creative process for our viewing and listening delectation. However, some of us in the audience also suffer, at least those of with sensitive and artistic temperaments do. If Pornography fails to evoke any emotion in you - whether it be horror or despair - then you are either a psychopath or a Conservative [as much as the two can be separated].
Lol Tolhurst's drums on 'The Figurehead' and 'Hanging Garden' resonate in the black night air like demonic bells from the underworld. Simon Gallup's mesmerising bass lines pump alternately with arrhythmic, sluggish unease and frenetic, adrenaline-spurting mania. As usual, Robert Smith plays several of the instruments himself, including the foghorn-like cello on 'A Short-Term Effect'.
Smith has been something of a pioneer in his experimentation with vocal sound, a thirst which was vividly evident on the first Cure album Three Imaginary Boys, an album which served as a palette board that Smith has consistently returned to. In particular, the track 'Three Imaginary Boys' laid down the template for what would quickly become known as the trademark Cure sound. In Pornography his voice is subjected to numerous distortion effects on the mixing desk, as evidenced by the dark watery wobble and sharp concert-hall echo in 'A Short-Term Effect'.
Pornography is a dangerously good album. Smith's waspish lyrics pierce the darker regions of the subconscious mind with poisonous vampire intent. It is probably advisable to avoid it if you are feeling even slightly depressed or suicidal, because it could be the catalyst that will tip you over that fatal slippery edge. Pornography is the artistic equivalent of a deranged, musical collaboration between youthful versions of Edvard Munch, J.G. Ballard and Dylan Thomas, were said individuals to be incarcerated in a studio together for three weeks, with naught but LSD and red wine for nourishment.
Here is the one single that was released from Pornography. If you hate this then do not under any circumstances listen to the rest of the album.
END.
[I hereby promise to write about something nice next time. Well, try.]
Pete Murphy lounges moodily and angular at a dinner table, waiting for his next Maxell Audio-tape advert.
Daniel Ash enters from the kitchen with Sigue
Sigue Sputnik / Ziggy Stardust hair, wearing an apron.
DA: Well, Pete, what do you fancy for lunch today?
[Long pause.]
PM: What is there?
DA: Soup.
PM: Soup. We always have soup. I'm sick of having soup. Robert Smith doesn't have soup every day.
DA:
Well, he probably gives his wife more housekeeping than I get. Besides,
you're more than welcome to go out to the supermarket yourself.
[PM snorts.]
PM: Me, in a supermarket? That's hitting below the belt. Cover my face and bloated breast first.
DA (crossing arms): Well then, don't complain. Now, do you want soup or not?
PM (sighing): What soup is there?
DA: It's always the same, Pete. Cream of tomato or oxtail.
[Long pause.]
PM: Cream of.....?
DA
(testily): Cream of tomato or oxtail. Come on Pete, it isn't rocket science. It's always the same two options. They are the only two soups we both like. Pick one.
PM (sulkily): Kevin liked pea and ham.
DA: Kevin isn't here. And he never cooked for you. I do. So please, pick a fucking soup.
PM: Tomato, then.
DA: Tomato what?
[PM rolls eyes.]
PM: Tomato....please.
DA: There, it wasn't that difficult, was it?
[PM silently mimics DA. Ash regards him indulgently and smiles.]
DA: And do you want anything with your soup?
[A mischievious smile twitches across Murphy's face. He favours Ash with one sideways glance.]
PM: Yes.....Bela Lugosi's bread.
DA [beaming]: There, it's not so bad, see? At least we're still together. Robert Smith, he won't even send Lol Tolhurst a Christmas card, let alone make him soup, despite those fantastic drums on 'Pornography'. And as for Morrissey, well, they do say he eats his soup alone...
PM: What about David Bowie, Danny? What soup does David Bowie have?
[DA sits down and rests his chin on his hands, gazing dreamily up into the air.]
DA: Bowie has special astronaut soup. He eats it in a special gravity-free capsule that the Swiss government made for him. The recipe is a strict secret, known only to close friends like David Byrne and Brian Eno.
PM: Does Rick Wakeman know the secret? He'll tell you anything for a pint. We could buy him a pint.
DA: No, Rick Wakeman doesn't know. Bowie thanked him for his piano on "Life On Mars" but said there was no way he was going to share his secret with a man who wears a prog-rock cape when he's doing the housework.
PM: Paul Weller says the special ingredients in the astronaut soup prevent ageing. Do you think that's why Bowie only looks 35?
DA [uncomfortably]: Erm, no, not entirely. Gosh, is that the time? I really should crack on and--
PM: Danny, why do you always change the subject when we talk about David Bowie's unnaturally youthful appearance? You did it yesterday when you were taking my blood samples.
DA: Ha ha ha, did I? I really hadn't noticed. Anyway, moving swiftly on--
PM [frowning]: And there's something else I've been meaning to ask you about, Danny. I bumped into Andrew Eldritch down the Social the other day, and we got to talking about this and that, and it turns that he doesn't actually have to provide blood samples to his record company every day. Nor does Hugh Cornwell, apparently. I thought you said every lead singer had to have his blood tested daily, as per record company contract?
DA [blushing]: Andrew must have been mistaken. As for Cornwell, he's doesn't have the energy to give blood *and* pursue his unhealthy obsession with groupies. That man may only be 42 but he looks 70.
PM: Danny, why do my blood samples get sent to Switzerland? I thought the NHS was based in England but last week I found a box of prepaid envelopes under the stairs, all marked "D.Jones / Zurich / Ref. Project Rejuvenate".
DA [reddening]: Oh really, did you? Ha ha ha. Well, the truth is Pete, I send the blood to a Dr Jones - that's what the "D" stands for by the way, and definitely not David - who lives in Zurich and he then analyses it before sending the results back here to your local GP.
PM: Gosh, what a palaver!
DA: Yes, isn't it? But it's proof we love you, Pete. We feed you up and send your blood to Switzerland because we want to keep you happy and to make sure you keep producing great nutritious blood for many more years to come.
PM [Frowning]: Eh?
DA: Sorry, did I say blood? Doh - I meant music! (Blushes.) Anyway, the time is getting on and you need to keep your strength up. Now, tomato soup, wasn't it?
PM [nodding]: Yes please....with Bela Lugosi's bread.
DA [beaming]: Good boy, Pete. And I'll rustle up some Angel Delight for afters. How does that sound?
PM: Well, certainly better than a kick in the eye.....
[Both laugh.]
PM: Or a rose garden funeral of sores.
[Chortles.]
PM: Or even a spin in Dalis Car!
DA [miffed]: I wouldn't know, would I Pete? That was just you and Karn.
