A Broken Frame
[Melody Maker, 25th September 1982. Words: Steve Sutherland.]
What a difference a year makes. The Depeche Mode of ‘81’s “Speak And Spell” seduced their way into our hearts and into the charts with unblemished innocence; the synthesized soul brothers of cartoon punks, the Ramones.
The role and execution were essentially simple: perfect pop with no pretensions. Such (a)cute timing could scarcely be dismissed as contrived, such sublime straightforwardness blossomed beyond all critical sniping.
But, though in many ways ambitious and bold, “A Broken Frame” – as its name suggests – marks the end of a beautiful dream. Now Vince Clarke’s (selfishly?) split the market, “A Broken Frame” sounds sadly naked, rudely deprived of the formula’s novelty.
Whereas past pilferings were overlooked as springboards towards an emerging identity, the larcenies of “A Broken Frame” sound like puerile infatuations papering over anonymity. What it also illustrates is that growing up in public is much the same as it was in the ‘60s – that once established as a commercial viability, pressure, pride or self-opinionation invariably pushes a band beyond compounding their capabilities and fuels daft aspirations to art.
To be fair, the one factor in favour of Depeche Mode’s commercial decline, the sole grace that saves “A Broken Frame” from embarrassment, is that their increasing complexity sounds less the result of exterior persuasion than an understandable, natural development.
It may lack Vince’s gossamer sleight of hand, the ponderous “Monument” may sound positively ugly compared to the wry “Boys Say Go” but “A Broken Frame” is closer to “Speak And Spell” than its tricky veneer might suggest.
The lyrics have matured from wide-eyed fun to wild-eyed frustration, but the weary words of “Leave In Silence”, just like the glib ones of “Just Can’t Get Enough”, are words and nothing more. In attempting the balance that Yazoo get away with, the new Depeche Mode overstep the mark. Vince is adept at conjuring musical moods and Alf’s voice is earthy and human enough to con us there’s emotion behind their candyfloss, but the Mode remain essentially vacuous.
“Shouldn’t Have Done That”, the album’s most ambitious departure, proves beyond doubt that Depeche attempting to twist pin-up appeal into nursery neurosis is like asking the Banshees to play “Little Deuce Coupe”. The boys’ pluck should be applauded and we should be grateful that they refuse to tread water.
But the plain fact is, they’re drowning.
[Melody Maker, 25th September 1982. Words: Steve Sutherland.]
What a difference a year makes. The Depeche Mode of ‘81’s “Speak And Spell” seduced their way into our hearts and into the charts with unblemished innocence; the synthesized soul brothers of cartoon punks, the Ramones.
The role and execution were essentially simple: perfect pop with no pretensions. Such (a)cute timing could scarcely be dismissed as contrived, such sublime straightforwardness blossomed beyond all critical sniping.
But, though in many ways ambitious and bold, “A Broken Frame” – as its name suggests – marks the end of a beautiful dream. Now Vince Clarke’s (selfishly?) split the market, “A Broken Frame” sounds sadly naked, rudely deprived of the formula’s novelty.
Whereas past pilferings were overlooked as springboards towards an emerging identity, the larcenies of “A Broken Frame” sound like puerile infatuations papering over anonymity. What it also illustrates is that growing up in public is much the same as it was in the ‘60s – that once established as a commercial viability, pressure, pride or self-opinionation invariably pushes a band beyond compounding their capabilities and fuels daft aspirations to art.
To be fair, the one factor in favour of Depeche Mode’s commercial decline, the sole grace that saves “A Broken Frame” from embarrassment, is that their increasing complexity sounds less the result of exterior persuasion than an understandable, natural development.
It may lack Vince’s gossamer sleight of hand, the ponderous “Monument” may sound positively ugly compared to the wry “Boys Say Go” but “A Broken Frame” is closer to “Speak And Spell” than its tricky veneer might suggest.
The lyrics have matured from wide-eyed fun to wild-eyed frustration, but the weary words of “Leave In Silence”, just like the glib ones of “Just Can’t Get Enough”, are words and nothing more. In attempting the balance that Yazoo get away with, the new Depeche Mode overstep the mark. Vince is adept at conjuring musical moods and Alf’s voice is earthy and human enough to con us there’s emotion behind their candyfloss, but the Mode remain essentially vacuous.
“Shouldn’t Have Done That”, the album’s most ambitious departure, proves beyond doubt that Depeche attempting to twist pin-up appeal into nursery neurosis is like asking the Banshees to play “Little Deuce Coupe”. The boys’ pluck should be applauded and we should be grateful that they refuse to tread water.
But the plain fact is, they’re drowning.