Bong 14 (July 1991)
Articles:
The Meaning of Mute by Johnny Black
Dave Gahan K-ROQ Radio Interview 9th May 1991 by Richard Blade
Learning to Speak and Spell (band biography) by Katherine Davis and Danny Zerbib
Mending a Broken Frame (band biography) by Mike Ross
Articles:
The Meaning of Mute by Johnny Black
Dave Gahan K-ROQ Radio Interview 9th May 1991 by Richard Blade
Learning to Speak and Spell (band biography) by Katherine Davis and Danny Zerbib
Mending a Broken Frame (band biography) by Mike Ross
THE MEANING OF MUTE
[From Bong 14, July 1991. Words: Johnny Black.]
(1) Not emitting articulate sound:
Not that you could blame him if his utterances were totally inarticulate, because Daniel Miller has been having a hard and exhausting time. The amiable, deliberately shambling Miller is the head of Mute Records and he’s staring into the muzzle of a double-barrelled shotgun where both cartridges are inscribed with his name.
To Daniel, one cartridge is financial success, fame, security, and ulcers for life. The other is integrity, fun in music, much less success and a simple life. He’s uncertain which trigger will be pulled first but, either way, he’s the target.
The success of Depeche Mode and Yazoo has lifted Mute Records onto a plane of operations where Daniel claims to feel a little uncomfortable, but it is tempting to think that behind the facade of the lamb lying down amongst the lions, the modern Daniel will fare as well in the lion’s den as did his biblical counterpart.
(2) A person dumb by nature or as a result of mutilation:
If Daniel Miller is dumb, it’s through choice, not nature, although mutilation becomes an interesting word in this context. Mute Records began in his bedroom.
“I’m not sure if a label starts when you have the idea to put out a record or once you achieve that aim, but I was twenty-five and I’d played with tape recorders since I was a kid. In the early seventies I listened to German groups, and when punk happened it reactivated my interest in music. Punk meant different things to different people and to me the synthesizer was the ideal punk instrument because anyone with ideas can do interesting things without being a great musician.”
He saved ?250 for a second hand Korg 700S and a tape recorder and promptly immersed himself inside his headphones, “working for hours on end, with the volume up to the paint threshold.”
Mute’s first release, in March 1978, was “TVOD” by The Normal and it was also his first move towards obscurity behind a facade of fame, because The Normal did not exist. “There was only me. I liked the word normal because a lot of people who try hard to be weird are really very ordinary, whereas other people” (who can he be talking about?) “who seem boring and normal have lots of good ideas inside of them.” “TVOD” was a slice of genius, an electronic oddity tailored perfectly to become a cult in its no deposit, no return life cycle.
At the same time, Miller recorded a number of cover versions of pop standards which later surfaced as mini-hits by the Silicon Teens, yet another front for Daniel to hide his lights behind. “I invented a teenage – two girls and two boys – synthesizer pop band. We even went so far as to fake interviews with them but it seemed to be going a bit too far…”
He had also been made nervous by the good review of “TVOD”, and it was almost as if The Silicon Teens (the mould from which Human League were later remodelled) frightened him more by threatening to have real success. Nevertheless it gave Mute some financial stability and enabled him to work with DAF, the distilled essence of Teutonic adrenal-pumped electro-spasm. As any fool knows, DAF is Fad backwards and Fad Gadget was the first real act to appear on Mute. Can this be mere coincidence?
(3) To deaden or subdue the sound of a musical instrument.
Things started going seriously right (or wrong, depending on which trigger is pulled first) when Daniel took a liking to the support band at the Fad Gadget gig in Canning Town. They were Depeche Mode and they were the ones who eventually inflicted G.B.H. on the notion that independent labels can’t have real chart success.
“They were being looked at by all the major companies,” recalls Miller with relish, “but they seemed intimidated by the big offices and I was just an ordinary bloke. We did the single, “Dreaming Of Me”, and all the big companies were ringing up saying we would never get it into the chart. When it got into the Top 60, I stopped hearing from them, except Muff Winwood at CBS, who phoned to congratulate me. I respect him for that.”
“New Life”, “Just Can’t Get Enough”, “See You”… the Depeche roll of honour goes on and the hits come in from Germany, Australia, Portugal, bringing more money to Mute than any of the members of The Normal or Silicon Teens had ever dreamed possible.
When Vince Clarke quit Depeche Mode to form Yazoo with a plumpish female blues singer name of Alf (or sometimes Genevieve) Daniel Miller must have breathed a sigh of relief. Here at last was an act doomed to obscurity, something to reduce Mute back to the chaos of the early days. Unfortunately, the cause of success is not easily cast off, and Yazoo warbled into the charts with “Only You”, followed up with “Don’t Go” and are currently scoring well in America too.
To the record buying public it looks like an unbelievable success story, but what really happens when a small label is inflicted with the Midas Touch? One of the first things is a cash flow problem. The money generated by a hit single (or five) can take some time to filter back into the company. Royalties can take eternity. Meanwhile, the company has to borrow money to be able to afford to press up and distribute sufficient quantities of new releases to meet an increasing demand. Borrowed money incurs high interest charges and suddenly “It’s like a crash course in how to become a record company. You have problems of staffing, problems of organization, problems just making all the decisions.”
In the beginning there was only Daniel, but now there’s a full time staff of three, “too much for everybody to do” and plans to employ a book keeper. They’ve moved office once, and will be moving again before the year is out. “We’re permanently on the edge of being totally disorganised but we don’t have time to train any new staff.”
Mute now has seven acts. Apart from those already mentioned there’s Robert Rental, Liaisons Dangereuses, Non and yet another new German act, Die Doraus Und Die Marinas. As far as Daniel is concerned, he doesn’t want to grow much more. “I originally had no intention of becoming a successful record company, which is a personal problem as much as a business one for me.”
[From Bong 14, July 1991. Words: Johnny Black.]
(1) Not emitting articulate sound:
Not that you could blame him if his utterances were totally inarticulate, because Daniel Miller has been having a hard and exhausting time. The amiable, deliberately shambling Miller is the head of Mute Records and he’s staring into the muzzle of a double-barrelled shotgun where both cartridges are inscribed with his name.
To Daniel, one cartridge is financial success, fame, security, and ulcers for life. The other is integrity, fun in music, much less success and a simple life. He’s uncertain which trigger will be pulled first but, either way, he’s the target.
The success of Depeche Mode and Yazoo has lifted Mute Records onto a plane of operations where Daniel claims to feel a little uncomfortable, but it is tempting to think that behind the facade of the lamb lying down amongst the lions, the modern Daniel will fare as well in the lion’s den as did his biblical counterpart.
(2) A person dumb by nature or as a result of mutilation:
If Daniel Miller is dumb, it’s through choice, not nature, although mutilation becomes an interesting word in this context. Mute Records began in his bedroom.
“I’m not sure if a label starts when you have the idea to put out a record or once you achieve that aim, but I was twenty-five and I’d played with tape recorders since I was a kid. In the early seventies I listened to German groups, and when punk happened it reactivated my interest in music. Punk meant different things to different people and to me the synthesizer was the ideal punk instrument because anyone with ideas can do interesting things without being a great musician.”
He saved ?250 for a second hand Korg 700S and a tape recorder and promptly immersed himself inside his headphones, “working for hours on end, with the volume up to the paint threshold.”
Mute’s first release, in March 1978, was “TVOD” by The Normal and it was also his first move towards obscurity behind a facade of fame, because The Normal did not exist. “There was only me. I liked the word normal because a lot of people who try hard to be weird are really very ordinary, whereas other people” (who can he be talking about?) “who seem boring and normal have lots of good ideas inside of them.” “TVOD” was a slice of genius, an electronic oddity tailored perfectly to become a cult in its no deposit, no return life cycle.
At the same time, Miller recorded a number of cover versions of pop standards which later surfaced as mini-hits by the Silicon Teens, yet another front for Daniel to hide his lights behind. “I invented a teenage – two girls and two boys – synthesizer pop band. We even went so far as to fake interviews with them but it seemed to be going a bit too far…”
He had also been made nervous by the good review of “TVOD”, and it was almost as if The Silicon Teens (the mould from which Human League were later remodelled) frightened him more by threatening to have real success. Nevertheless it gave Mute some financial stability and enabled him to work with DAF, the distilled essence of Teutonic adrenal-pumped electro-spasm. As any fool knows, DAF is Fad backwards and Fad Gadget was the first real act to appear on Mute. Can this be mere coincidence?
(3) To deaden or subdue the sound of a musical instrument.
Things started going seriously right (or wrong, depending on which trigger is pulled first) when Daniel took a liking to the support band at the Fad Gadget gig in Canning Town. They were Depeche Mode and they were the ones who eventually inflicted G.B.H. on the notion that independent labels can’t have real chart success.
“They were being looked at by all the major companies,” recalls Miller with relish, “but they seemed intimidated by the big offices and I was just an ordinary bloke. We did the single, “Dreaming Of Me”, and all the big companies were ringing up saying we would never get it into the chart. When it got into the Top 60, I stopped hearing from them, except Muff Winwood at CBS, who phoned to congratulate me. I respect him for that.”
“New Life”, “Just Can’t Get Enough”, “See You”… the Depeche roll of honour goes on and the hits come in from Germany, Australia, Portugal, bringing more money to Mute than any of the members of The Normal or Silicon Teens had ever dreamed possible.
When Vince Clarke quit Depeche Mode to form Yazoo with a plumpish female blues singer name of Alf (or sometimes Genevieve) Daniel Miller must have breathed a sigh of relief. Here at last was an act doomed to obscurity, something to reduce Mute back to the chaos of the early days. Unfortunately, the cause of success is not easily cast off, and Yazoo warbled into the charts with “Only You”, followed up with “Don’t Go” and are currently scoring well in America too.
To the record buying public it looks like an unbelievable success story, but what really happens when a small label is inflicted with the Midas Touch? One of the first things is a cash flow problem. The money generated by a hit single (or five) can take some time to filter back into the company. Royalties can take eternity. Meanwhile, the company has to borrow money to be able to afford to press up and distribute sufficient quantities of new releases to meet an increasing demand. Borrowed money incurs high interest charges and suddenly “It’s like a crash course in how to become a record company. You have problems of staffing, problems of organization, problems just making all the decisions.”
In the beginning there was only Daniel, but now there’s a full time staff of three, “too much for everybody to do” and plans to employ a book keeper. They’ve moved office once, and will be moving again before the year is out. “We’re permanently on the edge of being totally disorganised but we don’t have time to train any new staff.”
Mute now has seven acts. Apart from those already mentioned there’s Robert Rental, Liaisons Dangereuses, Non and yet another new German act, Die Doraus Und Die Marinas. As far as Daniel is concerned, he doesn’t want to grow much more. “I originally had no intention of becoming a successful record company, which is a personal problem as much as a business one for me.”
(4) A kind of mule:
A mule is a lazy animal which, under the right circumstances, can be made to carry heavy loads and perform useful work. Miller has been described as a workaholic but, he insists, “I’m fundamentally lazy, which forces me to work twice as hard because I know I’ll get nothing done otherwise. People worry about it and try to get me to take holidays but I never get the time.”
Is he a workaholic? Dave Gahan of Depeche Mode thinks he is. “Definitely. About 95% of his life, including sleep, is devoted to work. He told us he was even dreaming about doing the mix on our single one night.”
One potential disaster area for Mute must be the possibility that both Depeche and Yazoo might be lured away to major labels by offers of lucrative, life-term deals, but according to Gahan, “We don’t really consider it. We have no firm contract with Daniel but it’s good to be able to deal direct with one man all the tine.”
“I think Depeche were reasonably financially aware from the beginning,” says Miller. “I’ve always tried to explain to them in detail the way our finances work, the cost of pressing, or why we can’t pay royalties every week because we only get them once a month. They seem to appreciate that. When Vince formed Yazoo, he wasn’t under contract to me, he could have gone elsewhere but he decided to stay. I don’t like to have a heavy contract. When DAF went to Virgin, I was very upset, but it was better that they should go than be stuck on the label with bad feelings.”
Apart from the business problems he has to contend with, Daniel is also the producer of records at Mute, a state of affairs which suits Depeche Mode very well. “We’re a bit lazy and apathetic, and he drives us a lot. [1] If he doesn’t like the sound, he just refuses to mix it and he’s usually right. He made us totally remix the new single and put new drums on and it sounds much better.”
Martin Gore, who took over song writing chores when Vince quit Depeche, says, “When we finish recording we just want to go to bed, but Daniel stays up and reads computer manuals until he knows them from back to front.”
“Where it might take us half an hour to create a particular synth sound, Daniel can usually get it in thirty seconds,” adds Andy Fletcher. “He’s also mad keen on photography. Sometimes he’ll stop in the middle of a mix and start taking pictures. It can be pretty annoying but I think it’s an escape for him.”
(5) A pack of hounds; also the cry of hounds while working.
It becomes obvious that, although he no longer actively records his own music, Daniel contributes considerable amounts to the sound of both Depeche and Yazoo. “It is difficult, working with electronic music in a studio, to decide at which point you stop being a musician,” he says. “Half of synthesized music is creating the sounds and I still do a lot of that.”
The rivalry between Depeche and Yazoo could be another weight on Daniel’s shoulders, but it has the benefit of keeping both outfits sharp. Although Depeche have been around longer, it is Yazoo who appear to be cracking into the vital American market, where “Situation” is number one in the disco charts and bubbling under the national chart.
“They took the master over there and Americanized it by adding bongos and an awful jazz-synth break in the middle,” reveals Andy, cringing visibly.
“We were surprised Vince agreed to that because Daniel was against it. The Americans tell us to write dance records, but we’re not prepared to do that just to get a hit,” says Martin.
The sentiments are echoed by Daniel, saying, “It may be true but I don’t want to push them that way. Depeche have a good following in America, they play to 2,000 people a night but because “See You” wasn’t disco-oriented it didn’t help.
Quite apart from the business problems, success brings a share of personal agonies. “We were signing autographs in the dressing room after the Hammersmith show. [2] Outside the window was all these blokes trying to crash in, shouting, “We put you there and now you just ignore us”. That kind of thing really hurts us, because we try to sign as many as we can.”
Like Daniel, Depeche are still having problems adjusting to success. They still like to travel to London on the train, against Daniel’s wishes, even though it has involved them in unpleasant scenes with some of BR’s less savoury drunken commuters. They were amazed by a chauffeur who apologised for the size of the car he picked them up in until they had discovered Mute had ordered a large limousine. “If you start riding around in limousines, people go off you,” says Andy. “Every time we come back to Basildon now, our friends seem a little more distant and we’re away so long that we get out of touch.”
On the other hand, Daniel is genuinely concerned for their safety and, to him, the increased money coming in enables him to afford better transport for his artists, so why shouldn’t they get what they’ve worked for?
If Daniel doesn’t have a nervous breakdown, if the cashflow can be regulated, decent offices found and the right staffing level can be achieved, Mute could become the ideal small label with a sound financial base. If Depeche don’t lose all their friends, or succumb to the temptations of the disco hit, or end up feuding with Yazoo, Mute could become the happy family Daniel claims he’d like to have.
“We’ve had a good year. Maybe next year won’t be so good, but I want to still be in business. It would be easy to get a flash office and lots of staff, but I want to keep it under control. If everybody left and we had no more hits I’d still want to keep releasing the music I enjoy even if I knew it wouldn’t make a lot of money.”
The Mute man has spoken.
The Meaning of Mute was originally published in MasterBAG magazine issue 17, September 1982. Written by Johnny Black. Reprinted by permission. [Bong Magazine's own footnote]
A mule is a lazy animal which, under the right circumstances, can be made to carry heavy loads and perform useful work. Miller has been described as a workaholic but, he insists, “I’m fundamentally lazy, which forces me to work twice as hard because I know I’ll get nothing done otherwise. People worry about it and try to get me to take holidays but I never get the time.”
Is he a workaholic? Dave Gahan of Depeche Mode thinks he is. “Definitely. About 95% of his life, including sleep, is devoted to work. He told us he was even dreaming about doing the mix on our single one night.”
One potential disaster area for Mute must be the possibility that both Depeche and Yazoo might be lured away to major labels by offers of lucrative, life-term deals, but according to Gahan, “We don’t really consider it. We have no firm contract with Daniel but it’s good to be able to deal direct with one man all the tine.”
“I think Depeche were reasonably financially aware from the beginning,” says Miller. “I’ve always tried to explain to them in detail the way our finances work, the cost of pressing, or why we can’t pay royalties every week because we only get them once a month. They seem to appreciate that. When Vince formed Yazoo, he wasn’t under contract to me, he could have gone elsewhere but he decided to stay. I don’t like to have a heavy contract. When DAF went to Virgin, I was very upset, but it was better that they should go than be stuck on the label with bad feelings.”
Apart from the business problems he has to contend with, Daniel is also the producer of records at Mute, a state of affairs which suits Depeche Mode very well. “We’re a bit lazy and apathetic, and he drives us a lot. [1] If he doesn’t like the sound, he just refuses to mix it and he’s usually right. He made us totally remix the new single and put new drums on and it sounds much better.”
Martin Gore, who took over song writing chores when Vince quit Depeche, says, “When we finish recording we just want to go to bed, but Daniel stays up and reads computer manuals until he knows them from back to front.”
“Where it might take us half an hour to create a particular synth sound, Daniel can usually get it in thirty seconds,” adds Andy Fletcher. “He’s also mad keen on photography. Sometimes he’ll stop in the middle of a mix and start taking pictures. It can be pretty annoying but I think it’s an escape for him.”
(5) A pack of hounds; also the cry of hounds while working.
It becomes obvious that, although he no longer actively records his own music, Daniel contributes considerable amounts to the sound of both Depeche and Yazoo. “It is difficult, working with electronic music in a studio, to decide at which point you stop being a musician,” he says. “Half of synthesized music is creating the sounds and I still do a lot of that.”
The rivalry between Depeche and Yazoo could be another weight on Daniel’s shoulders, but it has the benefit of keeping both outfits sharp. Although Depeche have been around longer, it is Yazoo who appear to be cracking into the vital American market, where “Situation” is number one in the disco charts and bubbling under the national chart.
“They took the master over there and Americanized it by adding bongos and an awful jazz-synth break in the middle,” reveals Andy, cringing visibly.
“We were surprised Vince agreed to that because Daniel was against it. The Americans tell us to write dance records, but we’re not prepared to do that just to get a hit,” says Martin.
The sentiments are echoed by Daniel, saying, “It may be true but I don’t want to push them that way. Depeche have a good following in America, they play to 2,000 people a night but because “See You” wasn’t disco-oriented it didn’t help.
Quite apart from the business problems, success brings a share of personal agonies. “We were signing autographs in the dressing room after the Hammersmith show. [2] Outside the window was all these blokes trying to crash in, shouting, “We put you there and now you just ignore us”. That kind of thing really hurts us, because we try to sign as many as we can.”
Like Daniel, Depeche are still having problems adjusting to success. They still like to travel to London on the train, against Daniel’s wishes, even though it has involved them in unpleasant scenes with some of BR’s less savoury drunken commuters. They were amazed by a chauffeur who apologised for the size of the car he picked them up in until they had discovered Mute had ordered a large limousine. “If you start riding around in limousines, people go off you,” says Andy. “Every time we come back to Basildon now, our friends seem a little more distant and we’re away so long that we get out of touch.”
On the other hand, Daniel is genuinely concerned for their safety and, to him, the increased money coming in enables him to afford better transport for his artists, so why shouldn’t they get what they’ve worked for?
If Daniel doesn’t have a nervous breakdown, if the cashflow can be regulated, decent offices found and the right staffing level can be achieved, Mute could become the ideal small label with a sound financial base. If Depeche don’t lose all their friends, or succumb to the temptations of the disco hit, or end up feuding with Yazoo, Mute could become the happy family Daniel claims he’d like to have.
“We’ve had a good year. Maybe next year won’t be so good, but I want to still be in business. It would be easy to get a flash office and lots of staff, but I want to keep it under control. If everybody left and we had no more hits I’d still want to keep releasing the music I enjoy even if I knew it wouldn’t make a lot of money.”
The Mute man has spoken.
The Meaning of Mute was originally published in MasterBAG magazine issue 17, September 1982. Written by Johnny Black. Reprinted by permission. [Bong Magazine's own footnote]
DAVE GAHAN KROQ RADIO INTERVIEW 9TH MAY 1991
[From Bong 14, July 1991.]
Richard Blade: HAPPY BIRTHDAY DAVE GAHAN!
Dave Gahan: Thanks, Richard.
RB: So, let me ask you… How does the lead singer of Depeche Mode spend his birthday?
DG: Well, being 21 again (laughter), we went out last night to a Mexican restaurant and drank a lot of strawberry margaritas.
RB: Very, very nice. You’re actually spending quite a lot of time in Los Angeles now.
DG: Yes.
RB: How are you finding L.A.?
DG: It’s great! I’m really enjoying it here. I’m just kind of living here for the moment, and I’m actually still keeping my place in London, and I’m just… To tell the truth, I just recently got divorced from my wife, and I’m just trying to set up a new life.
RB: But that’s not going to affect your relationship with Depeche Mode, is it? You being in Los Angeles and them being in London.
DG: I mean, we’re on the phone all the time, and to be quite honest, we call each other a lot more than we used to when we lived next door to each other. But as I said, I’m keeping my second home. I’m spending my time between both places. I’m lucky enough to do that. I just needed to get away and get some space, and think about what I wanted to do. We’re all kind of taking some time now to live a bit. We’ve worked really hard for the last 11 years or something. It’s like the last two years have been just fantastic. Playing here in Los Angeles, two nights at the Dodgers, what more could you ask for? …Al’s in the studio at the moment with Nitzer Ebb. He’s producing their new album. Mart’s living in London now, and just kind of enjoying himself. I think he’s going to be working on another “Martin Gore solo thing”. I don’t know what Fletch is doing at the moment. I think he’s just kind of hanging out. I think he’s thinking of opening a bar or something. I don’t know what it’s going to be called, but he’s definitely thinking of that. And I’m setting up some studio equipment, and just playing around with some songs and stuff I’ve been working on. We plan to get together again towards the end of the year. Everybody’s writing and stuff, so, there’s no immediate plans as of yet to go back into the studio, but we’ve tentatively said, OK, the beginning of the year.
RB: Well, we’ve heard you were doing a movie soundtrack, or at least a song for one. Is that correct?
DG: Yeah, that’s true. That’s been done. It’s really good. I don’t know if it’s going to be used or anything, but we’ve done a song for a Wim Wender film, which is coming out, I think at the end of the year. That’s as much as we know really.
RB: That’s the movie, ‘Until the End of the World’ with William Hurt?
DG: I think you know more about it than I do, Richard.
RB: Yeah, I hear it’s quite a movie. Now you were seen – not in a long black wig like she was – but going to the Madonna premier the other night.
DG: Yes.
RB: How was that?
DG: I thought it was really good. I thought it was really truthful. I saw a lot of things in that film that we experience ourselves on the road. In some ways it made me feel a little sick. I know it’s been a while since we finished our last show, which was just before Christmas last year, but even so it was like we were on the road for a long while, and you still get those feelings. When I saw her going on stage, and all the things in her hotel room on her own. There’s loads of stuff there that you see and think, God, you know, that’s what it’s really like, and it was very truthful. I think she really opened up. I think it was brave of her to make a film like that.
RB: You know, there was one line I saw which was kind of hard to relate to not being a travelling artist, and that was her sitting down going, “God, I want some fun in my life.” When you look at someone like Madonna or Dave Gahan, you think, they must have fun all the time. Are there periods when you’re not having fun?
DG: Well, the thing is, it’s fun to be working and doing stuff, and to be in the studio and creating music, and to be on tour and going out there and playing to people, but there are times when it’s incredibly lonely. I mean, I’m not moaning about it. I love it. I wouldn’t do anything else. It’s the most exciting thing you could possibly be doing. I wouldn’t change it for the world, but there are times when you lose contact with your friends, and it can be incredibly lonely and you go, yeah, I want to have some fun. You have to get it together every day to do a show for nearly a year. It’s hard to keep it together and go out there and give 110% performance every night.
RB: Two last questions and we’ll let you get back to your birthday celebrations. The first one is roughly when can we expect a new album from Depeche Mode?
DG: To be honest, I think it will be towards the end of next year. We intend to go into the studio – as I said before – in the beginning of January ’92, so I would say, probably towards the end of ’92 there should be new Depeche Mode material.
RB: And the other one is, spending so much time in Los Angeles, what’s the weirdest time you’ve been recognized? I mean, it must be strange when people bump into you and go, “OH MY GOD, IT IS YOU!”.
DG: It’s nice, you know. To be honest with you I haven’t been bothered that much, and people that have come up to me have been really nice and said “Hi”. It’s nice when people come up and do that and they respect the fact that, OK, you’re from Depeche Mode and they want to get your autograph, but they’re nice about it. I flip out a bit and go crazy when people come up and they’re just screaming about it and stuff. I just kind of run away. I can handle it when I’m on stage in front of 50,000 people, but when it’s just me in front of one person, and they’re staring me in the face, I kind of crumble.
RB: OK now, we’ve got a stack of letters and birthday cards wishing you a happy birthday. I’m going to deliver them over to Warner’s so you’ll get them. It’s Listener’s Rock Block time, and we’re going to play some Depeche Mode. Can you choose two songs that you want to hear from Depeche?
DG: From the last album I’d like to hear “Clean” and… I think I’d like to hear “World In My Eyes”.
RB: You got it. We’ll play them both for you, and Happy Birthday, Dave.
DG: I’d like to thank all the KROQ listeners for wishing me a happy birthday and thanks to everyone for sending me cards, and you know, we’ll be back again soon, so just hang on.
Final note: At Dave’s request, we would like to mention that he is living part time in both London and Los Angeles, and has not left London permanently.
This interview was originally broadcast on KROQ radio in Los Angeles, California on May 9, 1991. Transcripts reprinted by permission. [Bong magazine's own footnote]
[From Bong 14, July 1991.]
Richard Blade: HAPPY BIRTHDAY DAVE GAHAN!
Dave Gahan: Thanks, Richard.
RB: So, let me ask you… How does the lead singer of Depeche Mode spend his birthday?
DG: Well, being 21 again (laughter), we went out last night to a Mexican restaurant and drank a lot of strawberry margaritas.
RB: Very, very nice. You’re actually spending quite a lot of time in Los Angeles now.
DG: Yes.
RB: How are you finding L.A.?
DG: It’s great! I’m really enjoying it here. I’m just kind of living here for the moment, and I’m actually still keeping my place in London, and I’m just… To tell the truth, I just recently got divorced from my wife, and I’m just trying to set up a new life.
RB: But that’s not going to affect your relationship with Depeche Mode, is it? You being in Los Angeles and them being in London.
DG: I mean, we’re on the phone all the time, and to be quite honest, we call each other a lot more than we used to when we lived next door to each other. But as I said, I’m keeping my second home. I’m spending my time between both places. I’m lucky enough to do that. I just needed to get away and get some space, and think about what I wanted to do. We’re all kind of taking some time now to live a bit. We’ve worked really hard for the last 11 years or something. It’s like the last two years have been just fantastic. Playing here in Los Angeles, two nights at the Dodgers, what more could you ask for? …Al’s in the studio at the moment with Nitzer Ebb. He’s producing their new album. Mart’s living in London now, and just kind of enjoying himself. I think he’s going to be working on another “Martin Gore solo thing”. I don’t know what Fletch is doing at the moment. I think he’s just kind of hanging out. I think he’s thinking of opening a bar or something. I don’t know what it’s going to be called, but he’s definitely thinking of that. And I’m setting up some studio equipment, and just playing around with some songs and stuff I’ve been working on. We plan to get together again towards the end of the year. Everybody’s writing and stuff, so, there’s no immediate plans as of yet to go back into the studio, but we’ve tentatively said, OK, the beginning of the year.
RB: Well, we’ve heard you were doing a movie soundtrack, or at least a song for one. Is that correct?
DG: Yeah, that’s true. That’s been done. It’s really good. I don’t know if it’s going to be used or anything, but we’ve done a song for a Wim Wender film, which is coming out, I think at the end of the year. That’s as much as we know really.
RB: That’s the movie, ‘Until the End of the World’ with William Hurt?
DG: I think you know more about it than I do, Richard.
RB: Yeah, I hear it’s quite a movie. Now you were seen – not in a long black wig like she was – but going to the Madonna premier the other night.
DG: Yes.
RB: How was that?
DG: I thought it was really good. I thought it was really truthful. I saw a lot of things in that film that we experience ourselves on the road. In some ways it made me feel a little sick. I know it’s been a while since we finished our last show, which was just before Christmas last year, but even so it was like we were on the road for a long while, and you still get those feelings. When I saw her going on stage, and all the things in her hotel room on her own. There’s loads of stuff there that you see and think, God, you know, that’s what it’s really like, and it was very truthful. I think she really opened up. I think it was brave of her to make a film like that.
RB: You know, there was one line I saw which was kind of hard to relate to not being a travelling artist, and that was her sitting down going, “God, I want some fun in my life.” When you look at someone like Madonna or Dave Gahan, you think, they must have fun all the time. Are there periods when you’re not having fun?
DG: Well, the thing is, it’s fun to be working and doing stuff, and to be in the studio and creating music, and to be on tour and going out there and playing to people, but there are times when it’s incredibly lonely. I mean, I’m not moaning about it. I love it. I wouldn’t do anything else. It’s the most exciting thing you could possibly be doing. I wouldn’t change it for the world, but there are times when you lose contact with your friends, and it can be incredibly lonely and you go, yeah, I want to have some fun. You have to get it together every day to do a show for nearly a year. It’s hard to keep it together and go out there and give 110% performance every night.
RB: Two last questions and we’ll let you get back to your birthday celebrations. The first one is roughly when can we expect a new album from Depeche Mode?
DG: To be honest, I think it will be towards the end of next year. We intend to go into the studio – as I said before – in the beginning of January ’92, so I would say, probably towards the end of ’92 there should be new Depeche Mode material.
RB: And the other one is, spending so much time in Los Angeles, what’s the weirdest time you’ve been recognized? I mean, it must be strange when people bump into you and go, “OH MY GOD, IT IS YOU!”.
DG: It’s nice, you know. To be honest with you I haven’t been bothered that much, and people that have come up to me have been really nice and said “Hi”. It’s nice when people come up and do that and they respect the fact that, OK, you’re from Depeche Mode and they want to get your autograph, but they’re nice about it. I flip out a bit and go crazy when people come up and they’re just screaming about it and stuff. I just kind of run away. I can handle it when I’m on stage in front of 50,000 people, but when it’s just me in front of one person, and they’re staring me in the face, I kind of crumble.
RB: OK now, we’ve got a stack of letters and birthday cards wishing you a happy birthday. I’m going to deliver them over to Warner’s so you’ll get them. It’s Listener’s Rock Block time, and we’re going to play some Depeche Mode. Can you choose two songs that you want to hear from Depeche?
DG: From the last album I’d like to hear “Clean” and… I think I’d like to hear “World In My Eyes”.
RB: You got it. We’ll play them both for you, and Happy Birthday, Dave.
DG: I’d like to thank all the KROQ listeners for wishing me a happy birthday and thanks to everyone for sending me cards, and you know, we’ll be back again soon, so just hang on.
Final note: At Dave’s request, we would like to mention that he is living part time in both London and Los Angeles, and has not left London permanently.
This interview was originally broadcast on KROQ radio in Los Angeles, California on May 9, 1991. Transcripts reprinted by permission. [Bong magazine's own footnote]
LEARNING TO SPEAK AND SPELL
[From Bong 14, July 1991. Words: Katherine Davis / Danny Zerbib.]
The year 1980 marked the beginning of the Reagan era, the threat of a national U.K. steel strike, the assassination of rock legend John Lennon, and the chart success of Pink Floyd’s The Wall. It was also a time when electronic wizardry first joined pop music, propelling the emergent Futurist scene and its obscure components into the consciousness of the listening public.
Meanwhile, three unsuspecting British teens tinkered with their first synthesizers in their hometown of Basildon, Essex. In less than twelve months, these musical fledglings would soar beyond their local bar gigs to reach a spot on the popular British music programme, Top Of The Pops, and comfortably roost in the British Top 20 charts. 1980 was the year that synth-pop prototypes Depeche Mode were born.
Vince Clarke was an unsatisfied young musician, drifting between his commitments as one half of a gospel duo and as a member of the band, No Romance In China. Vince first met Andy “Fletch” Fletcher, a Deep Purple enthusiast, at a local Boys' Brigade meeting. The two Basildon blokes grew closer and Fletch introduced Vince to a classmate Martin Gore, who had been performing at several local nightclubs as he played guitar for the two bands, The French Look and Norman & The Worms. Martin enjoyed listening to such bands as Roxy Music, The Rubettes and Sparks.
In May 1980, Vince, Fletch and Martin agreed to form a typical guitar-ridden trio, with the added accompaniment of a drum machine. Vince wrote and sang all their early material. The three lads considered some new band names, but Vince’s suggestion, Composition of Sound, was ultimately adopted. As Composition of Sound, Vince, Fletch and Martin played their first show together supporting The Bullies at the Southend bar, Scamps, in May 1980.
The music industry had experienced a Punk eruption throughout the mid to late ’70s, and in these few years, rock’s new rogues excited the status quo with a fervour equal to that of Elvis’ provocative hips in the 1950s. Extremes in every manner characterised the period, from the “Punk” appearance, to the “Punk” technique, to the “Punk” philosophy. These unconventional rockers knocked down the barriers of conformity, and thus surged a flow of new bands driven by the conviction of making music for enjoyment and expression, rather than fortune or fame – a further challenge to the system. The Punk revolt led the way to a number of fresh music genres, including the New Wave / New Romantic movement in which Depeche Mode was so often (mis)placed.
Rock music, however, was truly revolutionized with the popularisation of the synthesizer. First invented in the late 1920s, the musical adaptation of the synthesizer wasn’t fully examined until the mid-60s. Dr. Robert Moog, an American electronics engineer, was the first to attach a keyboard to a synthesizer and, by 1971, a portable instrument christened the Mini-Moog was a commercial success among the leading rock bands of the day.
Young musicians viewed techno-pop as the logical progression of music. They argued that music owed its past (and future) to technology, and only by embracing the new electronic movement would music move forward. The gospel of electro-pop offered a powerful response to the challenge set forth by the Punk movement, dismissing the notion that electronics were the inhuman antithesis of music. By the mid-70s, synth bands like Kraftwerk, Ultravox and Suicide had already popularised musical cybernation and laid the foundation for a whole generation of electronic whizzes.
Sometime between their local gigs and party bookings, Composition of Sound disposed of their guitars for accommodating synthesizers. For these three young musicians, the synthesizer provided a convenient and inexpensive way to produce varied melodies and incredible music sequences. “To us, the synth was a punk instrument,” explained Martin. “Because it was still fairly new, its potential seemed limitless. It really gave us a chance to explore.” Throughout the summer of 1980, the band began to generate a synthesized sound and style all of their own. “I guess we were listening to stuff like OMD, Tubeway Army and Human League when we were getting our sound together,” the band would explain later. And as they slowly discarded their boyish outfits for a wacky wardrobe of patent leather and frilly collars, this new sound and image clearly reflected their enlightenment of the electronic revolution.
Fletch and Martin had since passed their A-levels but had forgone a college education for the sake of the band and their reluctance to leave Basildon. Vince bore the brunt of songwriter, vocalist and unofficial frontman and, uncomfortable with his new responsibilities, suggested that a fourth member be recruited. The band agreed to wait for the right man to come along.
The “right man” proved to be Dave Gahan, also from Basildon. Vince, Fletch and Martin first spotted their new vocalist in a local scout-hut jam session with another band. In a strong cover of the David Bowie number “Heroes”, Dave so charmed the members of Composition of Sound that he was immediately invited to join the band. [1] Later, Dave would argue, “They only asked me to join because Vince thought I looked good. Bastard!”
Dave had endured a troublesome adolescence, replete with thievery and vandalism which earned him three appearances in juvenile court. He was a bad-boy rebel with a penchant for the music of The Damned, The Clash and Siouxsie and the Banshees. In the six months after leaving school, Dave had gone through about 20 separate jobs, including sweeping floors in a supermarket, toiling on a construction site and working as a packer at Yardley’s Factory. He was currently studying window and fashion design at Southend Technical College. Yet in his trousers hitched high above his waist, Dave appeared as the perfect figurehead for the band. And with his enthusiasm / eroticism in the early performances with the band, it was evident that this was one employment Dave intended to keep.
For a band with a modernized image, an innovative sound, and a new member, a name change seemed only appropriate. During one afternoon rehearsal in Vince’s garage (“We just used to practice at Vince’s place on headphones – and Vince’s mum didn’t even like the tapping noise the synthesizer keys made.”), Dave took a liking to the title of the French fashion magazine, Depeche Mode, which he was using in college, and the band immediately assumed this new identity. So the legacy began…
Depeche Mode’s first gig as a synth-pop quartet was held at Fletch and Martin’s old school in June, 1980 [2], but only after a panic-stricken Dave consumed the 12 cans of Double Diamond beer required to calm his nerves. It had been a long 10 years since Dave had last sung before an audience – when he was an eight-year-old member of the Salvation Army choir.
With their synths in hand, Depeche Mode began headlining the Saturday night electronic showcase at the club Crocs (named for the live crocodile housed in a dance floor pool) in Rayleigh. Here they were first approached by Stevo of Some Bizzare, who coerced the nadve lads to record a track for his Some Bizzare compilation due out in February 1981.
Shortly afterwards, in October, Depeche Mode first ventured into the recording studio to compile a three-track demo tape. Vince and Dave proudly hand-delivered their sole tape to dozens upon dozens of club owners and record companies, but Terry Murphy of Canning Town’s Bridgehouse was the only promoter to recognise their ingenuity with a booking. There was, however, one Rastafarian who placed the unusual request for Depeche Mode to tour Nigeria with him, decked out in “Dr. Who” outfits. The band, needless to say, graciously but firmly declined. [3]
In 1978, Daniel Miller had produced his own single, an unprecedented minimalist pop song, “TVOD / Warm Leatherette”, under the pseudonym of The Normal. But in order to do so, the ex-disco DJ had first built a home studio around a TEAC four-track machine and began recording synthesized music on his own composed label, Mute. Under this new label, Miller pressed 500 copies of his new single before signing the distribution rights over to Rough Trade – an awesome accomplishment for such a small operation. Miller had obviously hit on something big, and with the following success of the illusory Silicon Teens and signing of such bands as Fad Gadget and Deutsch Amerikanische Freundschaft, Miller’s Mute continued to maintain the cornermarket on the hottest alternative music trends.
[From Bong 14, July 1991. Words: Katherine Davis / Danny Zerbib.]
The year 1980 marked the beginning of the Reagan era, the threat of a national U.K. steel strike, the assassination of rock legend John Lennon, and the chart success of Pink Floyd’s The Wall. It was also a time when electronic wizardry first joined pop music, propelling the emergent Futurist scene and its obscure components into the consciousness of the listening public.
Meanwhile, three unsuspecting British teens tinkered with their first synthesizers in their hometown of Basildon, Essex. In less than twelve months, these musical fledglings would soar beyond their local bar gigs to reach a spot on the popular British music programme, Top Of The Pops, and comfortably roost in the British Top 20 charts. 1980 was the year that synth-pop prototypes Depeche Mode were born.
Vince Clarke was an unsatisfied young musician, drifting between his commitments as one half of a gospel duo and as a member of the band, No Romance In China. Vince first met Andy “Fletch” Fletcher, a Deep Purple enthusiast, at a local Boys' Brigade meeting. The two Basildon blokes grew closer and Fletch introduced Vince to a classmate Martin Gore, who had been performing at several local nightclubs as he played guitar for the two bands, The French Look and Norman & The Worms. Martin enjoyed listening to such bands as Roxy Music, The Rubettes and Sparks.
In May 1980, Vince, Fletch and Martin agreed to form a typical guitar-ridden trio, with the added accompaniment of a drum machine. Vince wrote and sang all their early material. The three lads considered some new band names, but Vince’s suggestion, Composition of Sound, was ultimately adopted. As Composition of Sound, Vince, Fletch and Martin played their first show together supporting The Bullies at the Southend bar, Scamps, in May 1980.
The music industry had experienced a Punk eruption throughout the mid to late ’70s, and in these few years, rock’s new rogues excited the status quo with a fervour equal to that of Elvis’ provocative hips in the 1950s. Extremes in every manner characterised the period, from the “Punk” appearance, to the “Punk” technique, to the “Punk” philosophy. These unconventional rockers knocked down the barriers of conformity, and thus surged a flow of new bands driven by the conviction of making music for enjoyment and expression, rather than fortune or fame – a further challenge to the system. The Punk revolt led the way to a number of fresh music genres, including the New Wave / New Romantic movement in which Depeche Mode was so often (mis)placed.
Rock music, however, was truly revolutionized with the popularisation of the synthesizer. First invented in the late 1920s, the musical adaptation of the synthesizer wasn’t fully examined until the mid-60s. Dr. Robert Moog, an American electronics engineer, was the first to attach a keyboard to a synthesizer and, by 1971, a portable instrument christened the Mini-Moog was a commercial success among the leading rock bands of the day.
Young musicians viewed techno-pop as the logical progression of music. They argued that music owed its past (and future) to technology, and only by embracing the new electronic movement would music move forward. The gospel of electro-pop offered a powerful response to the challenge set forth by the Punk movement, dismissing the notion that electronics were the inhuman antithesis of music. By the mid-70s, synth bands like Kraftwerk, Ultravox and Suicide had already popularised musical cybernation and laid the foundation for a whole generation of electronic whizzes.
Sometime between their local gigs and party bookings, Composition of Sound disposed of their guitars for accommodating synthesizers. For these three young musicians, the synthesizer provided a convenient and inexpensive way to produce varied melodies and incredible music sequences. “To us, the synth was a punk instrument,” explained Martin. “Because it was still fairly new, its potential seemed limitless. It really gave us a chance to explore.” Throughout the summer of 1980, the band began to generate a synthesized sound and style all of their own. “I guess we were listening to stuff like OMD, Tubeway Army and Human League when we were getting our sound together,” the band would explain later. And as they slowly discarded their boyish outfits for a wacky wardrobe of patent leather and frilly collars, this new sound and image clearly reflected their enlightenment of the electronic revolution.
Fletch and Martin had since passed their A-levels but had forgone a college education for the sake of the band and their reluctance to leave Basildon. Vince bore the brunt of songwriter, vocalist and unofficial frontman and, uncomfortable with his new responsibilities, suggested that a fourth member be recruited. The band agreed to wait for the right man to come along.
The “right man” proved to be Dave Gahan, also from Basildon. Vince, Fletch and Martin first spotted their new vocalist in a local scout-hut jam session with another band. In a strong cover of the David Bowie number “Heroes”, Dave so charmed the members of Composition of Sound that he was immediately invited to join the band. [1] Later, Dave would argue, “They only asked me to join because Vince thought I looked good. Bastard!”
Dave had endured a troublesome adolescence, replete with thievery and vandalism which earned him three appearances in juvenile court. He was a bad-boy rebel with a penchant for the music of The Damned, The Clash and Siouxsie and the Banshees. In the six months after leaving school, Dave had gone through about 20 separate jobs, including sweeping floors in a supermarket, toiling on a construction site and working as a packer at Yardley’s Factory. He was currently studying window and fashion design at Southend Technical College. Yet in his trousers hitched high above his waist, Dave appeared as the perfect figurehead for the band. And with his enthusiasm / eroticism in the early performances with the band, it was evident that this was one employment Dave intended to keep.
For a band with a modernized image, an innovative sound, and a new member, a name change seemed only appropriate. During one afternoon rehearsal in Vince’s garage (“We just used to practice at Vince’s place on headphones – and Vince’s mum didn’t even like the tapping noise the synthesizer keys made.”), Dave took a liking to the title of the French fashion magazine, Depeche Mode, which he was using in college, and the band immediately assumed this new identity. So the legacy began…
Depeche Mode’s first gig as a synth-pop quartet was held at Fletch and Martin’s old school in June, 1980 [2], but only after a panic-stricken Dave consumed the 12 cans of Double Diamond beer required to calm his nerves. It had been a long 10 years since Dave had last sung before an audience – when he was an eight-year-old member of the Salvation Army choir.
With their synths in hand, Depeche Mode began headlining the Saturday night electronic showcase at the club Crocs (named for the live crocodile housed in a dance floor pool) in Rayleigh. Here they were first approached by Stevo of Some Bizzare, who coerced the nadve lads to record a track for his Some Bizzare compilation due out in February 1981.
Shortly afterwards, in October, Depeche Mode first ventured into the recording studio to compile a three-track demo tape. Vince and Dave proudly hand-delivered their sole tape to dozens upon dozens of club owners and record companies, but Terry Murphy of Canning Town’s Bridgehouse was the only promoter to recognise their ingenuity with a booking. There was, however, one Rastafarian who placed the unusual request for Depeche Mode to tour Nigeria with him, decked out in “Dr. Who” outfits. The band, needless to say, graciously but firmly declined. [3]
In 1978, Daniel Miller had produced his own single, an unprecedented minimalist pop song, “TVOD / Warm Leatherette”, under the pseudonym of The Normal. But in order to do so, the ex-disco DJ had first built a home studio around a TEAC four-track machine and began recording synthesized music on his own composed label, Mute. Under this new label, Miller pressed 500 copies of his new single before signing the distribution rights over to Rough Trade – an awesome accomplishment for such a small operation. Miller had obviously hit on something big, and with the following success of the illusory Silicon Teens and signing of such bands as Fad Gadget and Deutsch Amerikanische Freundschaft, Miller’s Mute continued to maintain the cornermarket on the hottest alternative music trends.
MENDING A BROKEN FRAME
[From Bong 14, July 1991. Words: Mike Ross.]
After the departure of Vince Clarke, Dave, Martin and Andy restructured the band by electing Martin as chief songwriter. Although Depeche Mode was confident they could continue making music, it was decided that a fourth member was necessary for touring. With this decision in mind, the band placed an anonymous ad in Melody Maker reading, “Name Band, Synthesizer, must be under 21”. After several auditions, Alan Charles Wilder, a classically trained musician from West London was chosen from ten finalists because of his musical background and personality. He later admitted he was actually 22, and when asked, he also admitted that he knew the “Name Band” mentioned in the ad was Depeche Mode.
Always interested in music, Alan was quite busy prior to joining Depeche Mode. In 1978, he helped Daphne & The Tenderspots release their debut single “Disco Hell”. The following year he poured his creativity into Real to Real, for the album “Tightrope Walkers”, and in 1980, he worked with The Hitmen on their single “Bates Motel”. Alan also contributed to “If I Had You”, by the Korgis.
Alan’s first performance with DM was at Crocs in London in January, 1982. Shortly after, the band flew to New York City to play two shows at The Ritz. Upon returning from America, the following three months were spent touring the UK and Europe. This tour had no official name, but is frequently referred to as the “See You” tour.
Towards the end of February, Depeche Mode played a secret gig at the Bridgehouse as a special thank you to Terry Murphy. He was the only one to give them a booking in the early days of their career. The place was packed wall to wall with little space to breathe but the four encores made the event worthwhile. According to Paul Colbert of Melody Maker, “…it was packed up to the rotary towels in the toilets. Heaving bodies, flashing feet, and that was just the bar staff.” After the show, Terry tried to pay the band nearly ?1,000, but they refused to take it. Instead, they donated the money to the renovation of the pub.
“See You”, written by Martin when he was eighteen, was released on January 29th, 1982, peaking at No. 6 on the UK charts. On March 26th, the second single, “The Meaning of Love”, was released, reaching a chart position of No. 12 on the UK charts. “Leave In Silence” followed on October 16th [1], and reached a chart position of No. 18 in the UK. It was also the first DM single bearing the catalog name “BONG”. Considering Alan was working without royalties, he must have loved the success of these singles. It wasn’t until the recording of “Get The Balance Right” before he joined the band full-time, finally receiving more than just a salary.
Unlike Speak and Spell, A Broken Frame was criticized in many reviews for being too moody and depressing. Steve Sutherland of Melody Maker observed, “The lyrics have matured from wide-eyed fun to wide-eyed frustration.” To Steve’s surprise, the “wide-eyed frustration” only made Depeche Mode more popular than before. Steve also found it necessary to criticize Depeche Mode’s new musical direction by remarking, “A Broken Frame sounds sadly naked, rudely deprived of the formula’s novelty.” Admittedly, they were a wobbly table without the fourth leg of Vince, but they still deserved credit for retaining their stability. [2]
Immediately following the release of the album, the band went on tour. The “Broken Frame” tour ran from October to December, reaching across the UK and Europe. It was during this tour when Fletch, Dave, and Martin slowly integrated Alan into the permanent frame work of the band. Shortly after the tour, the newly unified Depeche Mode went back into the studio to hammer out a new single. This single would go on to give the band an entirely new sound, image and direction. In essence, ‘mending A Broken Frame’. But that’s a different story all together.
[From Bong 14, July 1991. Words: Mike Ross.]
After the departure of Vince Clarke, Dave, Martin and Andy restructured the band by electing Martin as chief songwriter. Although Depeche Mode was confident they could continue making music, it was decided that a fourth member was necessary for touring. With this decision in mind, the band placed an anonymous ad in Melody Maker reading, “Name Band, Synthesizer, must be under 21”. After several auditions, Alan Charles Wilder, a classically trained musician from West London was chosen from ten finalists because of his musical background and personality. He later admitted he was actually 22, and when asked, he also admitted that he knew the “Name Band” mentioned in the ad was Depeche Mode.
Always interested in music, Alan was quite busy prior to joining Depeche Mode. In 1978, he helped Daphne & The Tenderspots release their debut single “Disco Hell”. The following year he poured his creativity into Real to Real, for the album “Tightrope Walkers”, and in 1980, he worked with The Hitmen on their single “Bates Motel”. Alan also contributed to “If I Had You”, by the Korgis.
Alan’s first performance with DM was at Crocs in London in January, 1982. Shortly after, the band flew to New York City to play two shows at The Ritz. Upon returning from America, the following three months were spent touring the UK and Europe. This tour had no official name, but is frequently referred to as the “See You” tour.
Towards the end of February, Depeche Mode played a secret gig at the Bridgehouse as a special thank you to Terry Murphy. He was the only one to give them a booking in the early days of their career. The place was packed wall to wall with little space to breathe but the four encores made the event worthwhile. According to Paul Colbert of Melody Maker, “…it was packed up to the rotary towels in the toilets. Heaving bodies, flashing feet, and that was just the bar staff.” After the show, Terry tried to pay the band nearly ?1,000, but they refused to take it. Instead, they donated the money to the renovation of the pub.
“See You”, written by Martin when he was eighteen, was released on January 29th, 1982, peaking at No. 6 on the UK charts. On March 26th, the second single, “The Meaning of Love”, was released, reaching a chart position of No. 12 on the UK charts. “Leave In Silence” followed on October 16th [1], and reached a chart position of No. 18 in the UK. It was also the first DM single bearing the catalog name “BONG”. Considering Alan was working without royalties, he must have loved the success of these singles. It wasn’t until the recording of “Get The Balance Right” before he joined the band full-time, finally receiving more than just a salary.
Unlike Speak and Spell, A Broken Frame was criticized in many reviews for being too moody and depressing. Steve Sutherland of Melody Maker observed, “The lyrics have matured from wide-eyed fun to wide-eyed frustration.” To Steve’s surprise, the “wide-eyed frustration” only made Depeche Mode more popular than before. Steve also found it necessary to criticize Depeche Mode’s new musical direction by remarking, “A Broken Frame sounds sadly naked, rudely deprived of the formula’s novelty.” Admittedly, they were a wobbly table without the fourth leg of Vince, but they still deserved credit for retaining their stability. [2]
Immediately following the release of the album, the band went on tour. The “Broken Frame” tour ran from October to December, reaching across the UK and Europe. It was during this tour when Fletch, Dave, and Martin slowly integrated Alan into the permanent frame work of the band. Shortly after the tour, the newly unified Depeche Mode went back into the studio to hammer out a new single. This single would go on to give the band an entirely new sound, image and direction. In essence, ‘mending A Broken Frame’. But that’s a different story all together.