Fast Fashion In Basildon
[Melody Maker, 9th May 1981. Words: Steve Sutherland.]
God, what a year it’s been. Not half over yet and every week they’re coming – great new bands bragging, bruising, begging for attention. It’s getting so I can’t tell me Scars from me Spandaus, but listen to this and listen good.
Depeche Mode, far from being yet another seven-day wonder, are damn near the most perfect pop group these two lucky lug ’oles have sampled all season. A couple of cracking tracks – one a narcissistic boppin’ beauty of a single called “Dreaming Of Me” that nudged the charts; the other a moody, melodic pseudo-mechanical outing on the “Some Bizzare Album” aptly titled “Photographic” – were enough to put me on the scent.
Several scorching live dates confirmed it. This band has a full set of knowing but naive, intense and yet idiotically simple two-minute gems, that stand quiff and earrings above the ever-growing pile of synth-pop fad followers. Suss enough to play by the rules, but brilliant enough to break ’em.
Scramble
Take my advice – name-drop Depeche Mode like crazy, turn on your radio and wait. Watch them storm up the charts, sit back and feel smug as your friends all scramble to follow your lead. Be the first one on your block to sport a DM T-shirt and allow yourself a snicker as hoards of nouveau new romantics and grubby electronic garage bands put down their icy frowns and bid to get a drop of Mode magic.
They’ll be lucky – I had trouble.
Prior to partaking in the Mute Night Silence Night extravaganza at the Lyceum Ballroom in London, huffing and puffed from endless games of tag and run-outs, bloated by a batch of greasy McDonalds’, slightly upset by a skimpy soundcheck and surrounded by a gaggle of giggling girlfriends, the four Mode music-makers crammed into the support band’s dressing room and effortlessly enhanced their reputation as an ‘awkward’ interview. Its not that they’re in any way stand-offish – they blush and bluster their way through my clumsy enquiries and clueless evasion, never once suggesting the smug, self satisfied smokescreen that Spandau build around discussions. It’s no rehearsed conspiracy – they just feel that they have little to say other than what their music offers.
An example: halfway through the proceedings I realise lead synther Martin Gore has remained stony silent throughout. I ask why and beanpole, carrot-quiffed bass synth player Andrew Fletcher tells me he has strong views on music.
“Have you?” I ask.
He shrugs.
I persevere: “Why don’t you ask him a question, Andy?”
“OK. Have you got your Lurex pants on?”
“No.”
Quickly, quickly. Back to basics. Depeche Mode were formed “nine or ten months ago” as a three-piece, two-guitar-and-synth-outfit, who, according to songwriter, rhythm synth player, old man at 21 and chief spokesperson Vince Clarke, “just about played live but under a different name – we won’t go into that now.”
“Oh go on, be a devil,” I urge.
“No,” he replies. [1]
The next step was to audition a vocalist – enter snappy dresser David Gahan – and then, suddenly, the big swap as the Basildon boys packed up string-picking for good and plumped for total electronics “because we simply like the sound of synthesizers”.
The change made little difference to their musical outlook – “Some numbers we did with guitars we still do now,” claims Vince – but the drastic upheaval of image worked wonders.
Suddenly finding gigs far easier to come by, they earned themselves something of a residency at Canning Town’s Bridge House supporting Fad Gadget, and it was, here in these inauspicious surroundings, that they were discovered by ‘Uncle’ Daniel Miller, the maestro behind Britain’s zaniest electronic label Mute Records.
It was love at first sight; Daniel took the boys under is wing and produced the aforementioned fab single ‘Dreaming Of Me’ without inking any contract. Now, after suitably encouraging sales, he’s produced their magnificent follow-up ‘New Life’ and formally signed them up.
“Daniel’s helped us a lot,” says Vince, laughing off my suggestion that the Mute man sounds something of a Svengali figure.
“He’s been really good.”
But why, I wondered, with far bigger and more influential labels hot on their trail, did they choose Mute?
“Well, we trusted Daniel,” admits Dave.
“We went to see various majors and we were impressed at first with what they’d got to offer but it was the same every time, y’know. Daniel seemed a lot more honest. Anything that a major label can do, Daniel can do.”
So all’s hunky dory at Mute. The Some Bizzare connection rankles, however. Spotted by the opportunist Bizzare founder Stevo supporting Soft Cell at Crocs, he approached them to contribute to his compilation and they naively agreed – a decision which they now unanimously regret.
“We didn’t play the Bizzare evening here at the Lyceum,” elaborates Dave. “We were never even approached to play it. It was only when we were advertised that we knew anything about it. We had no intention of doing it at all.
Why not?
“We’re not bizarre,” claims Vince. “It’s the whole sort of thing about being a futurist band and all that crap. There isn’t a futurist scene really is there? It’s only a name.”
So how would you describe yourselves?
“A dancy pop band,” says Dave.
Perilous
So what’s in a name?
Depeche Mode means something like “fast fashion” in French; a keen relfection of the current scene with its constantly shifting styles but also, perhaps, a perilous prediction that synthy-pop, like mod, punk and 2 Tone before it, is subject to the fickle whims of fashion?
“No, we just found it in a magazine and like the sound of it,” claims Dave. “There was no reason why we chose it. We didn’t even know what it meant up until…”
“We still don’t,” quips Andy. [2]
Vince writes his irresistibly catchy songs this way too. A heavyweight talent searching out lightweight commercial sounds and then thinking up cute lyrics to suit, he miraculously turns out the sort of precious little trash classics that Phil Oakey would give his whole fringe to come up with; the sort that Gazza Numan could have created if only he’d cracked a smile.
Their only peers, in fact, are early Orchestral Manoeuvres In The Dark.
“You’re the first person to mention that,” says Vince semi-sarcastically. “It doesn’t sound nothing like it to us. Orchestral Manoeuvres use flowing keyboards and poppy tunes, I suppose, but we like differing things y’know – lots of music, no one particular thing. I mean, most of our songs are danceable, the beat is very important and as long as people can dance to it, it’s all right.
“You know, if you wanna put us anywhere,” he adds, “I think there’s a market for pop music and always will be. That’s the bracket we fit into.”
[Melody Maker, 9th May 1981. Words: Steve Sutherland.]
God, what a year it’s been. Not half over yet and every week they’re coming – great new bands bragging, bruising, begging for attention. It’s getting so I can’t tell me Scars from me Spandaus, but listen to this and listen good.
Depeche Mode, far from being yet another seven-day wonder, are damn near the most perfect pop group these two lucky lug ’oles have sampled all season. A couple of cracking tracks – one a narcissistic boppin’ beauty of a single called “Dreaming Of Me” that nudged the charts; the other a moody, melodic pseudo-mechanical outing on the “Some Bizzare Album” aptly titled “Photographic” – were enough to put me on the scent.
Several scorching live dates confirmed it. This band has a full set of knowing but naive, intense and yet idiotically simple two-minute gems, that stand quiff and earrings above the ever-growing pile of synth-pop fad followers. Suss enough to play by the rules, but brilliant enough to break ’em.
Scramble
Take my advice – name-drop Depeche Mode like crazy, turn on your radio and wait. Watch them storm up the charts, sit back and feel smug as your friends all scramble to follow your lead. Be the first one on your block to sport a DM T-shirt and allow yourself a snicker as hoards of nouveau new romantics and grubby electronic garage bands put down their icy frowns and bid to get a drop of Mode magic.
They’ll be lucky – I had trouble.
Prior to partaking in the Mute Night Silence Night extravaganza at the Lyceum Ballroom in London, huffing and puffed from endless games of tag and run-outs, bloated by a batch of greasy McDonalds’, slightly upset by a skimpy soundcheck and surrounded by a gaggle of giggling girlfriends, the four Mode music-makers crammed into the support band’s dressing room and effortlessly enhanced their reputation as an ‘awkward’ interview. Its not that they’re in any way stand-offish – they blush and bluster their way through my clumsy enquiries and clueless evasion, never once suggesting the smug, self satisfied smokescreen that Spandau build around discussions. It’s no rehearsed conspiracy – they just feel that they have little to say other than what their music offers.
An example: halfway through the proceedings I realise lead synther Martin Gore has remained stony silent throughout. I ask why and beanpole, carrot-quiffed bass synth player Andrew Fletcher tells me he has strong views on music.
“Have you?” I ask.
He shrugs.
I persevere: “Why don’t you ask him a question, Andy?”
“OK. Have you got your Lurex pants on?”
“No.”
Quickly, quickly. Back to basics. Depeche Mode were formed “nine or ten months ago” as a three-piece, two-guitar-and-synth-outfit, who, according to songwriter, rhythm synth player, old man at 21 and chief spokesperson Vince Clarke, “just about played live but under a different name – we won’t go into that now.”
“Oh go on, be a devil,” I urge.
“No,” he replies. [1]
The next step was to audition a vocalist – enter snappy dresser David Gahan – and then, suddenly, the big swap as the Basildon boys packed up string-picking for good and plumped for total electronics “because we simply like the sound of synthesizers”.
The change made little difference to their musical outlook – “Some numbers we did with guitars we still do now,” claims Vince – but the drastic upheaval of image worked wonders.
Suddenly finding gigs far easier to come by, they earned themselves something of a residency at Canning Town’s Bridge House supporting Fad Gadget, and it was, here in these inauspicious surroundings, that they were discovered by ‘Uncle’ Daniel Miller, the maestro behind Britain’s zaniest electronic label Mute Records.
It was love at first sight; Daniel took the boys under is wing and produced the aforementioned fab single ‘Dreaming Of Me’ without inking any contract. Now, after suitably encouraging sales, he’s produced their magnificent follow-up ‘New Life’ and formally signed them up.
“Daniel’s helped us a lot,” says Vince, laughing off my suggestion that the Mute man sounds something of a Svengali figure.
“He’s been really good.”
But why, I wondered, with far bigger and more influential labels hot on their trail, did they choose Mute?
“Well, we trusted Daniel,” admits Dave.
“We went to see various majors and we were impressed at first with what they’d got to offer but it was the same every time, y’know. Daniel seemed a lot more honest. Anything that a major label can do, Daniel can do.”
So all’s hunky dory at Mute. The Some Bizzare connection rankles, however. Spotted by the opportunist Bizzare founder Stevo supporting Soft Cell at Crocs, he approached them to contribute to his compilation and they naively agreed – a decision which they now unanimously regret.
“We didn’t play the Bizzare evening here at the Lyceum,” elaborates Dave. “We were never even approached to play it. It was only when we were advertised that we knew anything about it. We had no intention of doing it at all.
Why not?
“We’re not bizarre,” claims Vince. “It’s the whole sort of thing about being a futurist band and all that crap. There isn’t a futurist scene really is there? It’s only a name.”
So how would you describe yourselves?
“A dancy pop band,” says Dave.
Perilous
So what’s in a name?
Depeche Mode means something like “fast fashion” in French; a keen relfection of the current scene with its constantly shifting styles but also, perhaps, a perilous prediction that synthy-pop, like mod, punk and 2 Tone before it, is subject to the fickle whims of fashion?
“No, we just found it in a magazine and like the sound of it,” claims Dave. “There was no reason why we chose it. We didn’t even know what it meant up until…”
“We still don’t,” quips Andy. [2]
Vince writes his irresistibly catchy songs this way too. A heavyweight talent searching out lightweight commercial sounds and then thinking up cute lyrics to suit, he miraculously turns out the sort of precious little trash classics that Phil Oakey would give his whole fringe to come up with; the sort that Gazza Numan could have created if only he’d cracked a smile.
Their only peers, in fact, are early Orchestral Manoeuvres In The Dark.
“You’re the first person to mention that,” says Vince semi-sarcastically. “It doesn’t sound nothing like it to us. Orchestral Manoeuvres use flowing keyboards and poppy tunes, I suppose, but we like differing things y’know – lots of music, no one particular thing. I mean, most of our songs are danceable, the beat is very important and as long as people can dance to it, it’s all right.
“You know, if you wanna put us anywhere,” he adds, “I think there’s a market for pop music and always will be. That’s the bracket we fit into.”
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