Depeche Mode Modus Operandi (Detour, 1997)
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- 1997 detour modus operandi
Martin Gore is frowning.
"The album has a hopeful, upbeat feeling?" His brow scrunches, not sure whether a joke has been tossed. "Depeche Mode?" Gore, renowned for the melancholic throb of Depeche's lyrics, shifts in the couch next to bandmate Andy Fletcher, who is peacefully focused on his view of the Central Park skyline.
"Upbeat?" he says again, allowing the word to reverberate. He shoots a help-me look at Fletcher, who gracefully picks up the volley.
"That's just our metabolism slowing down," Fletcher deadpans, reaching for his tea. Brightening, Gore begins again. "Ah, there is a definite darkness to Ultra. I don't think it's really..."
Dave Gahan - whose recent brushes with death have probably given Depeche Mode more intrusive ink than they've had to deal with in their entire career - breaks in, bouncing in from the other room, all bright-green shirt and electric eyes, exuding positivity and health in every direction. "The album, I think, has a spiritual feel..."
He sits down, then springs up like a jack-in-the-box. "I just have to get my coffee, hang on." Grabbing his java, he drops into the chair nearest the couch and continues, "I also think it does have a 'hopeful'," he brackets the word, "happy ending," and pauses. Now his brow is scrunching. "I don't think we'd ever make a 'sunny' kind of record." Gahan adds, after a moment, "I'd much rather weep when I listen to a good album. To get up and put on the 'happy' suit is not...I guess, well, I guess we're much more from the Leonard Cohen school of life."
Gore and Fletcher jerk their heads in syncopated motion. They stare at Gahan's sweetly earnest face. Gahan begins to hum 'Suzanne', Gore begins to softly sing the words, as Fletcher desperately tries not to laugh.
Who'd have thought Depeche Mode would be, well, almost...happy? Again. They had all thought about breaking up the band. Was it worth it? Was it really worth it? they kept thinking. Way before August 1995, when singer/frontman Gahan attempted suicide by shooting up, then slashing his wrists in a Sunset Marquis hotel room. Way before the beginning of '95, when Gahan's behavior became increasingly erratic after his second wife left him because she'd grown tired of picking him up off the floor. Yeah, well, like Neil Sedaka said, breaking up is hard to do. Especially as they had all known each other since they were around 11 years old, in school, back in the '70s, back in Essex. And they had all been through a hell of a lot together. They'd become pop stars together, fer chrissakes.
Still, despite the ego satisfaction and material gains Depeche Mode had started to show the strain of becoming a 'big act' long before. Despite early slagging from critics for their "shallow", synthy melodies, and with fellow '80s technopop-boom stars like Spandau Ballet, Human League, and Eurhythmics dropping by the wayside, '90-'91's hugely successful Violator tour put them in the upper strata. And soon, Depeche's Personal Jesus became the grind and glory of the music machine. Kicking into even higher careerist gear, for '93's Devotional tour, supporting the Songs of Faith and Devotion release, they let themselves in for a soul-breaking 14-month, 156-show, worldwide extravaganza. which sent ...Devotion - the first UK album to debut at No.1 on the Billboard charts - multi-platinum.
There were bigger stadiums, scads of money to be had, some classic heavy-duty partying, and some old-style new-wave accouterments, as well. Not only did the band shore up with the usual round of attendant drug doctors and reality-shielding lackeys, they even had a full-time shrink on the tour with them. Available to them any time. Day or night. They worked like monsters and it tore them into pieces. It sent longtime collaborator Alan Wilder packing forever, Andy Fletcher into hiding, Martin Gore in nervous seizures, and Dave Gahan into the unenviable position of preening up as another one of R&R's flashy heroin poster boys - a fabulous junkie with money.
No wonder so many wanted to be his...friend. So when Gahan, halfway into working on Ultra, loaded himself a juicy speedball and flatlined in an L.A. hospital, there was no surprise, just pain. Today the surprise is that, well, Gahan managed not to die. That he pulled it together. Clean, nearly a year now. The bigger shock, perhaps, is that Depeche Mode itself did not die.
Taking 15 months to create, Ultra has plenty more than just its tabloid genealogy to recommend it. Recorded in Los Angeles, but mostly in London's Abbey Road studios, with producer Tim Simenon (Bomb The Bass) at the helm, Ultra is a well-coiled blend of hard-edged synth, kundalini technorhythms, and growling guitars. Gahan's reborn vocals infuse Gore's lyric images of power struggles in Heaven, Hell and beyond with a liquid, bluesy richness. And at the moment Alan Wilder doesn't seem to be, um, missed. "Alan was a very important part of the band, especially the last two albums," stresses Gore. "He was the one who would spend the most time at the computer, sometimes until 4 in the morning. And he took on a lot of the production side of things. So, um...it was very important for us to find the right kind of person."
"With Tim, see, it wasn't like Alan, like one person trying to control everything and really white-knuckling that control," says Gahan, tossing the politic tone. "Tim and his team were like fans of what we do, and they just wanted to get the best out of us."
"And although we were never trying to make a dance album," adds Gore, "we wanted to work with someone who was more in the dance field, who could bring out the slow, rhythmic elements of the songs. Since Alan left, we are working so much more as a complete unit. We...we," he stutters slightly, trying not to appear too sentimental, "we do describe ourselves as a family these days. Marriages don't last as long as we have."
Even longtime friend/Depeche visualizer Anton Corbijn is back doing double duty. Not only did he shoot the videos for the album's first two singles, Barrel of a Gun and It's No Good, he also sat in as a drummer when they taped a recent Top of the Pops in the UK. Gore laughs, "Anton had to polish up a bit, but he did all right".
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"The thing is," adds Fletcher, "the reason 'it' works is because with the people you do know very well, you can just sit in a car, for instance, and not speak to each other, and they know what you're thinking."
Gore jumps in: "It's true. It happens even when we're in separate cars."
"It happens all the time to me," agrees Fletcher.
"I think as you get older you just do that anyway," adds Gahan, overriding the quippery. "There's a comfort in it. It's like an old leather jacket that you put on, that you've had for years and years, that you use again and again. Or an old pair of old comfortable shoes that..."
Fletcher, interrupting Gahan's joyful soliloquy about wear-and-tear, raises his eyes from the skyline, "So, I'm like that?
"Yes, you are," says Gahan insistently. "When the shoes feel really comfortable, it's nice. Sometimes they hurt a bit, especially when they're new." He looks straight at Fletcher. "But these are pretty old shoes, aren't they." Gahan beams innocently. Fletcher snorts.
"Look," says Gahan, pushing his hands through his hair. There are strands of gray encroaching into the darkness. "If people say Barrel of a Gun seems to reflect my state of mind, that seems normal to me. I don't mean Martin sits down and says, 'OK, I'm going to write about this from Dave's point of view,' but I think when you hang out long enough with people you take on part of their personality. It's impossible not to. You don't lose any of your own perspective, but I think subconsciously, it does affect you."
Fletcher sips his tea and Gore peacefully dips into some salmon and fries as Gahan's conversation takes on that confessional note. "What I'm just coming to terms with is, I'm not in control." Gahan leans forward, bright-faced, exuding that blindingly healthy aura again. "For a long time my higher power was myself, and now I have to let go of that, to believe there's something much bigger that's in control. I have to believe that. I don't have anywhere else to go. For a long time I've - we've - been surrounded by this bubble, where you don't need everyday coping skills. This is the first time in my life that I've had an apartment of my own. There's always been someone around to take care of everything for me. I need for my own spiritual growth to learn to do these everyday things. Because when those people go away, when I'm not having my mind made up for me, I get completely lost." His eyes twist for a moment. "The thing about suicide is, it's a permanent solution to a temporary problem. In retrospect, I understand it. What I don't understand," he says huffily, "is being arrested for it."
When Gahan awoke to his epiphany, he was briskly handcuffed to a cop and hauled off for two less-than-posh nights in L.A. County jail. Currently on parole, he is required to take two urine tests a week, for the next two years. If he stays clean, the charges will be dropped. If he doesn't, it's back to some serious pokey time. No wonder he's relocated to New York.
"Los Angeles can eat you alive," he says. "It's an easier place to withdraw, and once you get into that place it's very difficult to get out and be around people. Here, I can look out of my window here and see life, like going on 24 hours a day. But it's all an ongoing thing. Whenever I get the flu, or there was this one time recently I didn't pick up the phone because I was sleeping, people freak out. I have to earn that trust and respect. I have to do it for myself. I have to prove to myself that I have the strength."
Reasonably enough, there'll be no touring in support of Ultra, although some live TV dates are in the offing, But Gahan's strength of will is not the only reason. "We do see it from the fan's point of view, as well as the record company's point of view, but the last tour was way, way too long," sighs Fletcher. "We took on far too much and we don't want to repeat that again. We were away so long from our families, from our friends."
Gore agrees. "We know that touring is an important part of the job, but we've toured with every previous record...well, we'd like to excuse ourselves, just one year off."
"I think it has gone beyond that," says Gahan. "We're definitely at that kind of age where you have to look at what you really have, what you really need in your life."
"We started this band in our late teens. Now we're in our mid-thirties, and recently I've felt," offers Fletcher with a new-found sense of discomfort, 'well, there's a few things I've been to...like recently we did Top of the Pops. The audience was 16, 17 years old. They looked really young to me. And I went to this gig last night, where L7 was playing, and I swear I have never seen an audience so young in years. They were like 13, 14 years old."
Gore's body rounds with amusement. He laughs, "They just look young to you! Oh, you're just having that middle-aged thing again."
Fletcher is not appeased. He is definitely musing his future as an aging rocker, pushing the technopop to the lollipoppers, not unlike fellow icons U2 and Bowie. He is a tad bit grumpy about this. "It's just a recent thing. I didn't worry about it before, but now, well, it seems a bit odd."
"Bowie," says Gahan woefully. He seems very disconcerted. "It may just be me, but I'm a big fan of Bowie, in his heyday and...what he's doing right now makes me really uncomfortable. If he's having a good time, all right, but fine." Gahan waves his hands in a rapid no-sale gesture, and shudders. "I don't want to go there at all."
Adds Fletcher, "It's not that the sound is the problem, for me I just don't find the songs very good. That's the saddest thing."
They all sit there for a moment looking fairly morose. Then Gahan's face lights up. "I do love soul music, you know! I'd even go as far as Barry White!" Gore looks at Gahan with great charity. His look also begs him to change the subject.
"Anyway," says Gahan quickly, "it's taken a few years, but people are finally starting to say, hey, Ultra's great. You've finally made a mature album." Gahan pauses.
Fletcher points out, "See? That word. See?"
Gahan rolls it around in his mouth like a nasty, hot biscuit. "Mature." They are getting that hangdog look again.
Gore suddenly exclaims, "Hey, wait. You know, that's what they said about our second album." [1]
The trio smile to themselves, and exchange the briefest of sly looks. Probably sharing that secret-in-separate-cars-mind-bond-thing. Gahan shrugs, slaps his hand on his knee, and lets of a sound somewhere between a laugh and a howl. "Listen...I think there are plenty of angry young men out there." He rolls his eyes. "Let them get on with it. That's what I say."
Gore jumps in: "It's true. It happens even when we're in separate cars."
"It happens all the time to me," agrees Fletcher.
"I think as you get older you just do that anyway," adds Gahan, overriding the quippery. "There's a comfort in it. It's like an old leather jacket that you put on, that you've had for years and years, that you use again and again. Or an old pair of old comfortable shoes that..."
Fletcher, interrupting Gahan's joyful soliloquy about wear-and-tear, raises his eyes from the skyline, "So, I'm like that?
"Yes, you are," says Gahan insistently. "When the shoes feel really comfortable, it's nice. Sometimes they hurt a bit, especially when they're new." He looks straight at Fletcher. "But these are pretty old shoes, aren't they." Gahan beams innocently. Fletcher snorts.
"Look," says Gahan, pushing his hands through his hair. There are strands of gray encroaching into the darkness. "If people say Barrel of a Gun seems to reflect my state of mind, that seems normal to me. I don't mean Martin sits down and says, 'OK, I'm going to write about this from Dave's point of view,' but I think when you hang out long enough with people you take on part of their personality. It's impossible not to. You don't lose any of your own perspective, but I think subconsciously, it does affect you."
Fletcher sips his tea and Gore peacefully dips into some salmon and fries as Gahan's conversation takes on that confessional note. "What I'm just coming to terms with is, I'm not in control." Gahan leans forward, bright-faced, exuding that blindingly healthy aura again. "For a long time my higher power was myself, and now I have to let go of that, to believe there's something much bigger that's in control. I have to believe that. I don't have anywhere else to go. For a long time I've - we've - been surrounded by this bubble, where you don't need everyday coping skills. This is the first time in my life that I've had an apartment of my own. There's always been someone around to take care of everything for me. I need for my own spiritual growth to learn to do these everyday things. Because when those people go away, when I'm not having my mind made up for me, I get completely lost." His eyes twist for a moment. "The thing about suicide is, it's a permanent solution to a temporary problem. In retrospect, I understand it. What I don't understand," he says huffily, "is being arrested for it."
When Gahan awoke to his epiphany, he was briskly handcuffed to a cop and hauled off for two less-than-posh nights in L.A. County jail. Currently on parole, he is required to take two urine tests a week, for the next two years. If he stays clean, the charges will be dropped. If he doesn't, it's back to some serious pokey time. No wonder he's relocated to New York.
"Los Angeles can eat you alive," he says. "It's an easier place to withdraw, and once you get into that place it's very difficult to get out and be around people. Here, I can look out of my window here and see life, like going on 24 hours a day. But it's all an ongoing thing. Whenever I get the flu, or there was this one time recently I didn't pick up the phone because I was sleeping, people freak out. I have to earn that trust and respect. I have to do it for myself. I have to prove to myself that I have the strength."
Reasonably enough, there'll be no touring in support of Ultra, although some live TV dates are in the offing, But Gahan's strength of will is not the only reason. "We do see it from the fan's point of view, as well as the record company's point of view, but the last tour was way, way too long," sighs Fletcher. "We took on far too much and we don't want to repeat that again. We were away so long from our families, from our friends."
Gore agrees. "We know that touring is an important part of the job, but we've toured with every previous record...well, we'd like to excuse ourselves, just one year off."
"I think it has gone beyond that," says Gahan. "We're definitely at that kind of age where you have to look at what you really have, what you really need in your life."
"We started this band in our late teens. Now we're in our mid-thirties, and recently I've felt," offers Fletcher with a new-found sense of discomfort, 'well, there's a few things I've been to...like recently we did Top of the Pops. The audience was 16, 17 years old. They looked really young to me. And I went to this gig last night, where L7 was playing, and I swear I have never seen an audience so young in years. They were like 13, 14 years old."
Gore's body rounds with amusement. He laughs, "They just look young to you! Oh, you're just having that middle-aged thing again."
Fletcher is not appeased. He is definitely musing his future as an aging rocker, pushing the technopop to the lollipoppers, not unlike fellow icons U2 and Bowie. He is a tad bit grumpy about this. "It's just a recent thing. I didn't worry about it before, but now, well, it seems a bit odd."
"Bowie," says Gahan woefully. He seems very disconcerted. "It may just be me, but I'm a big fan of Bowie, in his heyday and...what he's doing right now makes me really uncomfortable. If he's having a good time, all right, but fine." Gahan waves his hands in a rapid no-sale gesture, and shudders. "I don't want to go there at all."
Adds Fletcher, "It's not that the sound is the problem, for me I just don't find the songs very good. That's the saddest thing."
They all sit there for a moment looking fairly morose. Then Gahan's face lights up. "I do love soul music, you know! I'd even go as far as Barry White!" Gore looks at Gahan with great charity. His look also begs him to change the subject.
"Anyway," says Gahan quickly, "it's taken a few years, but people are finally starting to say, hey, Ultra's great. You've finally made a mature album." Gahan pauses.
Fletcher points out, "See? That word. See?"
Gahan rolls it around in his mouth like a nasty, hot biscuit. "Mature." They are getting that hangdog look again.
Gore suddenly exclaims, "Hey, wait. You know, that's what they said about our second album." [1]
The trio smile to themselves, and exchange the briefest of sly looks. Probably sharing that secret-in-separate-cars-mind-bond-thing. Gahan shrugs, slaps his hand on his knee, and lets of a sound somewhere between a laugh and a howl. "Listen...I think there are plenty of angry young men out there." He rolls his eyes. "Let them get on with it. That's what I say."
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