Breathless - The Glass Bead Game (1986)

Breathless - The Glass Bead Game

Tenor Vossa

1986

Take care to look as you pass
Or you might miss the one thing
You’ve strived for all your life.

Dominic Appleton is most famous for his contributions to the dreamy power-band This Mortal Coil in the late eighties, but his own band are so achingly beautiful that as good as This Mortal Coil are, they're in my bad books for taking away his limelight. Breathless released their first LP in 1986 on their own record label Tenor Vossa, making a sweeping mix of post-punk, psychedelic and relaxing prog-rock. Really, though, this album is its own thing - it was unlike any of its contemporaries and nothing has came since to match it.

The Glass Bead Game is only eight tracks long, but all eight soar high in the sonic clouds, with beautifully deep drums and long synth keys that provide layer after layer of romantic noise. Breathless aren't a singles band - this album has to be listened to as an album. Even better if you have a physical copy, because the artwork accompanies the music perfectly, with a painting by keyboardist Ari Neufeld. We open with 'Across the Water,' and already we get a feel of what this album is going to be like. It's quite a short song, but leads into 'All My Eye and Betty Martin' perfectly. This is a seven minute track with layers of guitars, synths, drums, liquid vocals and a strong deep bass that provides a thick foundation. Listening to this album on vinyl with a good sound system whilst in bed is something I do regularly. I first listened to it last year whilst getting into bed - I needed something to listen to whilst laying in bed, but didn't know what. I hadn't listened to them yet, but recently discovered them through sheer luck and decided to give them a try. Because I was in bed, I had no idea which song was which, or when it would end, all I can say is that I was incredibly relaxed by the music. There's something nostalgic about it that caressed me, and as I lay in bed on that cold January night at near to 1am, I felt simultaneously at peace and in awe of what I was listening to.

Dominic Appleton has an amazing voice; his voice is always credited and praised, but I'm going to praise it some more: he nails the romantic desperation, the lust, the love, the beauty - he captures the essence of love itself in his voice and also in his lyrics. He's a perfect songwriter, and alongside Matt Johnson, Adrian Borland and Howard Devoto, he's one of the best not only in post-punk, but in music altogether. He manages to create wonderful lines that encapsulate romance, love and heartbreak. He manages to convey feelings so effectively through words, and he sings it so beautifully. What I love most, though, is how, especially in the first two albums and here in The Glass Bead Game, the vocals blend and wash inside the music. The words leak out of the music, drenched in the sound of those keyboards and basslines. There is nothing that takes centre stage - it's all a collaborative effort to create art. Yeah, this is art. It's not 'art rock,' because as a genre that's something entirely different. This is just art. Pure beauty. It's an album that really was ahead of its time and for those few that know about it, we're lucky and blessed and richer for it. Discovering this album was like discovering a beautiful patch of land that had never been stepped on before, now it's time to show it to the world.

Breathless are still making music (and are still as good) and you can buy their latest LP here.

Modern Eon - Fiction Tales (1980)

Modern Eon - Fiction Tales

Dindisc

1980

Maybe we're all alone in here...

As soon as you listen to this album, you realise something: you realise how special it is, how strange it is, how haunting it is and how mysterious it is. I own the vinyl, I ordered it online. It arrived one evening last year, in March. At around 7pm, the sun was almost set, it was almost pitch black outside, and I pulled out an old 1970s all-in-one portable turntable and put this on. I stared at the cover, trying to make out what it even was, what side of a face I was looking at. 

There's hardly any information online, there's a small old website dedicated to them, but there's not much information. No one really knows what happened to them after they disbanded, no one knows where any of them are now. The only legacy they left behind was one album and five singles. They came and went and that was that. It's all so mysterious. It feels, holding the record and listening to the opening track, as if this album wasn't even made by people - it's just a compelling and mystical recording. The vocals are airy and beautiful, the synths are sweeping and strange, almost watery, and the whole feel of the tracks is as if it's underwater. The bass is deep and dark, the guitars are catchy. And most important: that saxaphone. Fuck, what an amazing addition, and how gorgeously complimenting is it! All the sounds blend together into this mesh of atmosphere and darkness. It truly is a dark and bleak sounding album.

As I lay there listening to the crackling vinyl on the old turntable, I realised just how perfectly my set-up for listening to it was. It adds a whole new dimension, listening to it the way I was. Like those old horror films that are ruined by their Blu-Ray transfers, this album needs to be heard on vinyl. 

Modern Eon are probably remembered most for their single 'Child's Play,' which comes from this album. It's a really gorgeous and captivating track. It's probably the lightest on the album, and really captures the feeling of child-like wonder perfectly. It comes straight after 'High Noon,' and the two are connected by this quiet and perfect synth riff. 'High Noon,' is instrumental for the first 75% of the song. It's my favourite on the album. I remember listening to it in the car at five in the morning in late November a few years ago - looking out the window at the late night sky, with that song playing, was perfect. It complimented the night so well, and inspired me to continue a screenplay I had almost shelved years before that. When the vocals finally arrive, they're distant, echoed and short. "Maybe we're all alone in here," the singers repeat. Holy fuck, it's beautiful and desolate. 

That's a good word to describe the album - desolate. It's an entire landscape of sound and feeling. Everything inside it just hits perfectly, and it all finally accumulates with "In a Strange Way," a bleak, cold and isolated piece (because it really is more than just a song) with layers of abyss.

This album is just beautifully produced, and each track is perfect. The tracks all blend together perfectly, they're catchy and even dance-able every now and then, but that never breaks them from being the atmospheric and massive (or tiny, because of that feeling of isolation) personality that they are. The fact this Liverpool band Modern Eon has all but disappeared, leaving behind nothing but this album and a few singles, just adds to the whole thing. The album just appeared one day, a product of pure nature, a design of true atmosphere.

It really is one of the best albums of all time, and one day it will get its due.

The Outsiders - Calling on Youth (1977)

The Outsiders - Calling on Youth

Raw Edge

1977

You've gotta make up your mind,

'cos if you hesitate.

You'll be sucked up inside,

with no way to escape.

Amidst the chaos of 1977's punk explosion, with wacky colourful spikey haircuts and abrasive three-minute three-chord numbers, there was a young schoolboy who saw the landscape as an opportunity. His idols, Iggy Pop and Velvet Underground, served as his inspiration, and he picked himself up, got his friends together, and started The Outsiders. This was Adrian Borland, most notable for his 1980's post-punk outfit The Sound.

Borland and co pushed their teen angst and romantic disillusion to the next level with their first album Calling on Youth. This album is truly lost in the ocean of music, its original LP was pressed only 1000 times by Borland's father's own record company, created solely for the purpose of producing The Outsiders. Which such limited offerings, the LP nowadays fetches hundreds online, but luckily it was recently re-released on CD.

It's bizarre that this album is so widely forgotten - sure, it isn't great, the punky tracks aren't too memorable, but it's distinctive for being the first self-released LP by a punk band. Whilst The Buzzcocks receive much praise for their first 7", The Outsiders remain shadowed by everything that came before and after. Most of the lyrics were written by drummer Adrian Janes, and mostly talk about alienation and anti-comformity. The track 'Weird,' is an interesting track, opening with the lyrics, "they say the way we dress is weird." It's clear these guys are aggressive about their stance, but the music industry at the time laughed and scoffed. These schoolboys, none of them looking like that typical 'cool' punk, moaning about girls and alienation from society - it didn't go down well at all. 

I can understand that, really, because it is a pretty moany album. I mean, I do love it, but I sometimes question whether I love it more because I am a big fan of Borland or because it's actually good. The album sometimes feels empty and unfinished. It sounds more like a bunch of demo tracks. In light of what came next with The Sound, this is even more feasible - it really does just feel like a practise session - Borland figuring out where he is and what he wants to do. 

It's an interesting album as a punk album because half of it isn't all too much like what you'd expect from punk, especially back in 1977. My favourite track on the album, a track that completely stands out from the others and is just as good as some of The Sound's stuff, "Walking Through a Storm," is a quiet and introspective song. Unintrusive guitars and soft vocals really make it quite a beautiful track. I have a feeling Borland preferred doing this track than the others. We also have 'Start Over,' which has a lower energy, almost sounding like a dark folk song, and the aforementioned 'Weird.' 

The more punk-orientated tracks are less interesting, and it's pretty easy for me to tune out of them. They can be fun, for sure, but not for long. I love the guitar work, though. Borland clearly already had a good handle of his guitar and that would only expand in his career. He really smashes the chords in 'Hit and Run,' perhaps the most energetic song on the album, as long as you ignore those fucking lyrics. 'On the Edge' is always randomly in my head. It's a common saying in England, because yes, English people are constantly on the edge. Whenever anyone says it, my mind continues the lyrics. "I'm on the edge," someone would say. "I'm on the edge / I'm on the edge / I'm on the edge / on the edge!" my brain would answer. It's really quite irritating, because it always happens. Thanks, Adrian.

Ultimately, this album is more for fans of Adrian Borland than anything else, but it certainly has inklings of what was to come, and for his first crack at producing something, it has a good consistency and a confidence that always shone from him. Also, that guitar-work. Any fans of Borland's guitar work can listen to this and smile. 

I also have to note that I got myself a copy of this on eBay for only £30! My Adrian Borland vinyl collection is almost complete, and I cannot wait to give it a spin. I wonder if Borland himself ever handled the copy I'll have?

Destiny Stopped Screaming: A Tribute to Adrian Borland

THOSE FIRST CHORDS HIT.

They keep building up.

Then the drums come in.

Then the synth. Dark and uncompromising.

Then he sings.

"So many feelings pent up in here,
left alone I'm with the one I most fear."

The first words to come out of Adrian Borland's mouth for the first album by his band The Sound. Words that would ring true 19 years later when he succumbed to his condition. The one he most feared killed him.

"I can't escape myself," he sings with this almost passive-aggression. The instruments halt before he can finish the sentence, leaving him with just his own voice to continue the lyric. This is The Sound, a band who released five albums since their formation in 1979 and break-out in 1987.

This isn't where Adrian Borland, a young Londoner with a lot to say, began his musical career. It started two years earlier, in 1977, the peak of punk. He and his school-friends started messing around, playing songs in Adrian's front room. They eventually self-recorded, with Adrian's dad Robert acting as engineer and producer. Together, they pressed one thousand copies of their debut album as The Outsiders, calling it 'Calling on Youth' and containing both typical punk-rock numbers and the introspective, brooding tracks that would later define Borland. It came as some surprise to me to learn that it wasn't even Borland who penned the lyrics for this album, because they seemed very like him, especially in tracks like 'Walking Through a Storm.'

This album has the distinction of being the first DIY LP punk release in Britain, a fact that seems to have completely disappeared from music for reasons that completely escape me, although as would become apparent as Borland's career continued, he didn't have the greatest relationship with the general public: his music never gained popularity, and this was something that contributed to his tragic ending.

I'm going to stop writing so formally now. The Outsiders made another album a year later, then, after a member departed, they deformed and reformed as The Sound. And Jesus, is that music good. I first got into post-punk music a few years ago, and although in general The Sound weren't mentioned often, in that corner of the blogosphere that really explored post-punk, they were respected and lauded for their introspective lyrics and complex, beautiful music. It took me a while to venture into them, for some reason I was put off by the band name. It seemed like such a weird band name, but now the name brings feelings to me as dear as hearing the name of an old friend. Even though I never met Adrian and he passed before I could even consciously grasp what music really could be, I feel like he is a friend to me. I stupidly look to him for guidance in my hours of need, almost placing him as my personal guardian angel: a powerful, incredible man like him is certainly an inspiration to me, and so this placement I feel is entirely justified.

He suffered badly from depression, but this was worsened by his diagnosis with schizoaffective disorder. Wikipedia says schizoaffective disorder is a combination of psychosis and abnormal moods. A fellow band-member once talked of a moment, shortly before they disbanded in 1987, in which Adrian was on a plane convinced that he was abducted by aliens and that his fellow band-member was an ET. It may sound funny, but the tragedy that surrounded this is all too pure: his condition worsened in the late 80's, and his band-members decided they couldn't let him continue in the band as he was spiraling downward and what he truly needed was help. He was adament he could continue, but they couldn't enable that, so they left. He was lost, but soon found himself in other projects: he started a side project called Honolulu Mountain Daffodils, a bizarre psychedlic-infused alternative rock band with crazy pseudonyms and cool song titles.  The lack of success The Sound found with the mainstream I feel contributed partly to this bizarre concoction: my theory is that Adrian wanted to see whether his name itself was a taint to his music, so started something new with a new name, and really hoped it would sell. I can just imagine him truly excited, flirting with the idea, "what if the Daffodils became really popular?" he'd ask himself. "Wouldn't that be great?"

Sadly, it wasn't to be. So he left after three albums and continued on with his solo career, by then into his second album. Three more albums, and more production credits, and then writing and producing music for a new band called White Rose Transmission, almost completing a sixth studio album, and then he ended it. It was all too much.

I read online somewhere that he didn't commit suicide that morning. I read that instead, he was "murdered by his illness." I would agree with that. This is something I think about daily. I find myself wandering around in the transom of my brain, and it always comes back to Adrian. I have such a profound connection with a man who I haven't even met. His lyrics read so true to me, his story so tragic and yet so hopeful at the same time. I was walking home from work a few weeks ago and began thinking about it. "He was murdered by his illness," kept repeating, cyclical in my brain. I almost cried there on the street. It's weird. I can't explain it really, but I know that anyone who is a fan of Adrian will understand exactly where I'm coming from. The man could cut your siders, he knew how to get in and strike a chord.

Just before his suicide, he wrote on his website about how happy he was with White Rose Transmission's new album, '700 Miles of Desert.' "It's hard to be objective but I'll just say the final mastered slice of silver has rarely left my CD player," he said. His optimism was clear. His optimism was always clear. Although he wrote about some truly dark things, and some self-deprecating material, he was always so positive. This can't be more clear than in 'Someone Will Love You Today', a track from his third solo album 'Beautiful Ammunition'. "Someone will love you today, hold on now someone will care" he sings with glee. This song has a somber tone to it after learning that it was indeed played at his funeral. I can't imagine the emotions of his friends and family as that song played: to really comprehend that he didn't have to fall victim to himself - to know that he was truly capable of more had he just fought a bit more. But I know it's hard. Impossible, even.

In his last blog post, he also talked of his new album he was halfway through. "Six is my lucky number so maybe I'll find a wider audience with this one," he wrote. "This is going to be another epic." He suggested some titles for it: "I might call it Destiny Stopped Screaming as I'll either finally get the music in my head on tape or I'll feel like quitting altogether, so it will fit either way!" he jokes. "Other possible titles are Body of Work #19, Get Me a Witness, In the Field, Land Meets Ocean or Harmony and Destruction."

But perhaps the most upsetting thing to me is the note he signed off with. His last communication with his fans, his last effort before a month later jumping in front of an early morning London train. He wrote:

To those that still care, thanks, see you soon. You'll be hearing from me!

I hear from you every day, Adrian. In your music; in your lyrics; in your soul.

R.I.P. Adrian Borland
December 6th 1957 - April 26th 1999

We are lost in glass and smoke

THERE'S A DARK CORNER IN THE BASEMENT OF MUSIC THAT'S FULL OF SUCH RICH DIVERSITY AND POWERFUL EMOTION. That corner is post-punk. After the punk explosion in the mid 1970's, many musicians began to feel as if the entire punk ethos was too... simple. "Fuck the government," they'd say as they struck three-chord two minute bashes against a crowd of ruthless self-proclaimed 'anarchists.' Punk quickly became a parody of itself as quickly as it became prominent. It's said that with the release of an actual LP in "Never Mind the Bollocks," punk was gone.

Johnny Rotten, famed frontman of perhaps the most well-known punk outfit the Sex Pistols, quickly departed this scene and formed a new band in Public Image Ltd. He decided he wanted to reinvent his public perception. In an interview in the late 70's, he told of his disdain for his reputation as an anarchist. The man was actually far more intellectual than he let on: he was a book-worm and classical music advocate, unlike the psychotic trouble-causing persona he had with the Pistols. And with that, the idea of punk became even less dignified.

Then we have Howard Devoto, who contributed to the first DIY 7" release with the Buzzcocks. Again, he soon left to sought after more experimental means, and so began his own band: Magazine.

These two bands are the crucial forefathers of post-punk. They might not be the most well-known now (that credit clearly goes to the likes of The Cure and Joy Division) but their firm roots in the punk world really cement the idea of post-punk.

So what is post-punk? Yeah, I've talked a lot about what caused it, but what exactly is it? It's a difficult thing to pin down musically. There is such a variety of styles within post-punk that it's hard to describe any set conditions that define it. However, I can say that post-punk certainly takes aspects of punk, most notably the raw power and political/philosophical ideas, but expanded them with both a larger mindset and instrument set. The synthesizer, an instrument, or as some would refer to it as an "instrument," was a tool that was frowned upon heavily in punk. When Alternative TV released their debut album 'The Image Has Cracked' in 1978, the opening sound was a big synth riff. This wasn't accidental. This was a "fuck you" to the hypocritical ideas of punk itself. For a movement that proclaimed itself as being anti-establishment and rule-less, they sure did hate anything that wasn't within a narrow set of distinctions.

So post-punk sprawls across psychedelia, ska, progressive, alternative, gothic, new wave, synthpop and countless others, but there's always something, something that I can't quite pinpoint that really ties it all together. You know when you're listening to post-punk. It's hard to say why sometimes, but you just know. In this blog, I'm going to be reviewing some of my favourite post-punk albums, and I'm going to thread it all between discussions and reviews on my favourite post-punk figure, and a man who has without hyperbole shaped a lot of my emotional language and life philosophies: Adrian Borland. He's most notable as the lead singer and songwriter of The Sound, but he also did a bunch of other projects: in fact he even released the first DIY punk album and has 20 studio albums to his name.

So enjoy this soaring dive into the dark abyss of post-punk.