Telekon, Gary Numan’s fourth album,
the second album post Tubeway Army,
begins with the most crushing slow rock synth groove
of “This Wreckage” and, in that early, nasal, almost
robotic, most distinctive voice, he sings the first lyric:
“And what if God’s dead?”
This was heady stuff for a 16 year old me,
who had never read, or yet even heard
about Nietzsche’s famous pronouncement.
In Numan I found a lyricist that was
brainy, often oblique, mysterious, dystopian,
and rarely ever intentionally funny.
Numan was nerdy in the most serious of ways.
In 1980, I was already
a fan. Replicas and The Pleasure Principle
were two of my favorite records. I was
fascinated by his other-worldliness,
his awkwardness, that strange
upper lip snarl when he sang, his odd
science fiction presentation. In the beginning
he cultivated this vibe of being not of the
Earth. Some of that may have been deliberate,
but clearly, his persona was in large part
a function of his neurodiversity, long
before anybody had a word for that. He was
an odd duck of a rock star, and I loved him.
Telekon, I think, is an absolute classic
of synthesizer new wave pop music.
At least in the states, none of these songs
were hits, but the songwriting, the lyrics,
the instrumentation, the production, and
Gary’s über-strangeness, make this a
phenomenally good record, the best one
from this early era of his career, I think.
That’s why I sprung for the box set,
complete with a three LP live show from
1981, featuring some of his earlier
material and even a sneak peek at what
would be the single from his next album,
Dance, “She’s Got Claws.”
I don’t know what happened. It’s not like
Gary and I had a falling out. For some reason,
I didn’t buy the Dance album when it released.
I didn’t buy the next record either I, Assassin,
until just recently. And I’m still missing a number
of albums from his late 80’s and 90’s output.
I guess I needed a break from Gary Numan,
became interested in other things–
it’s really quite a mystery, because I still
love those early albums. Something happened,
though, in the early oughts of the 21st century.
The industrial goth rockers, Nine Inch Nails,
invited Gary Numan up on stage to perform
“Cars.” What has transpired since that moment
in Gary Numan’s career is quite spectacular.
He has become hot again and has experienced
a kind of transformation (in his 50’s and 60’s!)
from nerdy art-rock synth guy to super cool
and confident (dare I say it, sexy) gothic rock
god. His musical output in the 21st century
has been inspiring, some of the best stuff,
most mature stuff, most sophisticated stuff
of his entire career.
So, listening to I, Assassin now, I understand
that Gary Numan, in 1982, as his rock stardom
began to fade, was still making stellar records.
Inspired perhaps by one of my other favorite
English bands, Japan, Numan incorporates into
the synth mix a fretless bass player who kicks
ass nearly as hard as Mick Karn did and ads some
saxophone. The result is super rubbery, funky,
jazzy, and less mechanical sounding than earlier
records. I’m super glad I reached back for this
one. If I had heard it in ’82, I’m guessing it would
have been one of my favorites.
I’m not a huge fan of live albums. I mean,
I appreciate the mystique and the energy,
but rarely do they sound great, so I probably
would not have chosen to buy this live set
from 1997 from Shepherds Bush Empire
released on vinyl maybe 14 years later.
I think this album was a Christmas gift
as an alternative to the Telekon box set
on my wish list, which, while unavailable
at the time, I would eventually get my hands on.
This 1997 recording, though, is far superior
to the one from ’81 in the Telekon box,
and the appeal to this collection is its
almost exclusive attention to new material
from the 90’s, with only a smattering of
classics, like the show’s opener, “Down In
The Park,” a powerful rendition, a couple
key tracks from The Pleasure Principle, and
of course, “Cars,” and “Are Friends Electric.”
Rocking harder in the 90’s than he ever did
in his first decade, this set showcases Numan
becoming less new wave nerd and more of
a gothic hard rocker. And his voice is way
stronger–gone is that awkward nerdy squeak.
He’s singing loud and low and big and
the band is tight and the synths are heavy.
And it gets better, heavier, more beautifully
rendered, more intensely produced in the
21st century. I arrive in my collection at
the last two studio albums, from 2017 and
2021, respectively. Sounding like the perfect
soundtrack to the scariest movie ever,
Savage (Songs from a Broken World) is a
masterclass in gothic, synthesizer rock.
It feels at times almost metal–the riffs
are deep and dark, the grooves are slow
and grindy, and the lyrics are pretty bleak:
Try “My Name Is Ruin” on for size.
Again, Numan’s singing and melodic lines
are better than they have ever been.
A terrific album of epic proportions.
The Intruder album is a similar experience,
only a little more subdued, more chill,
a little, but not much, less bombastic,
but just as dark. “I could listen to you scream,
if you want me to,” Numan croons in the
verses of the title song. And in the chorus:
“You could beg for God’s mercy, and
pretend that he hears you.” If one thing is
true about Numan over an entire career
of nearly 50 years, it’s that the darkness
is strong in this one. Earlier, some
absurdity, perhaps, but never light-
heartedness or humor–even his love
songs, and there are a number of them,
are pretty brooding, plaintive, and sad.
Somehow, it’s still fun as hell, I mean,
if hell could be said to be fun. Gary
Numan has the corner on that market–
or at least, was a significant progenitor
of the movement to bring joy out of
suffering through the power of rock music.
Intruder, the last studio album of the
catalog thus far, is a crushingly strong,
beautifully dark, darkly beautiful record.
I love that Gary Numan, out of all of my
heroes from the 80’s, is still making records
and still touring, apparently, stronger than
ever, more vital than ever, and maybe,
in his beautiful dark vision, more relevant
than ever. If we needed a soundtrack to
the end of the world as we know it,
I believe that Gary Numan has provided
us with the perfect one.
Notes on the vinyl editions:
- Gary Numan: 80/81, Beggars Banquet, 2011, five LP box set on 180 gram black vinyl, includes Telekon (2LP) and Living Ornaments ’81, Live at Wembley Stadium (3LP).
- I, Assassin, Beggars Banquet, 1982, opaque green vinyl. It’s a reissue, but the year is not printed anywhere in the liner notes. Maybe that makes it not a reissue, but a new pressing.
- Live at Shepherds Bush Empire, Let Them Eat Vinyl Records, 2011, (live recording from 1997), opaque orange double vinyl.
- Savage: Songs from a Broken World, BMG Records, 2017, double black vinyl.
- Intruder, BMG Records, 2021, double opaque red vinyl.
In case you don’t already know: I’m listening to almost everything in my vinyl collection, A to Z, and writing at least one, sometimes two or three long skinny poem-like-things in response for each artist, and on a few occasions, writing a long skinny poem-like-thing in response to more than one artist. As a poet and a student of poetry, I understand that these things look like poems, but they don’t really sound much like poetry, hence, I call them “poem-like-things.” I’ll admit that they’re just long, skinny essays that veer every now and then into the poetic or lyric.
michael jarmer 