The Liverpool quartet A Flock of Seagulls first gained
attention in the dance clubs with "Telecommunication," included on
this debut release. The band benefited from heavy play on MTV and quickly
became known for their outrageous fashion and lead singer Mike Score's
waterfall-like haircut. However, their self-titled debut is an enjoyable romp
that was set apart from other synth-heavy acts of the time by Paul Reynolds'
unique guitar style. The kinetic "I Ran (So Far Away)" became a video
staple and a Top Ten radio hit. "A Space Age Love Song," with its
synthesizer washes and echo-laden guitar, also managed to score at radio. The
rest of the album consists of hyperactive melodies, synthesizer noodlings, and
electronic drumming. The lyrics are forgettable. In fact, they rarely expand on
the song titles, but it’s all great fun and a wonderful collection of new wave
ear candy.
Today's punk rock has been broken into sub-sub-sub-genres
like blackened grind core, post-emo skramz and
reverse-anarcho-alt-garage-neo-cowpunk. Each of these obscure genres place
walls between themselves and everyone else. However, there was a brief moment
in time (mostly) in the UK in the early 80s, where non-pop music was simply
non-pop music. It was entirely possible to hear the Smiths, Bauhaus, Gary
Numan, Joy Division, Gang of Four, Killing Joke, New Order and A Flock of
Seagulls all spinning at the same club.
Yes, that's right, A Flock of Seagulls, a victim and a
beneficiary to their own marketing. Numerous Adam Sandler movies and Grand
Theft Auto games have, in part, painted A Flock of Seagulls as the archetypical
cheesy 80s pop synth band. That's not to say that the band shied away from
accepting the neon-yellow, plastic sceptre accompanying the role. Indeed, the
band released numerous compilations playing up the white polyester blazers and
hairspray imagery of the mid 80s. So, if the band is set to receive musical
accompaniment to back the tale of their historical placement, surely the
instrument used is a violin no larger than a thimble.
But from a critical standpoint, it's a shame because the group's self-titled
debut is far more in the realm of post-punk and early experimental electronica
than that of Jordache and plastic earrings.
The album opens with "Modern Love is Automatic." A cold rushing wind
blows across the speakers before a Berlin-ish synth line descends. An
aggressive, but sturdy drum and bass line march forward, not dissimilar to Joy
Division's early programmed-music experiments. Finally, vocalist Mike Score
sings in a restrained, robotic voice, lamenting that in the modern (80s) age,
emotions are as much driven by marketing and corporate interests as they are
true affection. Certainly, such a sentiment is more in line with Zounds than
Kajagoogoo.
Likewise, "Modern Love is Automatic" could have been slipped into a
mid-period Bauhaus album and no one would have been the wiser. Score somewhat
mimics the ghostly wail of Peter Murphy while gothic, intricate guitar work
floats in the background. Much like Murphy, Score laments the loss of a love
and vows to hold true for all time, giving the slightest of nods towards
vampirism - something only a young man could sing and get away with. The song
closes with multi-tracked wailing which has, in time, become the stock vocal
effect of Goth albums.
The album's true masterpiece and darkest cut is "Standing in the
Doorway." A Kraftwerkian pulsation starts the piece as the sounds of a
machine blip and beep. Then suddenly, a thunderous snap cuts off the machinery
and the song tears into what could be called a more punk Tubeway Army jam. As a
sinister line creeps in the background, Score screams at an unidentified woman
"Standing in the doorway, I can see you!" It's not clear if he's a stalker
or a husband come home too early, but his menace seems genuine. He says little
else because really, that's the only threat he needs to make.
Even "I Ran," which is often thought of as the song of the 80s,
becomes a different creature when listened to in the context of its surrounding
brothers. Where it has become a song used as the backdrop for cruising one's
convertible along a shore line, in isolation, it is a much darker song. Opening
with a minor chord synth rumble, the song then snaps forward and tells the tale
of grasping for an idealized version of something and unable to grasp. Perhaps
because the chorus is so catchy, rarely does the listener stick around for the
end, where the guitars crumble before self-destructing in a violent din.
A Flock of Seagulls' first album isn't necessary a long lost punk classic. It's
classic, of course, but not strictly punk, or even post-punk. But without
question, it has elements of those genres and uses them to their greatest
extent. Perhaps that's why this album is so threatening to modern music
critique. Instead of giving a full chance to a multi-textured and clever
combination of darker music, it's easier to focus on silly haircuts and file it
away neatly in a drawer, mislabelled as it may be.