The Psychedelic Furs - Midnight To Midnight

Richard Butler, singer for the Psychedelic Furs, called this album "hollow, vapid and weak", a commercial abomination that reflects poorly on the band. Their follow-up album "Book of Days" jerks the band in such a radically opposite direction you can practically hear the gears grinding and tires squealing on asphalt. It's clear where The Furs themselves stand on this album. I wholeheartedly disagree. You might say, yes, this album is stewed in the cheap cologne and saxophones of Patrick Bateman's New York circa 1987. Cocaine, hardbodied blondes in tight black dresses, tons of hairspray, fast cars and fast money, it's all in there. There's even a song about Crack. Yes I said it, Crack. "Shock" is a song about Crack, oh excuse me, when white people do it it's called "freebase". On the surface, this album is complete and total kitsch, a John Hughes movie for hedonistic adults doing lines off the toilet seat of some overpriced club in Manhattan.

But that also makes it kind of amazing. What's even more amazing is that in spite of the ritzy/seedy veneer that's been pasted over it, this album does have a lot of depth. Butler, as narrator, seems the reluctant party boy in this saga. It's clear from the tone of the song lyrics that this scene just isn't for him. He clearly doesn't belong in the box his mid-80’s success has forced him into. And it's precisely this push/pull dynamic that makes this a remarkable album. It's almost unbearably cheesy and false at times, but the feelings of alienation, reluctance, and regret are all very authentic.

I can see why this album often doesn't get the admiration it deserves. With so many other great albums The Furs have put out over the years, it easy to hold your nose when Midnight to Midnight shows up, reeking of Ralph Lauren Polo and coked out of its mind. But if you can get into its commercial groove and look a little deeper into the lyrics, it's a fantastic snapshot from the penthouse of a notorious era.

Mirror Moves

Having made tentative inroads towards a wider American audience with Forever Now, the Psychedelic Furs' profile-raising and partial transformation continued on with Mirror Moves. Very much a product of its mid-'80s time; Keith Forsey produced, his drum machine providing the beats while synths played an even more prominent role than before; it may not be the classic sound of the band but it is an often rewarding and inspiring listen. It didn't hurt that some of the band's best songs made an appearance here, either. Both "The Ghost in You" and "Heaven" balanced off a warm sound that managed to be radio-friendly on the one hand; John Ashton's guitar mixed in surprisingly well with the fine if often conventional keyboard arrangements and surprisingly barbed on the other. Richard Butler's lyrics were some of his slyest and sharpest, a tone maintained throughout the album, while his one of a kind speak/sing clipped rasp kept things from being too lost even at the album's least inspired. Unlike the following Midnight to Midnight album, however; where everything the Furs had going for them turned into a screeching halt; Mirror Moves holds up fairly consistently. "Here Come Cowboys," with its combination guitar/string chug (or so it sounds!) and a brilliant slow descending chorus, and the driving, nervous piano and massed vocals on "Alice's House" are two particular winners. The secret highlight of the album is also its closer, "Highwire Days," as brilliant a meditation on '80s-era political paranoia and fears as was done at the time. Butler's imagery is to the point without moralizing or dumbing down, while the tense arrangement suggests a more synth-based equivalent to the Chameleons, at once scaled for epic heights and almost as uncomfortably close.

Forever Now

Was “Forever Now” the last great moment in the Psychedelic Furs' early career? If you think the presence of Todd Rundgren behind the board meant an increased focus on the band's already developing pop sensibilities, you're right on the money. However, “Forever Now” is not my favourite Psychedelic Furs album but it does have some timeless songs on it. T’Furs’ had yet to descend into the radio-friendly depths that would find them indistinguishable from other '80s New Wave bands. Instead though, the pop sheen of “Forever Now” is supposedly a sign of growth, not decline. The slinky keyboards of Love My Way and the strings of Sleep Comes Down are not welcome additions to the band's sonic palette. Notwithstanding all of the above, there is President Gas, which is just as relevant today, maybe even more so than when it was first written. The lyrics are a bit obvious and by no means brilliant but the message is solid. It is a cynical, dramatic and satirical song, but perhaps it has stood the test of time because it’s a little too openly political. It’s as if the past glories of “Talk Talk Talk” had been given a new coat of paint, but was the change a positive one?

You Just Won’t Stop Talk, Talk, Talking

Strange as it may now seem, there was a time when The Psychedelic Furs seemed better placed than U2 to emerge from punk as the British Isles' leading contemporary rock act. It didn't quite work out like that. Of course, mention of them inevitably evokes memories of 'Pretty In Pink' and the Molly Ringwald/John Hughes film that took inspiration from the single. The album that housed it, Talk Talk Talk, remains for many (including me) the summit of the band's achievements; an unholy, lurching, ramshackle glory, bedecked in Richard Butler's burnished vocals and unrelenting cynicism.

The Furs rose in tandem with punk – famously using a vacuum cleaner as additional instrumentation during a show at the Roxy after three Butlers [Richard, Tim and third brother Simon, who left the band early on] attended the Pistols' famed stand at the 100 Club Punk Festival. Their self-titled debut, particularly with regard to 'Sister Europe' and 'India', was fleetingly engrossing. But as Richard will concede of his favourite Furs album, its successor was a more cohesive, definitive statement; wherein the 'beautiful chaos' they had foisted on the London gig circuit in the late 70s was marshalled and distilled...

This time working solely with Steve Lillywhite, the Furs introduced an underground rock edge to their sound, with scorching results throughout. The group produced some powerful songs, even more rough-edged than before. Especially striking is "Dumb Waiters," with its queasy, slow-paced arrangement that allows both Kilburn's sax and Ashton's guitar to go wild. However, the six members still create some undeniable rock classics. "She Is Mine" is especially fine, gently swinging with some of Butler's best, quietly ruminative lyrics. Straight-up anthems abound throughout as well, the best being the amazing "Into You Like a Train," which mixes the blunt desire of the title with a sparkling Ashton guitar. While Joy Division lamented unrequited love the Psychedelic Furs reduced it to its base functions, threw the patient on the slab and performed a series of clinical autopsies.

Sister of Mine

Emerging from the incipient post-punk London scene with a healthy fascination for late-'70s Bowie, the then-sextet kicked up a slightly monochromatic but still attractive storm on their debut. Richard Butler's Thin-White-Duke-after-smoking vocal rasp has a surprising appeal, serving up a wry, slightly detached series of lyrics on life. The members of the core band, meanwhile, had clearly honed their chops well on-stage; Ashton's lead guitar work avoids both wankery and simplicity in favour of a balanced, artistic power.

The Furs' eponymous first offering sets the base for the future; it defines post-punk to the same extent as Joy Division, Gang of Four, Teardrop Explodes and Echo and the Bunnymen. It is raw and heavy, with driving original bass and drums. "India" is a good example; it has a brooding, quiet beginning with strange telegraphic signals and turns into a brawling rocker. The record comes off as serious without being self-consciously deep, occasional toe-dipping into humorous aside ("We Love You" has Butler idly listing off things he loves, sometimes with appropriate if sarcastically delivered song quotes: "I'm in love with Frank Sinatra...fly me to the moon..."). "Imitation of Christ" is the most frazzled, with lyrics detailing someone else metaphorically nailing himself up over a light but still strange guitar line. "Wedding Song" is amusingly prescient as one of the first "white rockers go hip-hop" numbers of its kind, along with Blondie's "Rapture," though its inspiration could equally be dub. Ely lays down a pounding funk beat while Butler breaks into a midsong rap no better or worse than most such efforts of the time.

The Psychedelic Furs never sounded so good.