2 posts tagged “factory records”

I must come to terms with the fact that a blog entry is not a book, so instead of a definitive history of skronk in the UK, here is a brief survey of it.  "Skronk" is a term attributed to Robert Christgau (by Lester Bangs) to refer to a certain kind of music being made in New York in the late 70s: bands bringing punk's do-it-yourself attitude (which does not necessarily mean "sloppy" but that was often the result) to new interpretations of jazz and funk, and of course rock.  The quintessential skronk album is the 1978 No New York collection compiled by Brian Eno for Antilles Records, featuring James Chance and the Contortions, Teenage Jesus and the Jerks (with Lydia Lunch), Mars, and D.N.A. (with Arto Lindsay).  "No Wave" is another term applied to roughly the same music (nice photo archive here). 

In England, Bristol band The Pop Group was an early proponent of the no wave melting pot, previously seen here.  Another early UK skronk band was Sheffield's Clock DVA, formed by Adi Newton after he quit The Human League (in their first incarnation as The Future) because of their emphasis on electronics.  (Ironic, then, that Newton would later transform Clock DVA into one of the purest electronic bands of the 80s and 90s.)  Clock DVA's first great album, 1981's Thirst, contains lots of saxophone wailing by Charlie Collins and scratchy guitar playing by Paul Widger, plus energetic if not quite nimble bass playing from the late, much-maligned Stephen "Judd" Turner.  It's more conventional than most US skronk, but there is a greater dynamic range (especially on the stately, measured "Impressions of an African Winter").  On occasion, though, they do work up quite a racket, as on "Piano Pain"--

(Great early album cover by design superstar Neville Brody.)  Newton decided to pursue a more accessible sound and fired the Thirst band, an unpopular move which nevertheless paid off, as the next Clock DVA album, Advantage, is one of the best of the decade.  Collins, Widger, and drummer Roger Quail stayed together as The Box (previously seen here) with new vocalist Peter Hope and bassist Terry Todd, producing an unsurpassed catalog of British skronk.

Meanwhile in Manchester, Biting Tongues were dishing out the skronk.  The band's origin is described on the Biting Tongues website:

Then came Tony Wilson's Factory Club (at the Russell Club in Hulme) offering an open invitation to experiment that was taken up when Ken Hollings, Howard Walmsley, Eddie Sherwood and a few others decided to make some noise to accompany their 16mm silent epic Biting Tongues. A further performance followed a few weeks later, when Colin Seddon and Graham Massey disbanded their Post Natals project and joined up. The film itself, a flashing series of negative images, became a memory; the name remained.

(Massey would later be a founding member of 808 State.)  Biting Tongues' first album, Don't Heal (also 1981), was the first record on the Beggars Banquet offshoot label Situation Two.  The vocals are mostly spoken recitations of found texts, often cut up in the grandest surrealist tradition.  Here is "You Can Choke Like That"--

More UK skronk on the way!

I don't read much sociology, but I couldn't resist picking up (from the library) the new essay collection Goth: Undead Subculture from Duke University Press, edited by Lauren Goodlad and Michael Bibby.  The two framing questions of the book are (1) What is Goth?, and (2) Why is it still a viable subculture after over twenty-five years, when the dominant model of subcultures (Dick Hebdige's) sees them being "diffused" and then "defused" within five years or so?  The answer to (1) is nebulous, but the answer to (2) seems to be that Goths do not see their subculture as a response to societal conditions, but rather an extension of a 200-year-old literary tradition and thus impervious to contemporary trends.

Bibby contributes an article entitled Atrocity Exhibitions: Joy Division, Factory Records, and Goth.  He credits Factory Records' producer, Martin Hannett, with being the architect not only of Joy Division's sound, but the sound of Gothic rock in general, in which the bass and drums supplant the traditional primacy of the guitar.  Bibby also provides a deep analysis of several of Joy Division's recordings; following is the paragraph about "Day of the Lords," but first, here's the song itself so you can listen to what he's writing about:

On Unknown Pleasures Hannett made liberal use of digital delay, intensified the drum sound, and overdubbed to help produce a sense of dread, melancholy, and tragedy.  On "Day of the Lords," for example, the guitar uses digital delay and octaver effect, which immediately reproduces the notes played, only an octave higher or lower, thus producing the effect of two guitars playing at once in different registers.  After a bass-dominated introduction, [Ian] Curtis sings:

This is the room, the start of it all
No portraits so fine, only sheets on the wall
I've seen the nights, filled with blood sports and pain
And the bodies obtained, the bodies obtained
Where will it end?
Where will it end?
Where will it end?
Where will it end?

Underscoring all this the guitar, along with a sustained synthesizer treble note, produces minor harmonies to the repeated fifth line, echoing Curtis's resigned singing.  The repetitiveness of the guitar line along with its doubleness through the octaver expresses both the monotony and inevitability of Curtis's question.  Unlike heavy metal guitar, the distortion effects on the guitar signify not power but impotence.  This is also supported by the relationship of bass to guitar in the opening theme, where the bass notes play a rising minor progression, while the guitar hits the same note throughout--in effect, the lower sound is heard rising, ascending to dominance in the mix, while the higher sound of the guitar, which in most rock music signifies power, goes nowhere.  This contrast underscores the lyrics' vision of a world in which death, despair, and the low rise up and dominate.

That's as good an explanation as I've heard as to why Joy Division's music is so disturbing, though I think the knowledge that the singer committed suicide also casts a pall over the music.  Michael Bibby has found a niche in which to exercise music fandom and music-tech geekery in an academic setting, and more power to him!  The whole essay is well worth reading.  Here's the book info: