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"You survived the Songs of Faith and Devotion Tour!"
With this plaque ironically handed out by Daryl Bamonte (Fletcher's substitute at the end of the tour) to the rest of the band, the most gruelling period in Depeche Mode's history comes to a close.
It's 1993 and three years have passed since the worldwide success of "Violator."
A new album needs to be made, there is an obsession with matching the dizzying sales of the previous one, and there's a certain air of latent crisis. Depeche Mode lock themselves in a facility in Madrid transformed into a recording studio. Alan, Andy, Martin, and Dave, all of them. They would make music and live together as they hadn't done in a long time. They didn't call each other and rarely met, with some being here and others there. They faced a very painful experience that would leave a permanent mark on their career. In a positive way, but above all, in a negative way. It was indeed a painful birth, that of "Songs of Faith and Devotion," but also labor from which a beautiful creature would be born.
The situation at the beginning is not at all the best. When Daniel Miller, the boss of Mute, arrives for an inspection, he finds a state of complete desolation. Dave, already a heroin addict, is shut in his room painting candles; Martin Gore and Andy Fletcher are reading the newspaper; Alan Wilder is somewhere playing the drums; and the sound engineer is peacefully asleep with his feet on the counter. One way or another, however, they push on.
What to say... how many adjectives can be given to an album like this? Spiritual, melancholic, dark and bright, each one is insufficient to describe its intensity. There is no doubt, however, that it is a work born in the context of great difficulties. And this is reflected more than ever in its musical construction.
Depeche Mode get a lot dirtier than usual. And if there was already a taste of this in "Violator" with the lethal "Personal Jesus," now it gets even more serious. This is clear right from the start with "I Feel You," which already forcefully breaks the ice with its terrific riff. Dave is not well, but when he raises his voice, he enchants everyone, companions included. Rare pieces indeed preserve such great passion as "Condemnation." The singing becomes almost a lament, against prejudice and falsehood, a lament that seems to cry for help. Much of the album can indeed almost be interpreted as a kind of prayer. For God, for a woman, or for oneself, interpret this depending on your feelings and emotions.
What is certain is that the sound changes radically. Alongside the unexpected yet magnificent gospel of "Get Right with Me," "Judas," and indeed "Condemnation," more rock melodies are introduced. Synthesizers decline, and real drums make their entrance, as in "In Your Room" or the obsessive "Rush." What about the series of strings in the sweet "One Caress" sung by Gore? Nothing like it had been seen until then.
The album unexpectedly soars in the charts and to this day remains one of the group's best sellers. Then begins the Devotional Tour, a show as big and imposing as it is exhausting for anyone involved. Nerves are tense, Andy is replaced in the last part, and it is still unclear how Gahan managed to survive it all until the end.
The Devotional is over, everything is over, or almost. Gahan's problems are just beginning, and a few years later, we'll find him in a coma on a clinic bed after a suicide attempt. He will miraculously be saved. In 1995, however, Wilder leaves the band, no longer feeling up to continuing.
What does "Songs of Faith and Devotion" represent, then? Certainly a big departure, both from the band's previous and subsequent productions. But in particular, a sort of gateway from which there could never be a return.
The story of Depeche Mode will continue nonetheless, and it will keep shining.
See you soon from your Alevox!
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