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Rating:
Play to win.
When Robert Fripp chose not to take the Crimson King machine on tour any longer, imposing a monastic isolation on himself that seemed as eternal as it was inevitable, he found refuge at home, after a long time. He rested his guitar on the armrest of the chair for a moment, letting his imagination run free. Sunk in that resting place, he began to piece together the puzzle. It was impossible to continue like this, he reflected, because the excesses and enormities of those gargantuan tours around the world, now that success finally smiled upon him, would risk killing him or at least sending him into depression. There was a need for "a small, mobile, and intelligent formation," as a refined alternative to the heaviness of rock ensembles: the great dinosaurs of rock, to which KC had inevitably affiliated themselves, with their cumbersome shows and dozens of collaborators, from musicians to the last groupie, would inevitably be overtaken by other, more free and agile artists, no longer chained by the show-biz. It was 1973. In some way, Bob had foreseen one of the causes for the advent of punk.
It was by fortunate chance that almost at the same time, his confidant Eno appeared at the door, just having left Roxy Music, with more or less the same ideas in mind. With him, he recorded the duo "(No Pussyfooting)" and "Evening Star" between 1973 and 1975, redefining once again the role of the guitar in rock.
Now, starting with Fripp to open a write-up on one of the synthpop champions (as that's what we're dealing with, isn't it?) may seem like a stretch. However, about a decade later, Fripp and Eno could be proud of their insights if it was true that the seeds they scattered had taken root as far as Sheffield. Martyn Ware and Ian Craig Marsh weren't exactly aligned with punk and definitely not with prog, and yet success hadn't come to them neither with the former nor with the electronic experiments of their creation, Human League. From this social entity, they were kindly booted out right after "Travelogue," and just before the interplanetary success of "Dare." Demoralized, disappointed, defeated, they were convinced by Bob Last, the same manager who had orchestrated their breakup, to start again from zero once more. The first step was to adopt the idea mentioned a few lines before: to establish a production company, dynamic and flexible, capable of dealing directly with record labels. No more subjected groups, paid a pittance and exploited to the core. They would call it the British Electric Foundation, BEF, and it would open doors worldwide. Besides Fripp, their other models were the Chic Organization and the empire of Parliament/Funkadelic by George Clinton, renowned in the scene for managing an infinity of contracts with the most diverse record labels. Conceptually, the BEF preached the same calligraphy already brought to light by the Eno/Fripp duo: to propose music that was "a soundtrack for your life," honoring the anti-rock rhetoric born from the desire to abdicate the revolutionary force of music. No more barricades, just entertainment. Almost what's happening to the Human League of Don’t You Want Me.
Apparently, it wasn't so easy for Ware and Marsh to completely shed those clothes, if it's true that they titled their first irresistible single (We Don't Need This) Fascist Groove Thang and the lyrics, arrangement, and atmosphere were anything but disengaged. The intro is the most misleading thing you'll hear from Heaven 17: percussionists coming from somewhere between Bali and a Pakistani suburb in London jamming with an African tribe of your choice. The coordinates appear seconds later: the earth-shattering funk rhythms of the masters are the backbone of all the pieces. White rhythms, mind you, but still incendiary – the bass lines are a real joy for anyone who loves funk, try and see. As if that wasn't enough, we add the most cutting-edge electronics of the era, with the drum machine Linn rhythms programmed by the non-drummer Ware. The frame is sparkling and the arrangements glisten with a futuristic flair that sounds surprising even today, let alone then. The cherry on top is the incredible, tightly controlled, and thoroughly European voice of the baritone Glenn Gregory, pulled up during the Berlin sessions of the Duke.
Bowie himself is another predominant influence for Heaven 17, as well as for the entire New Wave (maybe a day will come when this influence will be fully acknowledged, who knows...). Raise your hand if you don't hear the sax of "Heroes" right in the middle of Fascist Groove Thang, or haven't noticed the exact division between the lively first part and the more reflective second part, where the rhythms try to be less intricate and more reasoned, just as happened in the first two albums of the trilogy. Then again, the second part, being the less inspired and tied as it is to certain post-"Travelogue" experiments, only counts in the perspective of subsequent albums (and Heaven 17 would treasure this).
The album unfolds over a sort of concept, which was the very creed upon which the entire BEF was built, and also the same one found on the cover. The contemporary man can no longer pursue the same ideals of peace, love & innocence flaunted in the '60s (and ruinously shipwrecked in the '70s): from this perspective, Heaven 17 are punk in the fullest sense of the word. The career has become the focal point in every person's life, the same ambition instilled in you at university until you start a decent job, because only in this way can you have a stable existence and feel valued within a consumerist society, seasoned with fake smiles and handshakes like traps. Ware described it thus: "we wanted to dismantle the mythology of the musician as a wandering minstrel stripped of everything by the record label and paid only to get high. It was an operation of truth: Bob Dylan might think he's a rebel, but in reality, he's a multinational asset. Anyone signing with a major is part of a huge commercial machine. The idea was, 'Let's get rid of all that hypocrisy like 'We're artists, we don't care about money.' Let's tear off the mask and see what's underneath.'" Ultimately, the same path that the Gang of Four were also treading. The second side bites the brake and takes a breather, trying to reflect on itself rather than the world around. In this whirlwind of emotions and impulses, Marsh, Ware, and Gregory also find the inspiration to envision the '90s, when cable TV broadcasts porn flicks with Japanese girls exciting the tired insomniac thirty-somethings from stress (Geisha Boys and Temple Girls), or foresee massacre as the only way out of repetitive work cycle apathy (Let's All Make a Bomb). Here, the keyboards dominate, with the guitar taking a backseat: it seems that the danceable and frenetic rhythms of the first side, those of the "penthouse," must inevitably be replaced by the nightly sensations of the multiple stimuli of synthesized late night music. No more movement, just contemplation on the pavement. In all this stands out The Height of the Fighting, undoubtedly the peak of side B.
Everything seems decided, but at the end Heaven 17 backtrack, declaring peremptorily that "we will live very long," at least as long as there is a dance floor. I still haven't figured out if it was a hope, lack of courage, or a threat.
Tracklist Lyrics and Videos
01 (We Don't Need This) Fascist Groove Thang (04:15)
(Everybody move to prove the groove)
Have you heard it on the news
About this fascist groove thang
Evil men with racist views
Spreading all across the land
Don't just sit there on your ass
Unlock that funky chaindance
Brothers, sisters shoot your best
We don't need this fascist groove thang
Brothers, sisters, we don't need this fascist groove thang
History will repeat itself
Crisis point we're near the hour
Counterforce will do no good
Hot you ass I feel your power
Hitler proves that funky stuff
Is not for you and me girl
Europe's an unhappy land
They've had their fascist groove thang
Brothers, sisters, we don't need this fascist groove thang
Democrats are out of power
Across that great wide ocean
Reagan's president elect
Fascist god in motion
Generals tell him what to do
Stop your good time dancing
Train their guns on me and you
Fascist thang advancing
Brothers, sisters, we don't need this fascist groove thang
Sisters, brothers lend a hand
Increase our population
Grab that groove thang by the throat
And throw it in the ocean
You're real tonight you move my soul
Let's cruise out of the dance war
Come out your house and dance your dance
Shake that fascist groove thang
(Shake it!)
02 Penthouse and Pavement (06:20)
Sweat my youth away
With the rules we have to play
Speeding through your magazine
Pistol, pavement, no T.V.
Talk and talk
No time, night time
Burnt inside
Here comes the daylight, here comes my job
Uptown in the penthouse or downtown with the mob
Here comes the night time, here comes my role
Goodbye to the pavement, hello to my soul
Now here comes my job
Credit, bleeding with the mob
Dreams become ideals
No one knows the way I feel
Love to love
Daytime, right time
All my life
Here comes the daylight, here comes my job
Uptown in the penthouse or downtown with the mob
Here comes the night time, here comes my role
Goodbye to the pavement, hello to my soul
Feel safe in the crowd
An no one admits they're crying aloud
My career fits like a glove
Knowing no orders can come from above
Work and work
Full time, part time
Anytime at all
As you face the wall
God make it this time or never at all
Before your chance has gone
Captain this lead role and you'll be the one
Shine and shine
This time, my time
Make me free at last
03 Play to Win (03:33)
City clubland, theatre, dockland
Empty house, no audience
Smiles of fortune, no man master
Play to win and break the bank
Play to win
Turn professional, know your job
Be up to every trick
Make a breakthrough, strain your eyes
Have no secrets, hear no lies
Play to win
Have no secrets, hear no lies
One needs a great deal more than this
Make-up master plan
Tension mars the prettiest face
Sex in fairyland
Play to win
How can you improve your life,
Obtain the unobtainable?
Boost your health, a giant refreshed
Treat rough, get tough, 10-10!
Play to win
Did you take a backseat
When your kids were small?
Suit the movement to the word
Reverse and check the action
Play to win
Suit the action to the word
Make every minute count
Match in cunning, see the cars
Step on the heels of chance
Play to win
Have no secrets, hear no lies
04 Soul Warfare (05:00)
If I was someone else
Would you still say what you're saying?
If I were someone else
Would you conscience be straying?
Soul warfare
It's all that I can do
To put my faith in you
It's all that I can give
To be a fugitive
It's all that there can be
Not wanting to be free
It's all that I can take
These fifteen days awake
It's more than I can hide
My needs can't be denied
A million miles or more
Can't keep me from your door
There is no place to run
Until the fighting's done
More bloodshed every day
The soul war's here to stay
If I want something more
It could be you who'll be paying
As this is my soul war
These are the rules we'll be playing
It's not for you to say
Which district I'll be destroying
You could never know
The tactics I'll be employing
You could be part of me
Forget the wealth you're forsaking
Your strategy is clear
My soul is there for the taking
It's all that I can do
To put my faith in you
It's all that I can give
To be a fugitive
It's all that there can be
Not wanting to be free
It's all that I can take
These fifteen days awake
It's more than I can hide
My needs can't be denied
A million miles or more
Can't keep me from your door
There is no place to run
Until the fighting's done
More bloodshed every day
The soul war's here to stay
07 The Height of the Fighting (02:58)
Heat War (They sent you to do it, do it)
Sweat Law (If you can't move it, prove it)
At The Height Of The Fighting
He-la-hu
At The Height Of The Fighting
He-la-hu
Heat War (If you don't like it, fight it)
Sweat Law (If you can't take it, fake it)
Heat War (They sent you to do it, do it)
Sweat Law (If you can't move it, prove it)
At The Height Of The Fighting
He-la-hu
At The Height Of The Fighting
He-la-hu
08 Song With No Name (03:34)
Can't sleep, trying hard to find a rhyme
Can't work, I am tired all the time
Can't eat, since my appetite has gone
Can't think, when it started to go wrong
Can't move, I've no energy at all
Can't see, any end to this in sight
Last week, I could do all of those things
But now, I am just the man who sings
I've searched around for years and years
I've drank in bars, destroyed careers
Sold on a need to be famous
I've seen the good in men survive
Only to fail when I arrive
Convincing them I am blameless
I was the man with future sight
I would change fortunes overnight
Knowing for me it was painless
Can't sleep, trying hard to find a rhyme
Can't work, I am tired all the time
Can't eat, since my appetite has gone
Can't think, when it started to go wrong
Can't move, I've no energy at all
Can't see, any end to this in sight
Last week, I could do all of those things
But now, I am just the man who sings
One day in April 10.15
Awakened screaming by a dream
Something that touched me was burning
A diamond pin fell from my eye
Then something strange began to cry
"Your will can stop this world turning"
Since then I've fought more than I should
Against the will that I withstood
Hoping I could be its master
But now the dream is all I see
There is no hope of breaking free
One song away from disaster
Can't sleep, trying hard to find a rhyme
Can't work, I am tired all the time
Can't eat, since my appetite has gone
Can't think, when it started to go wrong
Can't move, I've no energy at all
Can't see, any end to this in sight
Last week, I could do all of those things
But now, I am just the man who sings
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