Modern English
Mesh And Lace

The Modern English are a truly unique case in the history of British dark-punk. Emerging as "The Lepers" in 1977, they played a fast-paced punk, emulating the Sex Pistols and the Ramones. After moving to London, they changed their name and sound but were still forced to live in poverty due to the indifference of record labels. Just as they seemed to be on the verge of breaking up, they received a call from Ivo Watts-Russell, the visionary owner of 4AD. The band found someone who believed in them and was able to jump into the dark-punk scene.
Their sound had become much more thoughtful compared to the early days. The intensity was that of punk, but the disorienting arrangements, atmospheric use of keyboards, and impersonal singing brought them closer to a certain cerebral post-punk (Wire, early Ultravox) tinged with a dark and obsessive taste for shocking atmospheres. In short, a successful mix that led to their debut LP after a series of singles.

Mesh And Lace, although less famous than some of its more illustrious contemporaries, represents one of the most unsettling works of the genre, constantly traversed by a thin thread of nervous tension on the brink of collapse.
For example, listen to one of the album's manifesto tracks: "Swans On Glass". A neurotic drum duets with a mocking synth, Robbie Grey's voice interjects, absolutely devoid of emotion, as the rhythm rises and paves the way for Gary McDowell's alienated guitar. The singing almost doesn't exist, replaced by a Brechtian recitation that is absolutely impassive. At one point, the atmosphere transforms into a Freudian nightmare, with jingles and bells coming from everywhere, creating a truly stunning effect. A gem.
"Gathering Dust" is another nerve-racking journey into Grey's sick psyche, more subdued but equally hypnotic, with a circular bass line and a flanger-laden guitar. Occasionally, shots from alien ships emanate from a malevolent synth. A dark and oppressive aura, offspring of the metropolitan delusions of the great masters Wire, hovers over everything. "16 Days" offers no respite with its initial buzz that seems to come from some unfathomable depth... a motor-like bass rumble introduces the hammering ballet of the drum, this time of clear dark-punk lineage. We are indeed in the territory of Joy Division and Bauhaus, undermined by a greater use of electronic effects.
The serene song of birds opening "Tranquillity" is a mocking prelude to the crystalline strums of acoustic guitar, which burst in funereally accompanied by a background choir for the mentally ill. Isolation is now definitive; we are in the most distressing spaces of the human psyche, a crescendo of madness that knows no bounds, a morbid delirium of solitude. The grey of Wire returns in the oval bass figure characterizing "Move In Light," and in the fearful progression of "Grief," between guitar gusts of imminent tragedy and gummy bass lines. Not to mention the anemic cymbals keeping time to Grey's prayers in "The Token Men," a piece that starts quietly and then explodes into a tornado of tribal ceremonies on the saddest notes of glittering guitar.

Their song structures retain an unpredictability that makes them unique, along with a skillful use of various stylistic elements, mixed together in a way no one had done before in the dark-punk realm.
Having said this, one can only tip their hat to a group that later unfortunately turned their interests towards bland radio-friendly synth-pop, but who managed to deliver an indispensable masterpiece to history, obscured by so much smoke and mirrors from those interested in selling rather than being. Rediscovering it after years is a necessary act.