"Force the Hand of Chance", released in 1982, is the debut work of the formidable Psychic TV, the band led by Genesis P-Orridge, bassist/singer of the seminal pioneers of industrial music Throbbing Gristle.
Having closed the exhilarating TG experience, the first tome of the Psychic TV saga (founded back in 1979) can count on the fundamental contribution of former TG member Peter Christopherson (who in the meantime had started the equally formidable Coil) and Alex Ferguson (also involved in the newborn Coil project and previously a member of the lesser-known Alternative TV).
The connection with TG and Coil understandably emerges in more than one instance, in the unhealthy atmospheres that pervade the album as in certain solutions that are still tributary to the gloomy industrial tradition, but it is evident that P-Orridge's overwhelming personality appears already largely out of control and well beyond the same industrial culture that he himself had helped to forge.
The desire to break away from certain schemes now destined to lose their original meaning is evident from the opener "Just Drifting", a sweet folk ballad complete with syrupy violins and sly singing: nothing less than a lullaby that the singer lovingly dedicates to his newborn daughter.
Without completely abandoning the techniques of sampling and sound collages, P-Orridge thus gives full vent to his impulses, returning to a more traditional conception of making music, in a sense, to a more rock-oriented approach.
The result is this "Force to Hand of Chance", a concentration of madness that deftly draws from the rock and psychedelia of the sixties and seventies (especially Syd Barrett and Velvet Underground), as well as from pop, dark, dance, and singer-songwriter folk (and this in years when such a paradigm had not yet been embraced by other British dark-industrial glories like Death in June and Current 93).
As a corollary: a strong stage impact, generated by the exacerbation of the multimedia component inherited directly from the TG experience (the shows of Psychic TV, accompanied by projections containing all sorts of obscenities, will be remembered among the most shocking experiences that music history has delivered to us - a choice that led P-Orridge himself to have serious legal problems).
A kaleidoscope of gloomy colors, this "Force the Hand of Chance", where strange ballads and authentic industrial nightmares find their glue in P-Orridge's visionary fury, in his acidic and ungraceful voice, in his excesses, his intemperances, as well as in the philosophical dictates that underlie the project itself: the "Psychic Youth" movement is born, a sort of para-religion of which Psychic TV becomes spokespersons and disseminators.
The scent of this mission can be found in the long atmospheric tracks, ideal settings for P-Orridge's prophetic voice: the Temple of "Psychick Youth" is a metaphysical place halfway between the visionary delirium of an addict and the prophecies of a guru.
At this point, it is useless to cite one piece rather than another: between the sacred and the profane, every episode shines with its own light. However, worth mentioning is the participation of Marc Almond (ex-Soft Cell) in "Guiltless" and in "Stolen Kisses"; and the contributions of Kennie Wellington and Claude Deppa in the classic "Ov Power", an ante-litteram techno-rave assault, still soaked with the funky regurgitations typical of late seventies dance.
From a conceptual and musical point of view, the album certainly represents a step back compared to the past, and this, moreover, is understandable if one thinks of P-Orridge as the anarchic and impulsive soul of TG. An aspect which necessarily results in a much more immediate and less reflective approach to music.
Yet, with all its smudges, its imperfections, and its defects, "Force the Hand of Chance" is the most inspired, sincere and representative work released under the name Psychic TV: if indeed the artistic stature of a character like P-Orridge and the potential for disruption of his music remain absolutely beyond question, it must be remembered, alas, that the quality of the vast discographic output of his Psychic TV has not always settled at excellent levels over the years.
Just think of the crazy plan to release a live album every 23rd of the month for 23 months: a plan conceived to counter the commercial logics and publication rhythms imposed by the record market, which over the years would end up undermining the credibility of a character who contributed, for better or worse, to revolutionizing the history of music.
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