The Chameleons
Script Of The Bridge

THE REVIEW

The mixture of influences that often characterizes a band is never completely identifiable. First of all, because a band that is "influenced," unless it is merely imitating, seeks to reinterpret the sound through the spirit of "its time." Secondly, because it is not easy to navigate the historical landscape of rock, as it is often a vast graveyard of unexpressed potential and misunderstood attempts. Especially the new-wave, which contains so many variables and nuances, makes the work of "recognition" even more difficult.
Today, in the midst of the '80s revival, both in the realm of the deleterious and insubstantial electro-wave and in the more serious recovery of rock stylistic features, it's fascinating to rediscover bands that have marked a sound and an attitude, contrary to the sometimes nonexistent recognition in history books.

Among these, the Chameleons must certainly be mentioned. Hailing from the gray Manchester, they infused their debut work with the desolate atmosphere of their city, forging a dark sound, filled with desperate melodrama but, above all, an epic "mood" which, speaking of influences, contributed significantly to inspiring the masterpiece "Turn On The Bright Lights" by Interpol. The latter also borrowed from the Chameleons a sense of rhythm, that breathless drumming and those gasping bass drum hits, as well as the sharp and minimal guitar figures, which play a leading role in their sound.

Undoubtedly, you can hear the "dated" imprint of "Script Of The Bridge." The production, in particular, is influenced by the echo that was so fashionable in the English dark-wave of that time. It is undeniable that spiritually the Chameleons belonged to that movement, at least on this album. A track like "View From A Hill" cannot help but bring to mind, for example, the desolate visions of the more laid-back Cure, with those liquid guitars and that singing wrapped in spirals of melancholy.
But the solemnity of compositions like "Thursday Child," with that galloping rhythm over precious minimal sparks of guitar, or the opening "Don't Fall," with that martial pace enveloped by incendiary patterns of minor notes signaled the quintessence of their "anthemic" style, so resembling some of the things that their neighbors U2 would do in the future, who were certainly much more fortunate.
In between, there are the stentorian pace of "Here Today," the restrained strength of "Monkeyland," very close to the pseudo-psychedelia of Love And Rockets, "Pleasure And Pain," which seems like a "human" version of "Doctor Avalanche" by Sisters Of Mercy, and the glimmer of light in "Thursday Child," a ballad disguised as a peremptory rhythm.
Above all, an uncommon quality of arrangements, a sense of melody, and elegance.

So, ultimately, if you have not yet had the fortune to encounter this album, do so without hesitation, because not many have been able to combine all these qualities so convincingly. The fact remains that, as often happens, the band did not receive the recognition it deserved. But this matters little in light of the enjoyment of their music.