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It is said that Manchester is one of the ugliest cities in Europe. Is that true? For now, I only know that it is a typical industrial center, developed during the First Revolution, for more than a century and a half shrouded in the dense smoke billowing from the chimneys of its numerous factories… I imagine it as a sad, monotonous city, without much appeal, with a perpetually cloudy sky… A gray city. At least this is the picture that emerges from listening to “Live At The Witch Trials” by the Fall, who spent their existence in that grayness, in the late '70s, when Rock had become aware of the evils of modern civilization and translated them into music.
Thus, the New Wave was born, of which the Fall can qualify as distinguished representatives. Actually, I believe that their compositional and performing technique can serve as an example to define the New Wave. Or at least one of the many paths this Renaissance of Rock took.
In particular, the Fall stayed away from the typically “British” manifestations of this current (the depressed Dark-Punk of Joy Division and the romantic Synth-Pop of Ultravox), but also from the experimental excesses to which their fellow countrymen were dedicating themselves on the electronic front (Wire), Dub (P.I.L.), and Funk (Pop Group). The Fall looked overseas, focusing in particular on the state of Ohio, where the immense Pere Ubu resided: David Thomas' band thus remains the main and most immediate reference for the Fall's music. Like Ubu, the Fall made songs; like Ubu, the Fall disfigured these songs, with the force of syncopation, dissonance, eccentric harmonies, irregular counterpoints; like Ubu, the Fall transfigured the boredom of the daily routine into a “modern dance,” as neurotic as it is grotesque, where the diagnosis of existential malaise simultaneously provided an antidote to survive it. Compared to Pere Ubu, however, the Fall banned all expressionist deformation and surrealist digression, sticking to a fatalistic and disillusioned realism, totally devoid of escape routes, possibilities of catharsis, hopes for change. The Fall's tracks are the same from beginning to end: as they begin, they continue and end. They could go on indefinitely: they are the image of a state of affairs impossible to change. There is no trace of redemption, of revenge, of pride; only a handful of notes apathetically churned; the occasional rhythmic bursts and sporadic vocal outbursts seem deprived of their liberating power, executed more by convention than conviction, cynically absorbed by the indistinct and inexorable repetition of the sound cycle. Yet, there are no two loops played the same way: with each repetition, there is at least one instrument that falls out of sync, only to quickly fall back in line. But all these flaws do not alter the backbone of the tracks, which remains always the same. These “variations on a theme” function more or less as a diversion, to mask monotony, or to ward it off, as when trying to fool time with idiotic games, doodles, musings that lead nowhere.
The opening track “Frightened” immediately clarifies the band's aesthetic: a dragging rhythm (Karl Burns on drums and Marc Riley on bass); a scratched guitar (Martin Bramah); a minimal synth (Yvonne Pawlett); a disgusted voice (the moody Marc Smith)… and so on for 5 minutes. The influence of Velvet Underground is heavy. The rest of the album does not deviate from this model of "varied repetitiveness,” sometimes quickening the pace, sometimes staggering it (the convulsive Jazz-Punk of “Crap Rap/Like To Blow” and “No Xmas For John Quays”, two of their most irresistible numbers), sometimes stretching it (the Doors-like abyss of “Music Scene”). In the most convoluted episodes, one feels the interference of Captain Beefheart's irregular constructs.
The strength of the Fall, however, lies in their ability to dissect every mood relating to their condition: the range of moods goes from the despair of “Rebellious Jukebox,” to the indolence (occasionally upset by fleeting jolts) of “Mother-Sister,” to the suspension of “Industrial Estate.”The guitar timbre skillfully shifts from piercing to ramshackle, sometimes reaching peaks of hysteria worthy of a Sterling Morrison; Marc Smith's voice, in turn, navigates a wide range of registers: nasal, detached, declaimed, shabby, monotonous, but almost never tragic, because in the Fall there is no tragedy, only a necessary acknowledgment of the tedium… There is also room for revisiting classical genres, with the biting Rockabilly of “Underground Medicin”, the jaunty Garage-Rock of “Future Pasts” and “Psycho Mafia,” the crooked Kinks-like sketch of “Bingo Master.” If the nauseating chant of the final “Repetition” synthesizes, from the title, the philosophy of the band, the highlight of the work is perhaps “Two Steps Back,” a pale ode to the monotony of every day, to be absorbed on dull, winter, empty days, perhaps with a slight fever, letting oneself be hypnotized by the debilitating synthesized melody and the lazy voice of an increasingly bored Smith.
With the Fall, as simple in composition as they are sophisticated in execution, both popular and intellectual at the same time, the New Wave transforms into a background for lives that drag on wearily, with no upheavals, no turning points, no changes of direction other than mere illusions.
Tracklist Lyrics and Samples
01 Frightened (05:03)
Someone's always on my tracks
In a dark room you see more than you think
I'm out of my place, got to get back
I sweated a lot, you could feel the violence
I've got shears pointed straight at my chest
And time moves slow when you count it
I'm better than them, and I think I'm the best
But I'll appear at midnight when the films close
Cause I'm in a trance
and I sweat
I don't want to dance
I want to go home.
I couldn't live in those peephole places
They might get to know my actions
I'd run away from toilets and faeces
I'd run away to a non-date on the street
Cause I'm in a trance
and I sweat
I don't want to dance
I want to go home.
I feel trapped by mutual affection
And I don't know how to use freedom
I spend hours looking sideways
to the time when I was sixteen
Cause I'm in a trance.
I'm frightened.
Amphetamine frightened
I go to the top of the street
I go to the bottom of the street
I look to the sky, my lips are dry....
03 Rebellious Jukebox (02:58)
I'm searching for the now
I'm looking for the real thing, yeah
Head through a blue haze
Waiting for the musical craze
We gotta taxi for Mr. Nelson
Taxi for Mr. Nelson
Rebellious Jukebox yeah
Rebellious Jukebox, oh
No sounds at first came out
This machine had dropped out
But it made music to itself
Made music for itself
Rebellious Jukebox yeah
Rebellious Jukebox now
I'm looking for the home of the real
I want a happy time now
Drinkers from the slaughterhouse
Weren't happy and went out
Noise resounds aloud
Noise resounds the lounge
Rebellious Jukebox yeah
Rebellious Jukebox oh
I sidled up to a fruit machine
This I was imagining:
Some drinkers dancing at the bar
Drinkers dancing for the bar
Rebellious Jukebox yeah
Rebellious Jukebox now
I'm searching for the now
I'm looking for the real thing yeah
04 No Xmas for John Quays (04:38)
No Christmas for John Quays
Come on get a bit of fucking guts into it
What what
Well the powders reach you
And the powders teach you
But when you find they can't reach you
There is no Christmas for junky
He thinks he is
More interesting
Than the world
Ah but buying fags
Puts him in a whirl
I'll have a packet of three-five fives
Will you fucking put the monitors on for Christ's sake?
I'll have a packet of three-five fives
I'll have 20 of those over there
I'll have 20 No.6 for a headache
And I've had enough right there, stop
(Why is this)
Ah Ah Ah Ah Ah
He spits in the sky
It falls in his eye
And then he gets to sitting
Talking to his kitten
Talking about Frankie Lymon
Tell me why is it so?
Tell me why is it so?
Why did the sky break today?
Why did this happen today?
He goes out of his face with the Idle Race
He goes out of the room with this tune
Although the skins are thin
He knows its up to him
To go out or stay in
I'll stay in
I'll stay in
Have a break
You
Me
X-Mas
X-Mas
Well the powders reach you
And the powders teach you
But when you find they can't reach you
There is no Christmas for junky
There is no girls
There is no curls
Just the traffic passing by
Bye bye bye bye bye bye bye bye
Open the room, there's a cloud of smoke
Will you fucking get it together instead of showing off?
Give me one
Give me B
Give me three
Give me D
No X-mas for John Quays
05 Mother-Sister! (03:22)
Er, what's this song about?
Er, nothing.
None
No recipes
It was like a see-saw
No
It was like an up and down
Bye bye
Mother, Sister
Mother, Sister
Why did you put your head in?
Reach or preach
It's all a diminished return
Now
Floorboard
Creaks
Mother, Sister
Mother, Sister
Why did you push your head in?
Astray
Our Friends
And the fathers are underground
Your mouth is sold out
Mother, Sister
Mother, Sister
Why did you put your head in?
The pylon
06 Industrial Estate (02:01)
Get off the Ind. Est.
Get off the Ind. Est.
Yeah, Yeah, Industrial Estate
Yeah, Yeah, Industrial Estate
Yeah, Yeah, Industrial Estate
Well you started here to earn your pay
Clean neck and ears on your first day
Well we tap one another as you walk in the gate
And we'd build a canteen but we haven't got much space
Yeah, Yeah, Industrial Estate
And the crap in the air will fuck up your face
Yeah, Yeah, Industrial Estate
Boss can bloody take most of your wage
And if you get a bit of depression
Ask the doctor for some valium
Yeah, Yeah, Industrial Estate
Yeah, Yeah, Industrial Estate
Yeah, Yeah, Industrial Estate
07 Underground Medecin (02:09)
(Your nervous system, your nervous system)
(Underground medicine, underground medicine)
A spark inside
[Traverse up my hide]
And when it clicks
There's no resist
Every time I hear a new baby cry
I thank my spark inside
And you get underground medicine
Underground medicine
I'm but a nervous system
Underground medicine
I found a reason not to die
A reason for the ride
The spark inside
When it hits the mind you get
Underground medicine
Underground medicine
I'm but a nervous system
Underground medicine
I had a psychosomatic voice
And one time it might come back
Underground medicine
Underground medicine
I'm but a nervous system
Underground medicine
On my pants I spilled expectorant
And the colonel shot better with 30 pints
They took his cup away
Take it away, take it away
[Used to 'ground] medicine
[Used to 'ground] medicine
[Used to 'ground] medicine
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