A Curdled Punk Snarl Finds Unlikely Happiness in Pop Melody
Richard Butler, Psychedelic Furs: "It's very difficult to get a positive attitude. It's the easiest thing in the world to criticize. But to actually 'fess up to something requires a lot of conviction." Stop the tape. Is this the same Richard Butler who flung the word "stupid" around so much on the Psychedelic Furs' first album that the adjective took a two week leave of absence at the Merriam-Webster Rest Home for Overused Epithets?
Well, yes. But that was 1980; welcome to 1984. Anyone who's followed the band's progress has noticed the Furs' relentless maturation from curdled punk inheritors to increasingly sophisticated popsmiths. Mirror Moves, their fourth album, builds on the momentum of "Love My Way" (from the preceding Forever Now LP) to offer the best chance yet of the British group denting U.S. mass consciousness. And frontman Butler talks like a born-again Hit Parader.
"When we were starting out, it was tempting to think that pop music was gonna go out the window," the thirty-year-old singer drawls. "There was a sense of crusade against trite, meaningless songs. But I think we've been proved wrong."
Not that the Furs have become trite or meaningless. On Mirror Moves lyricist Butler probes feelings and relationships with blurred imagery greater than the sum of its parts. The music is more danceable than the extremist tempos of yore, yet retains a gritty integrity, as does Butler's nicotine stained voice, still astringent but grappling bravely with melody ("I'm tired of shouting").
They've come a long way, baby, since the taunts of "We Love You" and "Imitation of Christ." They've come an even longer way since 1977, when Surreyite Butler and bass playing brother Tim founded the Psychedelic Furs with some schoolmates. They chose their name to grate against the new-wave sensibilities of the time, and nothing more. The band was "almost a hobby" until signing to UK. CBS (Columbia Records here) in 1980. By then they were a sextet, with two guitarists and a saxophone.
"We started as a democratic band," Richard Butler says, "which immediately hung people around our necks. If you have a sax player who for some reason wants to play on everything, and you've told him he's an equal member of the band, you'll have sax on every song." Today's Furs consist only of the Butlers and guitarist John Ashton, with hired hands added as needed.
The Furs have gone through almost as many producers as band members. The roster includes Todd Rundgren, Steve Lillywhite and Martin Hannett. Mirror Moves' Oscar-winning Keith Forsey played drums as well as produced, and draws high praise from both Butler and Ashton. "I don't think we've worked with a producer who puts so much effort into it," Butler says. "With Steve Lillywhite it was always like going into the studio and playing virtually live." Ashton even states the record “is as much Keith Forsey as it is the Psychedelic Furs. He's very good at arranging rhythms, writing drum patterns with a LinnDrum and recording those." (Drummer Paul Garisto replaced Forsey for the Furs' current tour. Filling out the band are guitarist Mike Mooney, keyboard player Ed Buller and saxophonist Mars Williams.) LinnDrums. "Positive attitudes." Keyboards! Are the Furs...mellowing out?
"Yeah!" Butler chimes in. "We were a very young band when we made our first two albums. I am feeling more optimistic. but it's not as present in my writing as I feel that it will be."
The band's songwriting itself reflects newfound professionalism. "It used to be much more haphazard," Butler says, "with a lot of effort wasted. Me and John, or Tim and I, would get together and bang through a load of riffs. If we didn't like one we'd bang through another one. We didn't sit down and say, 'Start on this chord, then add a chord to it.' We didn't piece things together as we do now."
That could explain why early Furs songs tended to be one or two-chord drones. By contrast, "The Ghost In You" , a single from Mirror Moves, is so disarmingly tuneful, with its "love love love" refrain, that the casual listener could miss its wistful undercurrent. The music may be more inviting, but Butler's lyrics remain roiled in inner turmoil. If he sounds defanged, it's because the rebellion has turned to disinterest.
"Music should make people think about themselves, reevaluate themselves," Butler says. "Early and mid-period Bob Dylan did that to me. As I learn about what's going on in the world, I hope to communicate that to other people. I'm owning up to feelings. I'm not distancing myself by using the third person, and I'm not being so sarcastic. I hope to be more positive and find more answers. As I find them, I'll let you know." We'll be listening.
