The Psychedelic Furs are committed, idealistic, ambitious, realistic, romantic, cynical, humble and humorous. Their music is at once scathing and entrancing. Not only captivating to hear, The Furs are fascinating to watch. From the pyrotechnics of Phil Calvert's wild drumming, to the facetiousness of John Ashton's viscous guitar, to mesmerizing drone of Tim Butler pulsating bass (he's been known to suddenly leap into the audience), to a simple-but-provocative light show The Furs enthrall with distinct, unique characters.
But it is lead singer Richard But who is the most riveting.
He is a master of collective fondling- seducing his audience with shattered-
but undespairing romantic visions. His voice oddly reminiscent of Piaf's- both
riles and entices. He moves with the lithe grace of a wild cat. But despite his
smirking cynicism and electric sensuality, he retains an undampered jubilant innocence.
Face-to-face he's charming, sweet and totally unpretentious. He smiles lot and
jokes gently. He speaks w quiet intensity. He nibbles fingernails.
At midnight, the band collects in their tour bus after the
gig. Beers passed ‘round, Richard answers a predictable question about the band
name. "The psychedelic thing was really some guff the P.R. people came up
with. I mean, alright, I do like the music-but I don't identify with it as
such.
"I suppose the real reason for being called The
Psychedelic Furs is that at the time there were all these bands with really
heavy names like The Sex Pistols and The Clash-and they were all putting down
'60s music, saying it was boring, and it wasn't creative, and it wasn't
anarchic. I disagree. I think punk rock is absolutely unanarchic. Anyone can
make up a three-chord song and shout.”
"I'm not really that keen on music in the U.K. One
thing's fashionable one minute-like Haircut 100 and the squeaky-clean pop
band-then it's going to be somebody else with a different haircut and different
jumpers. I'm not really into having audiences absolutely identify with a band- you
know, like wearing Haircut 100 jumpers. I hate people aping other people. That
was one of the bad things about punk rock, where everybody was wearing black
gear and leather jackets and saying 'we're anarchists. I mean, how opposite to
anarchy can you be? It was like a little army."
Because of their eschewing of trendiness, until recently The
Furs did not gain the same level of popularity in England as contemporaries
like The Jam or The Clash. Nor were they willing to pursue the tried-and-true self-promotion
of benefit concerts and political statement-making.
"I think benefits are a bit of a loud way of doing
things. It's really just allying yourself to a cause because you want to be
seen to support that cause. It's an image thing. I don't need 'credibility'
like that anybody who listens to the words I'm singing knows that I support
things with a sort of 'leftist' tendency. If you're really serious about a
cause, you can just do a gig and keep it quiet and give the money to the cause
anyway.”
"I want my audience to think about what's going on and
make their own minds up about things. I wouldn't say do this or that. It's
strange with bands like The Clash-they're preaching politics-but anyone who
buys those records is already of that persuasion, so they're preaching to the
converted. The only good thing about it is it gets on the radio, and maybe you'll
get some real rednecks listening to it- maybe it'll change them. But I doubt
it. People like Bob Dylan and Joan Baez didn't really change anything in the
early '60s...I don't see why The Clash are going to be any different."
But The Furs' primary concern is with making and enjoying
their music. Their latest album, Forever Now was produced by the bizarre
wizard of Utopia. Todd Rundgren. Initially, Richard had qualms about the
collaboration.
"I'd heard that Todd was very dictatorial in the way he
worked, but he's actually very receptive to our ideas. When he first heard our
demo tapes, he did some horn arrangements and he would mix a track and then get
us all up and say "hey, what do you think of that? And we'd say, this is
good," or I'd say 'well, I don't like all these bells in that part, and I
don't like this dubbing and stuff like that. And he'd go, "Ok, come back
in half an hour' and he'd have it redone. It was like that, so we did have
absolute control over the mixing."
The Furs' sound had definitely progressed from their first
bombastic years (they formed in 1977)-laughing in the face of punk-at sweaty
suburban dives in North London...and even through their first two albums. "We
did two albums with Steve Lillywhite (producer) before, and it was too much of
a wall of sound thing- not enough separation. I think the songs on Forever Now
are much more melodic so we needed somebody to get a lot of separate kinds of
sounds. Hence, the synthesizer and cello players."
Another precipitant of the band's radical sound change was
its recent restaffing after three of its original members left. "Our first
drummer (Vince Ely) left 'cause he wanted to produce another band. And there
was no bad feelings about it at all, 'cause he really didn't get on with us
very well- he was a different type of person.
"So we got hold of Phil, and he worked out far better
he fits in much better...personality-wise, if you like. He's interested in the
same kinds of things. And he's a better drummer." At this point, we are
interrupted by the whirlwind entry of diminutive guitarist. John Ashton,
shivering and panting from the unseasonable cold, but obviously elated.
John: Did you see all those people outside I was signing
autographs for?
Richard: Don't get starstruck now.
Phil: Don't let it go to your head. John: Hey! You know who
you're talking to, don't you?
Richard: You're not the J.A.?
Phil: Who's that?
With a silly sneer, John retreats to the back of the bus and
retrieves a beer from the cooler. The whole band is present now, and I decide
to take advantage of this by asking what they do with their rare moments of
spare time on tour.
Phil: Needlepoint.
John: Polite dining
Richard: Yes, polite dining. We're into polite dining..
Phil: You know, cozy restaurants. Things like that.
Richard: We teach each other how to fold napkins.
Phil: We went for a little nature ramble the other day.
John: Designing clothes-we're looking for boutiques and
outlets. (Points at Richard) He's also a hairdresser.
Phil: And we run a bar school- teaching people how to serve
drinks.
John: No, teaching people how to drink them. (Holds up his
beer bottle.) No, you've done that wrong now let me show you.
Phil: But polite dining is big.
Me: Is that a trend, or do you think it will last?
Richard: Oh, it's lasted.
Phil: Yeah, Polite Dining. What could be nicer?
Richard: Fashions come and go but polite dining's always in.
The spontaneity of this repartee is strangely reminiscent of
the evocative, cascading images of Richard's lyrics- perhaps because his
approach to writing is not that much different. "When somebody says
something I like, I'll write it down and stick it in my pocket. If something
good comes on a statement I like. I always write it down. Then I get all these
scraps and put them in an envelope eventually to get them out of my pockets.
And I have to sort through them and try to make them it together. I think of a
plot or something-a thread to hold it together.
"I don't have any conscious influences. I'm getting
into French singers--1 mean seriously-Charles Aznavour. Jacques Brel- people
like that. I can see myself in five years time making albums with a string
section, doing ballads. I'd love to do that sort of music, ballads with
relevant lyrics. It doesn't have to be love mush."
Surprisingly, this ambition doesn't seem at all
extraordinary. There is an ineffable, exotic timelessness about The Furs,
especially Richard, that can't be explained away by his predi- lection for 40s
suits or French jazz. The most striking thing about the band is that they are
an amalgam of paradoxes. More punk than the punks in their serious dedication
to true anarchy and anger youthful confusion of the 80s.
However pointedly undidactic, Richard is not beyond
imparting the occasional warning about his trade. "When you're in the
studio rehearsing for eight hours a day, the noise can get to you. You get this
barrage of noise for a lot of time-you come out feeling really spent and
depressed."
"I've heard that loud music like that can have a
horrible effect on young children," I observe.
"Yeah- like me." He grins sweetly.. and I ask,
"So, how's your hearing?"
"Eh?"