Look, I’m going to be honest with you. I spent decades thinking Heaven 17 was Haircut 100, and vice versa. Not that I ever stooped to listening to either band, convinced as I was that they were insufferable new wave synthpop aesthetes, that “insufferable” of course being redundant. But I recently became interested in Heaven 17 after hearing John Darnielle of Mountain Goats include, in a list of impossibilities in his song “Cubs in Five,” the lines, “And Bill Gates will singlehandedly spearhead/The Heaven 17 revival.”
Cracked me up, it did, and inspired me to give the band a listen, and you know what? They’re every bit the synthfops I expected them to be. Glenn Gregory’s vocals have that intolerable early MTV “sound” written all over them, and Ian Craig Marsh and Martyn Ware (both previously of The Human League) lay down layered synthesizers and drum machines so cold they’re enough to make you think Kraftwerk has, uh, soul. I’m all for their leftist politics, but I’ve always been of the belief that music and politics make strange bedfellows, except of course in the case of the Minutemen, for whom I’ve made a special exemption.
Their “sound” brings back the electropop horror of the early eighties, and they sound dated, like, I don’t know, Thomas Dolby’s “She Blinded Me With Science.” Which is to say, whether their music is good or mediocre, I can’t imagine anyone but someone who has been in a coma since 1981 getting down to it. As for 1981, it was the year Heaven 17—who swiped their band name from A Clockwork Orange—released their debut LP, Penthouse and Pavement.
The album spawned a minor hit in “(We Don’t Need This) Fascist Groove Thang,” which hurtles along like a drum machine on crank, and puts down those twin assholes of the time, namely Margaret Thatcher and Ronald Reagan, which led to the song being banned by the BBC. I would call it soulless, but that’s being unfair, because behind the repetitive lyrics there’s a lot going on musically. Still, I feel compelled to say that if this was the best the anti-fascist crowd could come up with, it’s no wonder fascism had quite the following in England at the time. Meanwhile, the title track features a cool percolating rhythm track and the welcome backing vocals of Josie James, and while I can say I’ve heard much worse, this was exactly the kind of electronic synthtwaddle that led me, shit-faced drunk on the living room floor, to hurl empty beer cans at MTV on the television.
“Play to Win” is repetitious and the lyrics are vague, and I can’t hear it without a lingering sense that this song should be arrested. I don’t care what the charges are. Trump them up if necessary. “Soul Warfare” is much better; it opens like a Boz Scaggs tune, and its simplicity is winning. The lyrics are again vague—where’s D. Boon when you need him?—but the song has a martial feel that could, if you plug your fingers in your ears and make believe, lead you to believe that Heaven 17 is composed of actual human beings. “Geisha Boys and Temple Girls” opens with some crazy synthtwaddle before (finally!) dissolving into some whiplash synthtwaddle, followed by a song so dull I simply refuse to check the lyrics to find out what they’re going on about. I will acknowledge that the chorus has something going for it, but everything around it is so loathsome that it’s like a cute bunny surrounded by rattlesnakes. In short, you may find it adorable, it’s just not worth the danger of listening for the damned thing.
“Let’s All Make a Bomb” is one of the more promising titles I’ve heard recently, but the medium tempo, over which synths bubble and squeak bores. Still, in an album like this one, “Let’s All Make a Bomb” is a winner on the basis of sheer title alone. And to be honest, the melody does kind of grow on you. Not enough, unfortunately, but some. And I do like the grating instrumental section approaching the 3-minute mark. Oh, and I like the lines, “Let’s celebrate/And vaporize.” “The Height of the Fighting” is a pugnacious tune ruined (at least for me) by the ridiculous lines, “At the height of the fighting/Hey la hoo!” “Hey la hoo?” Really? Is this a song by Men at Work or Dexy’s Midnight Runners? Meanwhile somebody keeps barking, “Heat/War/Sweat, etc.”, and I can only say it sounds to me like there was a fop in that studio trying his hardest to be butch.
“Song With No Name” has a nice melody and is constantly interrupted by shards of noise, and I always like noise. But the song’s merits aren’t enough to temper the histrionics of Gregory, aka Mr. Portentous Deep Voice. This one is, like most of the songs on the album, the acme of pretention, and I can’t help it, I want to find a space capsule, go back in time, and somehow find a way to keep this tune from ever being recorded. Ah, but then there’s the likeable crash of “We’re Going to Live for a Very Long Time.” Sure, there’s an irksome, high-pitched synth line running through the tune, but at least this one has a bottom, even if they do fuck the song up at the end by repeating “For a very long time” about 200 more times than necessary.
And there you have it. Bill Gates will have to spearhead the Heaven 17 revival, because I’m sure as hell not going to do it. Indeed, I plan to carry a sign protesting said revival, should it ever come to pass. Everybody has their likes and dislikes, and that’s great, but I simply can’t believe there are human beings who enjoy Heaven 17. I don’t want to listen to them, I don’t want to dance to their songs, I just want them to teleport themselves to a universe far, far away, along with their fan base. Harsh? I know. But I’m a dick, and I call ‘em like I see ‘em, and Heaven 17 is my idea of Hell. Yes, Hell 17 is more like it. Listen at your mortal peril.
GRADED ON A CURVE:
D
