The shockwaves of the ’77 punk explosion were so widespread and commercially underwhelming that it’s no great surprise a bevy of exceptional names ended up slipping through the cracks. One such band was Métal Urbain, Paris France’s influential and still potent kings of drum-box punk.
Before orthodoxy inevitably set in, the punk scene was far less rigid regarding what constituted the form. It was in this period that groups like Devo, Pere Ubu, Suicide, and The Fall were generally considered to be bands hanging out on the less rudimentary end of the punk spectrum. Once convention (and expectations) began taking hold in earnest, the legitimate post-punk movement did start shaping, but the retrospective tendency toward re-categorizing many of punk’s more refreshingly unusual acts as something other than enticingly unique selections in a diverse sonic smorgasbord is an impulse I just can’t cozy up with.
It’s in this early stage of wide-open possibility that Métal Urbain was born. Noted as not only the first band to use a drum-machine in the scheme of punk but also for being responsible for the inaugural release on the legendary Rough Trade label (RT 001), they are notable for so much more than just achieving a stylistic footnote and for providing the answer to a stumper in a music-nut trivia contest. For Métal Urbain shined, if only for a short while, as a beacon of punk rock’s expansive promise and if not vastly influential the group certainly proved crucial in shaping certain corners of the subsequent u-ground rock racket. They were for example the template from which Big Black managed to stir such a divisive storm.
But don’t proceed to Métal Urbain expecting any large stylistic similarities to Albini and company’s scorching screeds of Midwestern misanthropy. And while not incompatible, any expectations equating them with early Cabaret Voltaire’s experimental tech mess or Suicide’s ground-zero marriage of punk and electronics are also off the mark.
No, Métal Urbain’s sound resides much closer to the direct gut-punch that dominated the great sea-change of 1977. Having witnessed an early Sex Pistols show in their home city, the band first disrupted Parisian night life in December of ‘76, getting promptly banned from the Golf Drouot club after their debut gig. A single on the Cobra label followed in April of the following year, and Métal Urbain’s course was set.
That release inspired not only the interest of Rough Trade, but also the fandom of BBC disc jockey John Peel. Two more singles and a radio session for Peel followed, but acceptance on their home turf proved allusive. The band alternated between England and France in an attempt to broaden their following, but Rough Trade’s lack of funds (the third single was issued by the Radar label) and a mounting tide of indifference and creative stumbling blocks at home led to increased frustrations and tensions. In mid-’79 the group splintered into a pair of interesting projects both led by member Eric Débris, the more pronounced post-punk of Metal Boys and the experimentally inclined Doctor Mix and the Remix, and Métal Urbain’s destiny as one of punk’s surplus of coulda-been-contenders seemed all but inevitable.
However in 1981 the Les hommes morts sont dangereux (translation: The Dead Men Are Dangerous) LP was released on the band’s own Byzz label. Compiling all three singles, the Peel recordings and unreleased tracks, the record managed to keep them out of the clutches of history’s cruel dustbin in a decade where scads of musicians and listeners were desperately searching for a fix of raw creativity.
It was in this environment that Métal Urbain became frequently name dropped by in-the-know bands and discerning fanzine scribes, and as the album became increasingly difficult to obtain (forget the singles) the group took on the status of outsider punk legends. In 2003 Dan Selzer’s Acute Records set things right by finally getting an easily obtainable CD collection (Anarchy in Paris!) into the racks. And in 2006 the band reunited to record new material produced by longtime partisan Jello Biafra.
Completists (and those on a budget) will obviously want to obtain the Acute CD, but outside the primal brevity of the original singles Les hommes morts sont dangereux stands as the leanest, most effective document of the band. While immediately situating Métal Urbain as punk in orientation, it also places them far away from the norm in execution. The unflagging precision of the synthetic rhythms differs quite markedly from the back-to-basics instrumental aesthetic wielded by numerous other acts of this vintage. Those percolating drum patterns quickly reveal the group’s strategy as forward-thinking rather than reductive, a reality further emphasized by the employment of brute synthesizers and bursts of controlled guitar noise.
While scads of their contemporaries were busy mauling Nuggets and steamrolling the indefatigable lessons of Sir Charles Berry, Métal Urbain was occupied with wedding the inspiration of the Pistols with non-standard influences like Hawkwind and Brian Eno. And it bears noting that the Métal in the band’s name is a direct reference to Lou Reed’s eternally divisive 2LP provocation Metal Machine Music. This diversity set up collusions in the band’s sound that remain quite appealing. Wheezing, squealing, blooping waves of synth set off against guttural shouting that occasionally brings to mind a gruffer UK Subs (if Charlie Harper was a francophone). Abrasive and abstract string abuse splatters up against insistently brittle tempos (clicking, clacking, stuttering, chugging) that just beg for a big group pogo to match energy to eclectic energy.
And that first single shows these guys were on the ball from the very start. “Panik” is a rip-snorting belter that stands up against the best that ’77 had to offer, but it’s the flip “Lady Coca Cola” that really illustrates just how ahead of the curve Métal Urbain was in conception. A slow, throbbing mass of growled vocals, wailing guitars and ominous electronics, the song is an outstanding study in just how twisted punk could get before the concept of speed really took over.
Sequenced non-chronologically, Les hommes morts exists not as a time capsule but as a truly thoughtful endeavor. To be fair, Anarchy in Paris! is also wisely and lovingly assembled, but what makes the original ’81 release stand out is how well it shapes up to the standards of an actual preconceived LP. Due to the obvious circumstances, Métal Urbain never got close to recording a true full-length album, and while some expected sameiness does set in, Les hommes morts is really quite effective in proposing just what might’ve transpired had the chips fallen in a less predictably negative fashion.
Whether it’s through the avenues of rare vinyl, compact disc, or digital, anybody that fancies themselves a true connoisseur of classic punk should make certain to get acquainted with Métal Urbain. Listening to their work as documented on Les hommes morts sont dangereux vindicates the vision of a band that, if not as lauded as Gang of Four or Wire, still deserve a place on the top shelf.
Graded on a Curve: A-
UPDATE: In the interest of giving proper credit where it’s most certainly due, it should be noted that Acute Records was only the US licensee for the Métal Urbain material from 2003-2006. Seventeen Records was previously and subsequently responsible for setting the band’s reissue campaign in motion, working closely with all members of the group.
In fact, not only is Anthologie 1977-1979, an exhaustive 3CD compilation currently available from the label, but a vinyl reissue of Les hommes morts sont dangereux is also on pre-sale. For more info just visit the website of Seventeen Records here.
