Minus undue pomp, the immensely influential UK outfit Wire has unveiled its latest effort. A key player in the uprising of 1977 and just as important to subsequent progressions of post-punk, through a pair of hiatuses, a founding member’s departure and a consistently evolving sound they’ve grown into one of contemporary music’s great units. Wire doesn’t reach the heights of the group’s finest work, but it easily vindicates their continued existence, and it’s out now on LP/CD/digital via Pinkflag.
The style of music known as Rock, a form derived from the crosspollination of R&B and C&W and distilled by bands reliably featuring vocals and guitar but crucially dependent upon a human rhythmic engine, has proven versatile and resilient since it surfaced in the mid-section of last century. But if it’s true that Rock will never die, its undiluted essence has basically nothing to do with longevity.
Certainly, the Rock ideal can be located by focusing on the ins and outs/ups and downs of a pertinent career, but it can also be found through absorbing one album, or even better, just a 45 RPM single. Indeed, the embodiment of Rock can be uncovered in a solitary song and pinpointed further in succinct moments; the scream at the beginning of the Stooges’ “T.V. Eye,” the slashing progression along the guitar neck in the middle of The Jam’s “In the City,” and the extra thrust in the drumming at the end of The Beatles’ “I Wanna Hold your Hand.”
And yet a measurement frequently employed to make the case for truly exceptional rock acts is an ability to persevere over time, especially in instances where influence endures over sales figures; so it is with Wire, though the group’s lifespan consists of distinct eras, each with its proponents. Most lauded is the ’77-’80 run, a period offering three consecutive studio masterpieces. However, a considerable number of younger listens have surely been struck by the unusually productive return from their ‘90s layoff.
The appearance of Wire marks the fifth full-length since that recommencement began in ‘99, a total matched by the output of ’85-’91 (or exceeded if one assesses ‘91 55-minute “The Drill” as an LP rather than a really long and ambitious EP offering different versions of the title piece), and due to the band’s attention to what was increasingly a cerebral brand of synth-pop, it’s a span some tend to jump over.
But ignoring Wire’s first reformation is a mistake, for gems are situated within, though they did stray far enough away from essentially garage beginnings through the use of computers and programmed rhythms that drummer Robert Grey, then still using his Robert Gotobed stage handle, quit; consequently, The First Letter was issued as Wir. They then entered a second lengthier hiatus.
Wire regrouped in ’99 with Grey back in the fold, and amidst a handful of EPs Send was released on ’03. Founding guitarist Bruce Gilbert departed prior to the release of ‘08’s Object 47, and for two records they existed as a trio. This triangular orientation ended in ’13 as guitarist Matt Simms joined Grey, guitarist-vocalist Colin Newman, and bassist Graham Lewis for Change Becomes Us, its title befitting an entity having resisted reaping the benefits of punk nostalgia (what the band term as the “Heritage Rock” industry) by reconvening as the original quartet.
Change Becomes Us is based on song ideas conceived at the brink of Wire’s initial dissolution. Those roots comprise Document and Eyewitness, the recently reissued ’81 live album that punctuated their first phase and left divisiveness and confusion in its wake. But Wire’s last LP ultimately ranged widely from the threads and motifs that inspired its creation, and opting for a different approach, this eponymous affair utilizes fresh material; in an attempt to procure spontaneity, Newman introduced a portion of the tunes shortly before Wire’s recording.
With this background in mind, the results are surprisingly cohesive; things start strong with “Blogging,” which for the most part avoids the dangers familiar to its title’s blunt contemporaneousness as the social-commentary gets significantly expanded in the lyrics; amongst other references, there’s Google, Amazon wish lists, eBay, and tweeting.
Success is established in a motorik-styled rhythmic thrust cloaked in distortion, edgy synth and the instantly recognizable cadence of Newman’s voice; the whole is reminiscent of the alluring chilliness of ‘79’s 154, but with nods to the best of their later-‘80s stuff. It’s followed by the pop-rock of “Shifting,” a modest environment elevated by the typical high intelligence of the art-rock undertones and Newman’s distinctive speak-singing.
“Burning Bridges” unwinds as a fairly standard proposition, at least until the emotive hook of the vocals combines with the chiming precision of the guitar playing. Terrifically atypical use of lap steel arises later in the track courtesy of Simms as Grey maintains an intoxicatingly unembellished rhythm throughout. Escalating the pace is “In Manchester,” one of Wire’s most robust forays into melodic rock, though unlike “Blogging,” its lyrics are only tangentially about the titular city.
But the plot thickens. A moderate adjustment to its electronics-imbued levels and “High” could become a slice of pulsating techno-pop. It would also require lengthening, as short of two minutes, it’s the briefest selection in a program tending toward conciseness. A prime exception is “Sleep-Walking,” which explores moody post-punk moderately suggesting Wire circa-’79-’80; it stretches to over seven minutes.
“Sleep-Walking” contrasts with the tidy uptempo of “Joust & Jostle,” its appeal stemming from the indefatigable non-flash of Grey’s drumming, the subtle interjections of electronics, and the smartly calibrated guitar and voice. “Swallow” extends a bit while retaining the meticulousness; as Newman’s couplets acquire almost singsong catchiness, they alternate nicely with the sturdy riffing carrying the tune to its denouement.
“Split your Ends” is fast-paced, instrumentally dense and compact without sacrificing ties to melody; it wields an intense finale. But it’s during the emphatically delivered yet brittle ambiance of “Octopus” that the current of inspiration running through Wire’s catalog intersects most fruitfully with the non-belabored nature of this LP’s making. Saving its biggest racket for last, “Harpooned” slows the momentum, a thick raw atmosphere reaching nearly eight and a half minutes as Newman becomes progressively more impassioned at the mic.
It’s early yet, but 2015’s already been a good year for post-punk’s old guard, the Pop Group having made a big splash with a reunion record and tour. And now here’s another Wire album, one not likely to stir up as much hubbub as it adds to the sum of a remarkable discography. That body of work comes from a long tenure, but its vitality rests on the prevalence of small moments.
GRADED ON A CURVE:
B+
