Brighton Dome, 17th November 2009
With the advent and rise of the Synthesizer in the late 70’s it gave the world of music an avenue of a sterile, clinical nature. None took more solace in this than pop purveyor of dystopian electronica Gary Numan. Cold, sarcastic and sardonically precise, his seminal 1979 album ‘Pleasure Principles’ was a rock album with no guitars. Instead the songs about alienated robots and dehumanising mechanization were dragged from synths through a collection of effects, creating an evocative album dominated by electronics. Released in the same year as Joy Division’s ‘Unknown Pleasures’ and Talking Head’s ‘Fear of Music’, this was snapshot of musical heritage, spectacularly nostalgic. Musical despondency.
A low rumbling fuzz droned on as the stage darkened and filled with smoke. Silhouettes passing in and between it. Rolling fog lights cascaded over the crowd, binary LED lighting guided towards the stage like landing strips, all the while the Duran Duran smoke machine billowing out more and more distraction. Then bursting into the instrumental ‘Airlane’, Numan appeared in a vision of illumination. Static and calculating, the sounds relentlessly swept around the air. This was all very exciting as everything seemed so authentic, untouched for so many years. The colours, the demeanours, the synth, which was agonisingly falling over itself to reach the next octave. But the interest quickly drained as they soon stomped on to another chugging instrumental.
Legs straddling an amp and pouting at the front row, Numan uttered his first and thus started an evening of undecipherable lyrics. Occasionally, the Pleasure Principle’s songs sounded awkward and tiresome resting on top of the genre’s standard-issue distorted bass guitar and pummeling. Four men with seven Korgs seemed excessive for the linear sound. And the Numanoids (Gary Numan fans) had been oddly subdued throughout, even during ‘Cars’ the scene was motionless. Clearly Gary friends aren’t electric.
An assortment of goths in black, pervs in PVC and a number of very small children, Numan’s fans seem less interested in his past than his presence. Although the sight of hundreds of punching fists during the anthemic ‘A.R.E Friends Electric?’ would suggest otherwise. A tribute to their totalitarian leader, the rallying fans get more excited when he breaks out the distorted guitars for his newer work. Gary Numan is an institution but to those that care most he is still relevant.
Words by Adam Strandt
myspace.com/garynuman
