Do Androids Dream

I’m sure that there is a time when all of us, no matter how brash and confident, have felt a sense of alienation from the world around us. You know those days when a sense of blue takes over, and the city closes in a little, when the rat race gets a bit too much to take, and you’re left a little detached from your world. A world which ordinarily seems so familiar and comfortable to exist in. You just can’t see where you fit in anymore. But hey, don’t worry, it is only natural and happens to everyone.

It is healthy to stop and re-evaluate where you fit into the bigger picture sometimes. It will pass. Come here and give old Uncle Story To Tell a hug ya big softie! There, that’s better. Few of us, however, embrace this state of mind as one we would like to dwell in for more than a short period of introspection, let alone use it as a basis upon which to forge a musical career and with it pioneer a whole new style of music. But in a way, this is exactly what electronic pop maestro Gary Numan did, with his post-punk synth rock and early new wave electronica providing the aural backdrop to a dystopian vision of a paranoia fuelled half-man half-machine world of electronic detachment.

Strangely, however, given the prevalence of electronic music now, it is only relatively recently that Numan’s influence on a whole range of artists has begun to be acknowledged, including on our own beloved world of hip-hop. For it is none other than a pioneer within that scene, the The Father of The Electro Funk Sound DJ Afrika Bambaataa, who cites Numan’s early work as a key sound for fledgling US hip-hop DJs, and the beats he created as highly sought after by DJs and dancefloors alike in the late 1970s and early 1980s, the key developmental years of our beloved culture. Part of this lack of recognition is down to the very image that Numan created, an androgynous and cold electronic pop star, whose music was unapologetically pessimistic and doom-laden, haunting and spooky despite being quite brilliant in many cases.

Also, his ascent to stardom was steep and unexpected, bursting from the post-punk scene with his band Tubeway Army, and honing his synth-led sound and image at a time when punk’s starburst of energy and creativity had dwindled, and before New Wave and New Romantics had begun their dominance of the pop scene. While bands like Human League and Depeche Mode among others have gone on to be feted, Numan’s own role as fore-runner to them and a host of others was conveniently over-looked.

The other factor in this was his own slightly strange relationship with his own fame. Announcing his retirment with a series of sell-out Wembley gigs in 1981, tired of the pressures of fame, Numan would almost immediately regret his decision. But the damage to his audience and critical reception had been done, despite the fact that he continued to produce music, with virtually an album a year in the following period, some to commercial and critical success, but never reaching the heights of his earlier purple patch.

Numan has since been diagnosed with a mild form of the autistic condition Asperger’s Syndrome, which helps explain much of the authenticity of his detached image, and perhaps also the desolation and sense of sapce and isolation in his music. And, as I say, some of this music is just inspired. In the US his only big hit was “Cars” taken from his first solo album, 1979’s “The Pleasure Princile”, but this was also a worldwide smash, and and ithe UK his fame was huge. Dominated by the sound of the Minimoog synth and Polymoog keyboard, Numan did away with the guitars that had featured on his Tubeway Army work on this third album, and went all out for the electronic soundscape interspersed with viola strings and effects-laden high production.

It is simply an astonishing album from start to finish and is difficult to find fault with even now. The second Tubeway Army album “Replicas”, released earlier the same year, had hinted at the brilliance to come, with several highlights such as the fantastic “Are Friends Electric?”, “Replicas” and strangely beguiling “Down in the Park”. But “The Pleasure Principle” transcends these to offer a coherent whole with no weak points, a sophisticated musical journey that somehow seems to provide a warmth and depth of emotion behind the industrial and robotic cool of the concept itself. It is good news that Numan’s influence on a huge and diverse range of artists, from industrial bangers Nine Inch Nails to goth-rocker Marilyn manson, and from Armand Van Helden to Bambaataa, is now being recognised.

It allows a reassessment of his whole canon, beyond the brilliant run of opening albums, and into music which experimented with jazz and funk, as well as more etherael pop and techno. Music often runs in cycles and fads come and go. One thing is sure, though. Whether in vogue or not Numan’s unique and haunting vision will always be cool. Wonderfully, metalically and icy cool.