Bauhaus
Swing
the Heartache: The BBC Sessions
(Beggars Banquet 1989)
Bauhaus, the 1979-1983 UK post punk band is largely credited with being one of the founders of the Gothic Rock movement. Their 1979 debut single, “Bela Lugosi’s Dead,” is likely the main reason. This nine-plus minute epic of dark low end bass strikes and Peter Murphy’s haunting repetitive chants of “oh Bela” and “undead” provided the groundwork for some creepy shit. It’s funny to me that though they can easily be seen as forefathers of the Gothic Rock movement, I’ve not really ever thought of them in those terms. It reminds me of a portion of writer Chuck Klosterman’s 2016 non-fiction book But What if We’re Wrong? Forgive me if I misrepresent this, since it’s been nine years since I’ve read the book, but I seem to remember a section discussing the way history can be interpreted in different ways. How things get condensed. Who will be remembered most from 20th century rock-n-roll? The Beatles? Elvis Presley? The Rolling Stones? What about the other several thousand artists that made massive cultural impacts? Who might be most remembered forty years from now, as time and perspectives change and fade? I’ve noticed the phenomenon for years, once the oldies, classic rock, and 70s & 80s radio formats began popping up on the AM/FM dials, and even now over streaming services. For example, 80s new wave band the Thompson Twins had seven top 40 hits in the US. Once the 80s became a genre, that band was reduced to only one hit: “Hold Me Now.” I bring this up, because recently I put Bauhaus’ 1989 collection of BBC Radio recordings (Swing the Heartache) into my listening pile, and I find that it still sounds fresh, creative, and exciting. Bauhaus were not a band to be pigeon-holed to the point of cliché. I’m not going to argue that they were not Goth Rock founders. They definitely embraced the sound, visuals, and aesthetic of the macabre and the occult. The wonderful album cover for Swing the Heartache: The BBC Sessions, looks up at an old spiral staircase surrounded by peeling painted walls with a ghostly figure ascending the stairs, which evokes their ghostly debut single. However, the music and performances inside show a highly varied creative band who were willing to have fun and experiment and take chances.
My introduction to Bauhaus was via my
long time friend Wil. I think it was
1985, and I was staying over at his family’s place. We were a couple of 14 year olds chatting
about our burgeoning musical discoveries late at night in his basement
bedroom. Wil put on his recently secured
12” single by Bauhaus named “She’s in Parties” on the turntable. I had never heard of them, and Wil pronounced
their name as “The Bajas” – as in Baja,
California. “She’s in Parties” was
mildly intriguing. To be honest, I
wasn’t really sure what I felt about it at first listen. It was different from that stuff from the
predominantly hit radio I was used to.
Yet, when he excitedly flipped the record over to the B-side, I heard
what sounded like a ping pong ball bouncing as a beat (or water dripping from a
faucet into a tub), a walking bass-line and a British accented voice mumbling a
surreal story and it was captivating!
This strange song was creepy and fun, and different than anything that I
had ever heard and yet I identified with it.
The line “even the wallpaper had become sinister to him” crept into my
psyche, because I had always been very emotionally effected by my surroundings,
and had often contemplated why certain colors have made me uncomfortable.
A few years later, I learned more
about the band, and how to pronounce their name, and how they took their
moniker from an early 20th century German architectural
school/movement. I finally purchased a
new CD single re-release of their first single “Bela Lugosi’s Dead.” I loved it, but honestly its length was
daunting. Its atmosphere was heavy, so I
understood where the “I fart bats” Gothic reputation had come from. At the same time, I recognized it as a
twisted type of Dub. The delay and echo
reminded more of sunshiny beaches of Jamaica, than towering castles and bat
caves. Still, I wanted to hear more.
It wasn’t until the summer of 1989
that I finally purchased one of Bauhaus’ full length CDs. It was Swing
the Heartache: The BBC Sessions, which is a compilation and not one of
their proper planned albums. By that
time, I was already fully immersed and fascinated by BBC Radio sessions. Certain BBC Radio DJ’s would commission bands
to record songs especially for their radio shows. These sessions were done quickly, so they are
a perfect balance between hearing a band live with the sonic clarity of a
studio recording, so they are often illuminating and livelier than the more
well-known versions from albums. Bauhaus
chose to use these sessions to record covers of other artist’s songs,
experiment, and stretch their creativity.
I purchased this CD, because it had their cover of David Bowie’s “Ziggy Stardust” and that weird “Departure.” I cannot emphasize enough how often I’ve listened
to this collection that summer. It
wasn’t long before I knew every nuance of every song and repeatedly found myself
driving off the road as I blasted “Ziggy” while air drumming. It wasn’t long before I secured the band’s
four albums (at that time). Though, I
enjoy all of those albums (especially The
Sky’s Gone Out, 1982), they never hit me like this collection.
By late August of that year, I found myself in a dorm room at a small town college I had almost randomly chosen at the last moment. I had only a few of my of couple hundred CD collection with me. I had little in common with my new roommates, it was uncomfortably hot and smelled like a cow pasture everywhere I went. I was lying on my back reading a heavy, outrageously expensive science textbook for a class that was required, yet had no interest in. A high school teacher had taught me to read lying on my back, because if I start to get sleepy, the book will fall on my face as I drift off. Let’s just say that I was getting beat up pretty good. Suddenly, I heard the opening notes of Bauhaus’ “God in an Alcove” come drifting through my dorm room wall. At first I only recognized it as a welcome diversion to the monotony, until I realized that someone I didn’t know was playing a song that I had been obsessed with for the past several weeks.
“God in an Alcove” from Bauhaus’ embryonic BBC recording for legendary DJ John Peel is so alive with energy and mystery. Daniel Ash’s spindly guitar and the brothers Haskins’ (David J bass and Kevin Haskins drums) unveiling rhythm flows into Peter Murphy’s rich dual vocals, which bounce around at you from all angles, as two different narrators. I dare you not to be drawn in by the insanity as Murphy repeats “I feel silly” in various voices. The song rocks with that blistering guitar in the bridge that explodes from the meandering build up. What a masterfully dramatically structured song! It was the first time that I ever thought of them as a regular rock band. This is from their first radio session in 1980, which also includes a cover of T. Rex’s “Telegram Sam,” which expertly alters the guitar riff that T Rex had recycled from his hit “Bang a Gong (Get it On)” and Bauhaus puts the song into overdrive. There are four covers in this five session 18 song collection. The afore mentioned cover of Bowie’s “Ziggy Stardust” is likewise injected with some punk energy. Providing a very accurate cover with more urgency and spunk and a top 20 UK chart single. Apparently at the time, critics accused Bauhaus of mining some of glam rock’s greats, so they embraced it and steered into the curve and covered these essential classics. Bauhaus’s “Third Uncle” cover may not be as edgy and obtuse as Brian Eno’s original, but it has a frenetic energy that takes it to another level. The final cover is “Night Time” by The Strangeloves a mid-60.s fake pop band, who also hit with “I Want Candy” later made famous by Bow Wow Wow in the early 80s. This cover is very faithful to the original, and has never captured my attention in any way. I feel like I knew of the song prior via a TV beer commercial when I was a toddler.
When I heard “A God in an Alcove” through my
dorm room wall, I moved unconsciously like a cobra being drawn to sway by a
snake charmer. I wandered to my neighbor’s
door and knocked. Turns out it was
Jeff. We had met via the University’s
strange summer camp inspired freshman orientation week. We were both in the same group of roughly
eight students each all named after animals.
We were the turkeys, and we took on the identity of the loser
group. We weren’t the lions, or the
gorillas, we were awkward birds that can drown by rain. Jeff and I are still friends after all of
these years. We bonded through our music
tastes and a shared sense of absurdity.
Speaking of absurd, “Departure” and its strange narrative is paired with
“Party of the First Part,” which Jeff and I still quote to this day. The swing jazz background music sets the
stage for another age old cautionary tale for someone selling their soul to the
devil for personal gain in the short-term.
This tale is courtesy of the 30 minute Canadian children’s cartoon “The Devil & Danial Mouse.” The story lays out perfectly with the
over-the-top Devil voice. It’s like the
band were watching this cartoon in the studio, while adding the laid back
instrumental, and funny tongue-in-cheek sounds like the slide whistle and the “aaaah”
chorus when Jan Mouse says “I trust you” to B.L. Zebub, along with their
general chatter calling it “absurd” and “silly.” Still there’s never a time that I don’t want
to hear this song.
This refreshing collection also works as a “greatest hits.” So many of their best known songs are here in their most inspired and earliest form. This is where their power as a collective band is at its strongest. Bauhaus seemed to agree with this, as they sometimes used these radio session versions on their albums. Peter Murphy’s vocals throughout are more unhinged and exciting, especially in the first couple of sessions as in the “I dare you” shouts in “Double Dare” and the grinding workout of “In the Flat Field.” Musically as well, this quartet were tight. Everything falls into place, as the guitars squall and blister atop incredible bass-lines and incredibly creative drumming. The album version of “St. Vitus Dance” sounds almost cartoonish next to the more alive dissonance of the radio session version. This collection includes many of their best known songs such as “Silent Hedges,” “She’s in Parties,” and “Terror Couple Kill Colonel,” but don’t overlook the waltz of “The Three Shadows Part 2,” and the high drama of “Swing the Heartache,” which in my opinion is far superior to the slower LP version. Plus, is it just me or is the paranoia of “The Spy in the Cab,” especially prescient. Peter Murphy’s performance is not only astounding, it’s much more relevant now than it was in January of 1980: “A Twenty four hour unblinking watch / Installed to pry / Installed to cop.”
Whatever the case, it’s a shame that this Bauhaus collection has fallen mostly out of sight. It isn’t easy to find, yet it might be their best and most vital release. It displays their ability to transcend genres and it also feels like they had a blast recording these songs. The sense of freedom is palpable. There is no second guessing here, which infuses these songs with a fun exuberance that is addictive. There will never be a time that Swing the Heartache: The BBC Sessions will not be essential listening.
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