Review by Gary Spiller for MPM
1979, Space Invaders and Galaxians are plotting their separate planetary dominations via the medium of coin-op cabinets. The rise of the pc is gaining momentum and amongst all this technological revolution a 21-year-old London-born musician and his cohorts were completing the transitioning from their punk roots to a full-on electronic sound.
For the band concerned it’s a year of two albums (both going on to top the charts) and four singles of which two replicate the chart-topping achievements of their respective parent studio offerings. The transition is completed, between the albums, with frontman Gary Numan opting to drop the Tubeway Army name completely with all future releases coming under his own name.
For the then nine-year-old me my initial exposure was, like most of my generation at the time, via Radio 1 or ‘performances’ on Top Of The Pops and, for those of a cool stature, the highly lauded Old Grey Whistle Test. Within the rising synth-pop scene Numan became the first to achieve mainstream commercial success.
It wasn’t until a few years later however, in my formative teen years that I began to realise just how much of a pioneer Numan was. A very British slant upon the Krautrock of Tangerine Dream and Kraftwerk with a jaunty slice of Jean-Michel Jarre thrown in for good measure. Imagine a bubbling elixir of ‘Phaedra’, ‘Autobahn’, and ‘Oxygène’ and the correct course has been set.
An incredible 45 years on and the ‘inspired by’ is a revered inspiration by his own deserved right. A conduit of influence that spanned the gap between those early innovators leading to such diversities as OMD, Tears For Fears, Nine Inch Nails and Fear Factory. It’s the very reason 1,000 souls have, on a rain-sodden Tuesday evening, squeezed into Cardiff’s sold out Tramshed venue.
Make no bones about it Numan is very much as relevant today – his last two albums ‘Intruder’ and ‘Savage (Songs from a Broken World)’ both reached number two in the UK charts – but it’s those two albums from 1979 that are to be celebrated tonight. The second and final Tubeway Army long-player ‘Replicas’ and his first solo release ‘The Pleasure Principle’; such is the seamless passage between the pair that the tracks from within are thrown up in the air and formed into a mixed-up ordering that provides a resultant stellar setlist.
Chants of “Nuuuuum-aaaaan! Nuuuuum-aaaaan! Nuuuuum-aaaaan!” break out across the Tramshed as ‘curtains’ near and the expectation levels throughout the gathered Numanoids rises. An industrial barrage booms from the venue’s PA as stage techs skitter hither and tither. The lights darken and unseen banks of synths bring in the intro.
Red spots pierce the gloom whilst strobes flash invasively. The mood and atmospherics are dialled to beyond maximum as to a rousing roar Numan and his band assemble from stage left. Raising his right hand Numan greets the rapturous crowd as, with a thundering crash, the band set about the final Tubeway Army title track ‘Replicas’. Suddenly it’s ’79 again but with a meatier, more rounded sound.
Chilling and haunting ‘M.E.’ – once the subject of a Basement Jaxx sampling (thanks to fellow MPM writer Nigel Forbes for that one!) – features a pulverising bassline from Tim Slade whilst his fellow shaven-headed compatriot Steve Harris switches between guitar and Moog. Amongst the intensity Numan cracks a smile as he dances gothically.
Helter skelter ‘Me, I Disconnect from You’ – opening track of ‘Replicas’ – receives a full metallisation in a swirling stampede prior to the darkened ambience of ‘Films’ erupts forth from the electronic volcano. Before we dive further into the maelstromic whirlpool I can confirm that there’s no question of it, in my mind, Numan is, to coin a phrase, ‘METAL AS F**K!!!’
We are treated to a brace of deep cuts in the form of bonus tracks winched in from the 1997 Beggars Banquet reissue of ‘Replicas’. The cosmos of ‘We Have a Technical’ – possibly the closest thing in Cardiff to the bridge of the Starship Enterprise tonight – and the shrill, industrious machinery of ‘Do You Need the Service?’ serve as expansive diversions into the outfield of Numan’s recordings.
Slade and Harris move in dystopian realms as if upon a switchblade offering pseudo-mimed gestures with the latter cutting a Wilko Johnson alloyed with Kraftwerkian figure with pulsing electric energy coursing through his veins. ‘Engineers’ bristles with a triple-layered synth assault complete with a Kraftwerk essence with Slade’s resounding bass stretching the laws of physics.
Rocking in binary the instrumental ‘Observer’ pulses and phases veering effortlessly into the marauding electro of ‘Praying to the Aliens’. Numan, oft discovered crouched over his keys sandwiched between the main bank of synths and drumkit, is a man of few words. In fact, no words are spoken throughout but with music of this quality none are required, his smile speaks a thousand words alone. This is a masterclass in how to despatch a masterpiece; the music does the talking.
Atop solitary piano Numan enquires “Where is the time?” before ‘Tracks’ detonates into its electronic glories. The opulent grandiosity of the enveloping sound of ‘Conversation’ embraces warmly. “We are not gods” informs Numan.
‘It Must Have Been Years’ rages with a proto-punkiness entwined about feisty riffage which morphs into the snarling hook of ‘You Are in My Vision’. If there any lingering doubts of the metallic status of Numan, then surely this pair will surely have quashed them!
Instrumental ‘Airlane’ hits the triple synth once more with Harris, priestlike behind his Moog, and Numan assaulting the keys stage left. It’s a track which, for myself, provides a corridor between Jarre and OMD, so the mellifluous rivers flow.
With its gentle airs ‘Complex’ – the first of the four singles of 1979 to be aired tonight – is an evocative contrasting perspective to the gothic industrial electro of ‘Down in the Park’ that follows with touches reminiscent of The Cure and Siouxsie And The Banshees.
Tangibly Numan and his compatriots are building up towards a crescendo with ‘The Machman’ – in all its post-punk refinery – and the metronomically probing synth-driven ‘Metal’ crashing upon the shoreline in tsunamic waves of electronic splendour.
The gearings grind a mechanical groove in ‘Only a Downstat’ before the heavyweight pugilism of ‘We Are So Fragile’ cranks up with pounding combinations of percussion and keyboards. As spots circle eager to search the skies above Numan and co. ramp up the ratchet for a furious finale to the main set.
Whilst the set in its entirety is not just about two tracks – both admittedly chart-topping numbers – everything has been gearing up towards the moment of the encore. The conductor has saved the orchestra’s very best to the last before unleashing the majesty.
Returning to the stage Numan, arms outstretched, takes a well-earned bow to clamorous acclaim before ripping the Welsh capital a brand shiny new one with the enigmatic ‘Cars’. In excess of 100 million streams on Spotify it’s iconic in every way. Inspired by an incident of road rage that Numan experienced the track is beefier than ever – check out the Fear Factory version, a Darwinian evolution. Lost in the moment Numan caresses his keys, a huge cheer erupting upon track end.
If further examination of the Tramshed’s structural integrity is required, then the roof is well and truly lifted with the still futuristic and otherworldly tones of ‘Are ‘Friends’ Electric?’ – Tubeway Army’s last single – the trademark flanged guitars tumble along obsidian corridors as the legend rumbles. Speaking to the Guardian’s Dave Simpson in February 2014 Numan illuminated “The lyrics came from short stories I’d written about what London would be like in 30 years. These machines – “friends” – come to the door. They supply services of various kinds, but your neighbours never know what they really are since they look human. The one in the song is a prostitute, hence the inverted commas.”
The crowd, 100% on point, “Woah” in perfect timing and unison, Numan in trademark one leg planted behind the other grasps, tightly, his angled mic stand powering the lyrics. Smiling broadly as he ‘orbits’ the stand absorbing every moment of the crowd’s adoration. Would 21-year-old Numan have believed if someone had predicted back in 1979 that he would be playing these tracks to sell out crowds 45 years on?
Full reverence is given without expectations, shared moments as smiles between strangers are exchanged. This is one of the finest nights of the year thus far, long may Numan continue. How incredulous to think that the Musicians Union attempted to expel Numan at the time ‘Cars’ was atop the charts for “putting real musicians out of work.” I personally hope they continue to eat their words.
Photography by Kelly Spiller for MPM
