THE PSYCHEDELIG FURS: SUGAR CUBES FOR THE NEW DEPRESSION

Richard Butler, the Psychedelic Furs’ chain-smoking vocalist, often sounds like an extremely angry man on record. Some people have compared his raspy voice to a resigned but still enraged Johnny Rotten (though lately he’s turned a bit more towards a Bowie-style croon), while others have labeled him a misanthrope, possibly due to the number of times he referred to people as “stupid” (most critics stopped counting after 15) on the band’s debut LP. Naturally, one might expect to find a sarcastic, venom-spewing malcontent when meeting Butler for the first time, but that’s hardly the person 1 recently spoke to at a Detroit Holiday Inn.

The man behind the voice seems a sensitive individual with a great sense of humor and genuine concern for people. That isn’t to say he doesn’t have his moments. Backstage after the show, I watched him snap “You apparently don’t have much intelligence” at someone he felt had asked a particularly dumb question. • Still, the two ended up on good terms by the time it was all over, and both seemed pleased with the results.

“Well, I actually don’t like most people,” laughs Butler in reply to the misanthrope charges. “In fact, I only like a couple of people, and ^ven then I’m not very nice. No, it’s not true at all. I like people.

“I think I’m basically an idealist. That’s where the sarcasm, irony and bitterness come from because I’m disillusioned by certain ideas! You know what could be happening in the world, and people have been saying it should be happening for so long, but then you don’t see it happen at all.

“Society tends to place people in a structure, telling them what they’re supposed to think. One of the big problems nowadays is that people tend to believe exactly what they’re told without questioning it. That’s what I find depressing and disillusioning. What I find optimistic are people who think for themselves and make their own minds up about things. That’s what our basic message is all about—encouraging people to think for themselves. That’s why I don’t write lyrics that are obvious. 1 don’t want to say, ‘Here, take this because it’s the right way to think’ like the Clash or bands that assume a specific political stance. I prefer to work inside people’s heads a bit more, and give them some credit for having a brain—working from the inside out. If you can make somebody think they’re remotely intelligent, they can usually reach some conclusions of their own.”

Butler’s lyrics are, indeed, less than obvious. He strings words together in a way that may not create complete sentences, but are very successful in transmitting definite moods, feelings and thoughts. He chooses words carefully, so "not to make “gods out of useless drivel,” creating vivid or ambiguous images that continually jump out and attack the listener on ,both a conscious and subconscious level. Hence, the lyrics have as much to do with the band’s “psychedelic” tag as the music does. “I think psychedelia is anything that opens your head up a bit,” he explains.

Some of the better lyrics are reminiscent of Bob Dylan during his Rimbaudian hallucination period, and Butler admits that Zimmy was a major influence on his words (“My dad started buying his records when I was about 12, and carried on right through John Wesley Harding”), although he prefers Dylan Thomas to Rimbaud whose poetry he “didn’t enjoy at all.” Like Dylan’s best material, the Furs’ lyrics transcend topical politics and issues, and because they encompass things that are constant like love and death, their music will probably stand the test of time.

“I don’t like to talk about specific meanings of songs,” says Butler, “because when you say exactly what the lyrics are about, again it makes it so people don’t have to think. They’re being told. There was this guy who recently came up to me after a show, and he had writteri out what he thought I was saying at the end of ‘Pretty In Pink.’ The lyrics had purposely been buried in the mix so people could make up their own interpretations. And he had all this great stuff written out—things about Oedipus and Greek mythological characters and the rain and spitting at turntables. He asked me if it was anywhere near what I was saying, and even though it wasn’t, I just had to say ‘Yeah.’ That showed me it worked. I mean, just the end of that songhad made a guy write his own poetry!”

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“You have to be crazy to stay in this place/You just have to laugh at it all... ”

I’m pretty well convinced that the ’80s are going to be an age of insanity, and lately I find myself thinking more and more about death. Which isn’t to say I wallow in depression all the time, but just take a look at the political, economic and emotional landscape around you, and it doesn’t take a visionary to see that there’s a hell of a lot to be depressed about. Beyond all that, there are just the basic facts of nature which alonemake it difficult enough. (You or someone close to you may die today, but have a nice one anyway.)

Which is why when I listen to music, I don’t care if it makes me sad, angry or bitter, but I don’t want to be depressed by it. Escapism isn’t mV thing, but, on the other hand,I don’t need the post-Joy Division doomsayers telling me how rotten people are and how totally fucked the world is. I know it’s fucked, but there’s still a lot of good and beauty to be found if you look hard enough. • Even the darkest visions of bands like the Velvet Underground and the Doors were tempered with fleeting glimpses of redemption, if only through invigorating music or melody. I still want a little hope with my music, which is what the best rock ’n’ roll (a dead issue?) always seemed to provide.

That’s why it seems a bit ironic that after three albums', each better thari the preceding one, thePsychedelic Furs have become one of my favorite bands. Richard Butler’s visions are often extremely bleak, while the music of guitarist John Ashton and bassist Tim Butler (Richard’s brother) has many dark and foreboding elements. But even though the Furs’ music sometimes makes me think of death (“Death is something I’m very interested in,” admits Richard), their overall .effect has always been one of exhiliration. Beneath the gloom, there’s a strong sense of really caring about it all in a positive sort of way, and that’s something I can spell h-o-p-e.

The Furs’ debut LP was a harrowing post-punk venture that took a bitter look at society and its “universal absolutes,” pointing out the absurdity of it all, and concluding that everything we’ve been taught— especially in the realm of idealism—is a vicious lie. The music was a constant rhythmic drone—raw. and primal with faint traces of melody—and “psychedelic” in the same sense that ’60s “trash” bands like the Seeds or the Velvet Underground’s “Sister Ray” could be considered psychedelic. This was one band of the time that wasn’t afraid to flaunt and combine influences from rock’s past with its present— the name “Psychedelic” was a reaction to the British punks slagging of ’60s rock— and as Richard points out: “I think Syd Barrett’s Pink Floyd was more anarchic musically than most of the punk bands combined.”

Psychedelia is anything that opens your head up a bit. —Richard Butler

Talk Talk Talk, the Furs’ follow-up, revealed less rage than sadness. The band added stronger melancholy melodies to the drone, as Butler set his sights on “love” , and sex, using the state of romance as a metaphor for (once again) the absurdity of it all with great lines like “Some people afe dancing/And some fall in love to the music of military tunes.” Butler says the conclusion he reached from Talk Talk Talk was “Don’t believe anything you’re told about love,” although he adds that “Love My Way”—the single from the new Todd Rundgren-produced LP, Forever Now— is also “a conclusion in a sense.”

“Love My Way” sort of subscribes to the John Lennon theorem that any kind of love is OK as long as it’s love. “It’s basically addressed to people who are fucked up about their sexuality, and says ‘Don’t worry about it.’ It was originally written for gay people.” The song is just one example of Forever Now being what Butler calls “a bit more positive” and “romantic,” not to mention “more to the point lyrically.” Although songs , like “President Gas” and “No Easy. Street” still present chilling pictures of the current political scene, when Butler sings “It really doesn’t matter, does it anyway today?” on “Yes I Do” (retitled “Merry Go Round” with additional lyrics on the U.K. version), he makes it sound like it matters more than anything in the world. And every timeI hear Butler ranting at the end of “Run And Run,” one of the best songs released by anyone this year, it’s as exciting and good as sex, drugs, food, religion or any of the other things we use to dull the pain.

The “love is OK” idea apparently wasn’t the only thing the Furs borrowed from the Fab Four, as many critics have suggested that the LP’s use of cello owes a lot to the Beatles’ psychedelic period. “It was a definite influence, though I don’t think we used it like the Beatles, except for ‘Sleep Comes Down’ which is a lot like the end of ‘A Day In The Life.’ But that was just a lick that seemed perfect for the song, so I thought, ‘Why not?’ We ripped off Stravinsky’s ‘RitesOf Spring’ for,‘President Gas’ as well.”

Butler admits that Rundgren’s near-perfect version of “Strawberry Fields” was one of the things that ‘initially attracted him to the producer. “I figured if he could reproduce all those different sounds,. he could probably do the sounds we wanted, too. He was really into the project. In fact, he paid for a lot of it because we went over-budget.” The band was so impressed with Rundgren that they plan to enter the studio with him again in December to cut Although many people claim to “really hear Rundgren” on Forever Now, Butler claims the band actually had more to do with the sound than Rundgren did. “He said that was going to happen, and that maybe we should go with old sound for that very reason. Actually, we’d done the cello arrangements with Ann Sheldon in f England before we even started to record, although Todd did do some of the hom arrangements. He and Gary Windo did the horns for ‘Danger’ and ‘Goodbye,’ and that (along with his suggestion to use Flo & * Eddie on back-up vocals) was the major part of his contribution.”

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four new tracks.

As far as accusations that the Furs have “gone commercial” with the new release, Butler argues “that’s total rubbish. We’re not chasing an audience,” adding that the next album will probably be as different from Forever Now as this one is from the first two LPs. “You can’t do the same thing forever. It’s always good to stay ahead of your audience because you usually gain their respect in the end.”

Another difference on Forever Now is that it's the band’s first record without old members Duncan Kilburn and Roger Morris, who were fired from the band last winter. Drummer Vince Ely left the Furs shortly after the record was finished to be replaced by Phil Calvert, a former member of the Iggy Pop/Captain Beefheart-influenced Birthday Party, who postponed his wedding plans to tour with the band. ‘I had loads of arguments with Duncan regarding musical direction, and finally decided that I’d had enough. It wasn’t going to work. So I decided to get rid of him, and phoned John to, see what he thought of the situation. John said to get rid of Roger as well because he wanted more room to work melodies into the stuff. Vince left because he never quite fit in with the rest of us. I don’t think he really wanted to do another tour. He was sort of a delicate soul.” Butler adds that rather than replace Kilburn and Morris, the band plans to recruit session musicians as they’re needed.

f Forever Now is also the first album to get

the Furs positive reviews in their native England, where the rock press has consistently written them off as pretentious and uncool. “Melody Maker called it a W masterpiece, and even the NME grudgingly said we’ve gotten better. I think it’s sort of a game they like to play. When we first came out, they all thought we were great— the best thing since sliced bread. I think they like to build things up to tear them down again. But we’ve just lasted it through, so they’ve sort of given up and decided since we’re going to be around, they’ll have to listen to what we do. I think the fact that they could never label us was a big part of it.”

One criticism that’s often thrown Butler’s way is that he’s a “poser.” Does he consider himself one? “Yes. Of course. That’s the whole point of being onstage. You’re not there to look like you just walked off the dole line or something. You’re there to pose—to get something across. I think Iggy Pop was a poser. Mick Jagger. David Bowie. Lou Reed. All posers.”

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Onstage, Butler is every bit as charismatic as the rock stars he spoke of. With his trench coat dnd perpetual cigarette, he creates a persona as suave and continental as Bryan Ferry with Roxy Music, another great bunch of rock ’n’ roll “posers,” although he argues that Roxy Music actually had little influence on him despite what numerous critics have written to the contrary. You can see a lot of the European cabaret singers he admires, as well as a lot of familiar images from rock ’n’ roH’s past, all combined to create something that is quite definitely rock ’n’ roll present.

The band creates layer upon layer of sound, and the addition of cello and synthesizer often makes it sound like there’s an entire orchestra onstage, giving whole new dimensions to the older material. Ashton’s sustained guitar lines create incredible melodies out of what is still a drone, and new drummer Calvert connects with Tim Butler’s bass to create an even heavier rock steady beat than was previously the case. The beat/ drone is hypnotic, demanding you move your body, and combined with the moody lighting (the slide projections have been dropped) and Butler’s surreal emotionalism, you can’t help but surrender to and get totally caught up in the thrill of it all. It’s both fun-filled and deadly serious, both “art” and “trash,” both cerebral and physical. It’s entertainment—a “rock ’n’ roll show”—but it’s lots more. It’s (what else?) something genuinely psychedelic—or at least what psychedelia should represent in the ’80s. Along with Elvis Costello’s, it’s the best rock performance I’ve seen this year.

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Nice guys John Ashton—who bears a slight resemblance to a non-wasted Johnny Thunders—and Phil Calvert have joined us at the bar to discuss why the Furs’ music manages to transcend depression despite its dark content.

JOHN: I don’t like happy music unless it’s stuff you can dance to, and then that’s something totally different. It’s not music you actually listen to. It’s something you move your body to and it doesn’t matter what the words are, disco or something like that. We like people to listen to our albums—and get into the music for that side of it—but listen with headphones, lie back, maybe smoke a couple of joints, and experience the music and words together. Hopefully, it can take you somewhere else totally. I think that’s always been the aim behind our music. If it takes you somewhere else, then it’s doing its job. But if it just makes you think about how depressing it all is, then it really isn’t doing its job at all.

RICHARD: That all ties in with what I said about making people think.

PHIL: Anything that makes you think is positive. It’s having a positive effect if it makes people question things.

RICHARD: Yeah. So I don’t think it really is negative or depressing in that sense.

JOHN: Besides, who wants to be “happy/happy” all the time?

RICHARD: It’s like Haircut 100. Let’s all be happy while the bomb drops! Let’s not think about it. It’s like the song “Aeroplane,” which we just released as a 12-inch dance single. That was made up because of people like Bow Wow Wow saying, “We don’t want to worry about the world’s problems. We want to celebrate.” So we decided to write a song you can dance to about the bomb dropping. I just like the absurdity of seeing a floor of people dancing to a song about a bomb dropping.

PHIL: While it drops! (Much laughter.)

JOHN: The line in that which always gets me is “I’m coming down if you want me.” That’s the sort of like saying well, the bombers are flying around in the sky, but we can make them stop—if we want to. At least, I’m assuming that it’s possible.

CREEM: You’ve said that pop music should educate people. Do you really think that pop music can change people and have any sort of lasting political effect?

RICHARD: Well, it certainly changed me (the others agree),’ but as far as changing the political system goes, I don’t know. The Clash are trying to change political systems. Bob Dylan changed me, and I’ll admit it. He changed the way I think about things—that was my communication. That’s the only way it can change people, from, the inside out. It gets you thinking about the world. You don’t ape their criticisms. Say someone says, “I hate this kind of person,” you don’t immediately agree and start hating that type of person, too. You start thinking of the “why” behind it.

JOHN: Or whether you really do hate them or just feel sorry for them.

RICHARD: Yeah, and that’s the sort of thing Dylan did for me. The Clash are doing what Bob Dylan did eminently well on an acoustic guitar in the ’60s, but we’ve still got Ronald Reagan in power. And despite the Clash, there’ll be another Ronald Reagan in power in another ten years. I have no doubt about it, unless people get a bit more educated in here (points at head).

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So it’s obvious that the Psychedelic Furs care a lot about things, but that still doesn’t answer what’s worth caring about. Is there really any purpose to it all? The final words belong to Richard.

“Yes, there’s every purpose to it. I think it’s worth caring about everybody and everything. It’s an ideal. You want harmony all the time between people, and that sounds corny and old hat. But you see racism going on, you see sexism, you see people fighting. I mean, what’s with people hitting one bunch of flesh with another bunch of flesh all the time? All our bodies are is a bit of flesh with a brain in it, and I don’t like that going on at all. The purpose is harmony, and the purpose is—what’s the old saying? ‘I only pass this way but once,’ or something like that, and any person I can help on my way through is worth it. That’s the ideal—just helping people. I don’t believe in an after-life or anything like that, nothing religious. I think this is it, so why not try to make things better for each other while we’re here because it’s all going to come back to you in the end. Some reviewers have made me out to sound like a bit of a nihilist, but I’m not. I care a lot about people.”

Does he consider himself a depressed person, a happy person or a somewhere in-between person?

“Urn...let’s just say a permanently worried person.”

Which sounds like a pretty healthy attitude for the 1980s.