There were many good reads in 2024. These are the books that we chose to end the year with.
Electronic Body Music by Yuma Hampejs and Marcel Schulze
EBM needs no explanation for consistent readers of Cold War Night Life. For newcomers, it can be thought of as the mutation of disco into jagged beats and bass lines, merged with the aggression of punk.
There were hints of it in the works of Giorgio Moroder and Cerrone; nudged by the nature of 8-step sequencers into harder rhythms suitable for the dancefloor. The next steps were taken by those nice young men from Dusseldorf, Deutsch Amerikanische Freundschaft. True punks, they abandoned guitars for an MS20 and turned their sexual energy into a combination of grooves and growls that set the template for a new genre.
Yuma Hampejs and Marcel Schulze pick up the story at this point, describing the development of EBM and its influence around the world. Previously released in German, their book is now available to an international audience in English. Inspired by Bengt Rahm’s bible of Swedish poptronica, Den svenska synthen, it is a compendium of acts, large and small, who have made an impression on the scene.
With scores of photos by some of our favourite photographers, including Krichan Wihlborg and Jens Atterstrand, Electronic Body Music is a vital and thorough chronicle of a key subculture.
Fear of Music by David Stubbs
The core question posed by David Stubbs is why modern music provokes strong, negative reactions in people who admire modern visual arts. While a Rothko might draw sighs, a performance of Stockhausen might draw moans. Stubbs wants to understand why one is celebrated while another is derided, despite the conceptual similarities and even cross-overs between the different forms of expression.
Along the way, he traces the development of modern music, from Schoenberg to David Toop, and AMM to Aphex Twin. The influence of what used to be called New Music on pop music, including The Beatles and Pink Floyd, is evident; but why are experimental composers treated with disdain? The answer rather depends in who is making the criticism and the grounds for it.
Cornelius Cardew – himself a sometime member of the improv group, AMM – famously attacked Stockhausen from a Marxist position. In Stockhausen Serves Imperialism, a collection of writings setting avant-garde politics against avant-garde music, Cardew led the charge on the German composer. A former student of Stockhausen, Cardew took issue with his mystical methods and politically palliative intentions. Instead of fanning the flames of protest, Stockhausen appeared to him as a firefighter against the consciousness of the musical elite. The book was Cardew’s counterpunch.
To some extent, Cardew’s approach was influenced by the Maoist politics of the day. In 1974, a strident rejection of the past (even the near past) was consonant with the Cultural Revolution in China. The movement against the Vietnam War and the rise of national liberation movements provided part of the backdrop against which Stockhausen’s work could be evaluated. For composers inspired to “serve the people,” Stockhausen’s creations were both inadequate and inappropriate.
The other main tendency of criticism of Stockhausen is rooted in conservatism. The Tory newspapers were happy to print cartoons satirising his music, because it departed from the conventions of the past. Just as jazz and rock music were frowned upon by older generations, the use of electronics and unconventional notation provoked those unhappy with change. Their resort to (weak) humour could raise a smile only among the most philistine readers.
In reviewing the dialectic between modern art and modern music, Stubbs teases out the differences in the markets for, eg, framed Basquiats and Neubauten records. That they should be judged according to market criteria is a wonder; but possession, as they say, is nine tenths of the law. The former can be clearly owned, while the latter ends up as data in a huge pile at the end of the Spotify app.
This book raises as many questions as it answers – and it ends on one. The discussion hurtles from one end of your record collection to the other. Even if Stubbs doesn’t settle the matter definitively, the debate is made richer by the reading.
Strange Things Are Happening by Richard Norris
One of the hazards of having a musical career that crossed paths with Genesis P-Orridge is that it lives in the shadow of his ego. Another is that Genesis will have stolen your work, presented it to the world as his own, and then refused to let you have the royalties.
Richard Norris (The Grid, Beyond the Wizard’s Sleeve) survived the first of these. The second – wouldn’t you know it – stung him, as it has so many others.
There really should be a support group for the victims of Genesis’ drive-by lootings of intellectual property. Among the stories will be how he was present at the delivery of acid house and tried to put his name on the birth certificate. Norris is in the best position to recount it, and he does so here with humour and grace.
Other stories include anecdotes involving Joe Strummer, Rick Rubin, Damian Albarn, and Sky Saxon. Most people would be hard-pressed to pick Norris out of a line-up, but he has crossed paths and worked with some of the biggest names in music. Crucially, despite the presence of many things in his bloodstream, he has met every situation head-on.
Electricity and Ghosts by John Foxx
John Foxx first came to public attention as the punk who fronted Ultravox! (while they still had the exclamation mark). He went on to release Metamatic – the album Gary Numan dreamed about when he slept. More music followed, but part of Foxx’s joy came from creating the cover art for his recordings.
Electricity and Ghosts: The Visual Art of John Foxx collects many of Foxx’s graphic works for the first time. Designed with Jonathan Barnbrook, who has worked on packaging for John Foxx & The Maths, it is a reminder of the multiple dimensions that Foxx has inhabited since art school. As a maker of plastic art, collages, and film, Foxx was never going to be content to focus on only one medium.
Foxx’s work as a book designer for major imprints is lesser-known, but it has been staring out from shelves since the mid-90s. His use of Shreddies cereal on the cover art for “Endlessly” emerges as a previously obscure detail. His notebook sketches are shown for the first time. We might never see Foxx singing in concert again; but, with this book, his position as a total artist is reinforced.