16. Theatre Of Hate - Do You Believe In The West World? (Burning Rome)

 

Number one for one week on 30 January 1982

The idea that the cold war exercised a clammy grip on the imagination of eighties pop is a dominant cliche. There’s plenty of evidence to back it up, obviously. Duran Duran clumsily used the frequently mocked “you’re about as easy as a nuclear war” line, and Ultravox penned one of the eeriest pop ballads ever, “Dancing With Tears in My Eyes”, and directed a child-melting video to go with it. Bigger and louder than either of those were Frankie Goes To Hollywood who spent nine weeks at number one with a record partially consisting of the actor Patrick Allen issuing post-nuclear bomb public information on top of agitated, urgent rhythms.

All those tracks emerged in 1983 or 1984, either around or not long after the point Ronald Reagan called the USSR an “evil empire” and the cold war entered its deepest freeze. Prior to that, while the threat was apparent, its shadow was perhaps more apparent in the atmosphere of some of the odder, more unsettled records to attract public excitement and attention; in that respect, it feels appropriate that “O Superman” was a huge seller in 1981 in a way I doubt it would have been five years earlier or later. Was it actually directly about nuclear war, though? Possibly not.

Records which actually directly referenced nuclear war, even in the indie chart, were relatively thin on the ground prior to that point, with tracks like UB40’s “The Earth Dies Screaming” being the exceptions that proved the rule. In general, most of the punk underground were more interested in issuing rattlingly irritated singles about the futility of war in general. The Exploited were particularly exercised by such matters, with lead singer Wattie’s previous career as a soldier serving in Northern Ireland feeding into his obsession with the futility of armed conflict.

“Do You Believe in the West World” was a bit of an exception, and emerged packaged in a provocative sleeve, signposting the actual meaning of the lyrics for anyone who wasn’t listening closely enough. Kirk Brandon uses a Western film backdrop as the canvas to scrawl his message on, offering us not very subtle hints such as “That was before the circus with the bear arrived/ oh the bear it roared as the gun was fired/ then the cowboy turned the gun on himself as he sang/ ‘no-one’s alive’”.

“Westworld” is actually a cunning and surprisingly rewarding single which seems to crush a wide range of influences into one song, from the obvious (actual Western films) to the more current. The track opens with a post-punk thunder of bottom-heavy tribal drumming, before allowing an almost funky rhythm guitar to slip in, as if to remind us that in the event of armageddon, Orange Juice and Edwyn Collins would be evaporated as well as Brandon’s more anguished music. 

As the track progresses and inevitably lets in some Morricone inspired twang, it also eventually permits a raging sax solo as well, making this sound like a condensed representation of rock and roll in the nuclear age. Whereas Theatre of Hate’s previous indie number one “Nero” was a static atmosphere piece with feet of clay, “Westworld” unfolds gracefully, managing more in its five minutes than most post-punk groups of the period bothered with.

Theatre of Hate were occasionally referenced as a proto-goth group, and in “Westworld” in particular its possible to imagine Carl McCoy’s ears twitching, but it’s too busy and ever-shifting to really compare with most capital ‘G’ goth music.

The producer was Mick Jones, whose efforts for the subsequent album “Westworld” picked up some criticism from fans of the group – on this track, though, it’s hard to hear how he could have operated differently. By giving the group a chance to stretch, meander and roam, and throwing every influence into the blender without overwhelming the concept, he can only be considered to have delivered a triumph.

Despite the fact that it was issued on their own Burning Rome records, the single managed one week inside the Top 40 at the anchoring number 40 spot, and the BBC subsequently saw fit to offer them a Top of the Pops appearance, a rare privilege for a group without a record contract (or indeed any band who only just made it over the qualifying “hit record” threshold). Their appearance offered no clues to their comparatively lowly status, showing a group who looked like a cohesive unit, one of those bands the IPC press would doubtless dub a "proper gang".

The truth was less flattering. Fatigue, friction, dysfunction and (according to Brandon) problematic drug use was already beginning to weaken the group, and before the end of the year they would split, leaving their lead singer to forge ahead with Spear of Destiny, and the guitarist Billy Duffy to join The Cult. The album they left behind was a top twenty hit, but they didn’t stick together enough to build on the promise it afforded them.

Not longer after the single’s number 40 peak, a few mocking comments were also made about the way its distribution and pressing were handled by their management. Critics were swiftly sent away with a flea in their ear, reminded of the fact that a group on its own independent label managing to reach the national chart, even for one week, was a rare thing indeed. As anyone who has ever played Chris Sievey’s (aa Frank Sidebottom) computer music industry simulation “The Biz” will know, there’s no arguing with that.

Away From the Number One spot

The highest new entry is GBH with “No Survivors” at number six. Always one of the more credible and enduring second-wave punk outfits, GBH were tight and raw rather than flabby and lo-fi, and “No Survivors” is further evidence of their fire and skill. It eventually peaked at number two.




Fad Gadget enter at number 14 with “Saturday Night Special”. The “group”, who were really just centered around the activities of Frank Tovey, were one of Mute’s earliest signings, and there was initially some hope that the label’s increased financial fortunes would allow them to be pushed over the line. This never happened and they remained a cult group, but this single’s strange atmosphere, like gothic pop played by a psychotic organ grinder, captured the imagination of a number of critics. It would eventually peak at number 7.




Stockholm Monsters, who apparently eventually counted Noel Gallagher among their fans, entered at 25 with arguably their best known track “Fairy Tales”. Somewhat surprisingly given its “early indie pop classic” status, the single climbed no higher, but their status as Manc legends was assured.




Finally, resting at number 27 was one of the odder and more forgotten indie chart entries of 1982 - Mouth with “Ooh, Ah, Yeah!”. It’s a zoomy double-bass led post-punk groove which immediately sounded both of its time and nearly 25 years out of date simultaneously. The group would eventually move on to Y Records, who were unable to excite the public with their work as much as they managed with labelmates Pigbag.

Number One In The Official Charts

Shakin’ Stevens: “Oh Julie” (Epic)