Bauhaus - The Cabaret of Horror

In just a few years of activity, Bauhaus managed to establish themselves as one of the most important and representative bands of the gothic movement. But it would be reductive to confine them to that scene alone. With them, rock turns into a cabaret of horror, complete with masks and make-up, following in the footsteps of glam and the legendary "Rocky Horror Picture Show". The macabre, dissonant tones of dark-punk and the theatrical attitude of glam rock become one and the same thing with Bauhaus: far from the existential gloom of certain gothic rock, Peter Murphy's band's sound does paint gloomy nightmares and relentless horror-dances, but loads them with an exaggerated, grotesque emphasis.

The fateful year is once again 1977, year zero of British punk. In Northampton, guitarist Daniel Ash, bassist David Jay, drummer Kevin Haskins and singer Peter Murphy come together, all fresh from other, more or less punk-leaning outfits of the period. The four initially choose the name "Bauhaus 1919", then simply Bauhaus, as a tribute to the famous artistic avant-garde founded in Weimar, Germany, in the early twentieth century (and to further cement that link, Jay would even record a single with an elderly poet and painter who was a survivor of that era, Rene Halkett).

The quartet makes an immediate splash with a track destined to become one of the great anthems of "dark" music: "Bela Lugosi's Dead", a tribute to the legendary Hungarian actor who played Dracula on screen for director Tod Browning. The drums start out alone, driving a cavernous bassline through the clatter of Ash's guitar. Then the guitar falls silent, leaving space for Murphy's chilling declamation: "White on white, translucent black capes, back on the rack…". The track then winds on in an increasingly sinister, draining fashion, with a wild, almost reggae-like gait, between an obsessive bassline and distant guitar echoes. The small label Small Wonder, which had already released "Killing An Arab" by The Cure, is thrilled with the demo, which comes out as a 7-inch single.

With their second single, "Dark Entries", another sick, decadent ballad, Murphy and co. join the 4AD roster run by Ivo Watts-Russell, reaching No. 1 on the indie charts.

The third single, "Terror Couple Kill Colonel", built on a syncopated dub groove, takes its title from the newspaper headline reporting the killing of a British colonel by the far-left terrorist group the Baader-Meinhof Gang.

In November 1980 comes the debut album In The Flat Field, one of the great manifestos of post-punk and the first generation of British new wave. This is where their chilling psychodramas are born, their apocalyptic visions of damnation drawing on a medieval age wrapped in mystery. It's a singular blend of esotericism and biblical solemnity, with a touch of glam irreverence — an even more striking version of the "classic" dark sound of Siouxsie And The Banshees, The Cure and Joy Division. Its formidable icon is the emaciated Murphy, with his melodramatic baritone and his trademark decadent look, inspired by "The Phantom of the Opera" and "Dorian Gray". What perhaps escapes the character's detractors (regarded, by turns, as something between a zombie and a monster in costume) is that his own exhibitionism, his vampire make-up and his brazenly necrophiliac symbolism were above all meant to show that being the singer of a "dark" band didn't necessarily have to mean being a chronic depressive. In short, perhaps those "critics" are simply missing the irony needed to decipher the character, beyond the easy, one-size-fits-all stereotypes. Murphy's visions, however, are pitch-black, demonic dances charged with a primordial fear. And his taste for overtones, his theatrical, baroque emphasis, only heighten the horror dimension of Bauhaus's music.

The album opens with a bang. "Double Dare", introduced by a pulse reminiscent of Syd Barrett's "Astronomy Domine", then unfolds into a stormy drum cadence, a booming bass distortion and an ocean of razor-sharp guitar dissonance, painting the ideal backdrop for a wildly inspired Murphy: now deep and baritone, now neurotic and shrill, elsewhere screamed, twisted and menacing, his voice shifts constantly — a rich, beautiful voice, as powerful as few others. The title track is another typical band standard: launched on supersonic rhythms, branded by Ash and his boundless repertoire of guitar effects (subliminal pulses, sudden surges, colossal dissonances), with Murphy once again the histrionic star, somewhere between a sensual, smoky old-school crooner and a raucous punk shouter. "God In An Alcove", on the other hand, gives free rein to their "glam" side, while "Dive" is a lightning-fast, wildly unleashed piece of punk-rock.

On "Spy In The Cab", Murphy steps into the role of the "dark" balladeer for the first time, sounding almost tearful while the sparse backing is limited to another avant-garde turn from Ash and a handful of electronic pulses. Even more disorienting is "Small Talk Stinks", which can't help but recall the contemporary rhythmic experiments of PiL: a languid, mysterious song, it's almost a foreign body on an album whose agenda is explicit morbidity, yet it blends in perfectly thanks to its many subtle manipulations that unsettle the apparent calm of its dub groove. "St.Vitus Dance" is a wild satanic dance, with the four of them almost overdoing it as they push their instruments to the most extreme effects: the drums become an indefinite pulse, bass and guitar turn into little more than irritating interference, while Murphy indulges in a rambling exercise, first in spoken-word, then in agitated crooning, before ending in animal screams. "Stigmata Martyr" is another reference standard for all the gothic rock to come, with Murphy this time cast as the grim priest. The tour de force of "Nerves" (7 minutes) is a walk through a horror-house tunnel pierced by an out-of-tune piano and pitch-black guitar riffs worthy of Black Sabbath. Murphy guides this hymn to universal fear in the most fitting way, right up to a sudden, frenzied crescendo in the finale.

In The Flat Field divides the critics, but wins over crowds of dark fans (and beyond), quickly becoming one of the genre's great classics. Having moved to Beggars Banquet, Bauhaus immediately release a trio of top-tier singles: a cover of Marc Bolan & T Rex's "Telegram Sam", the art-funk of "Kick In The Eye" and (above all) the claustrophobic ballad "Passion Of Lovers", which becomes a huge hit on the dark club scene thanks to its explosive mix of funky beats and gothic cadences, heightened by the murky delivery of a Murphy in splendid form.

It's the prelude to their second full-length. More polished than its predecessor, including in production terms, Mask (1981) loses something in terms of sheer impact, but offers a broader, more varied repertoire, ranging from glam to punk, from heavy metal to funk, from hard rock to German-style electronics. Bauhaus, in particular, lean further into their melodic streak, starting with the gorgeous, slowed-down gothic litany of "Hollow Hills", set to a minimal drumbeat, with sepulchral, hypnotic atmospheres brushing against psychedelia, and Murphy's ghost seeming to emerge from the fog. Even more evocative is the title track, with its thriller-like sound, this time dominated by the icy electronic chimes of the keyboards, providing the backdrop for Murphy's grotesque crooning, before the final twist: a disorienting, semi-acoustic arpeggio that further sharpens the tension.

Once again, the "tribal" component of their sound also comes to the fore, evidenced by high-impact charges such as the anguished uptempo piece for voice and synth "In Fear Of Fear", with distorted, heavily effects-laden guitars backed by the circular pulses of bass and drums, and the two macabre dances "Hair Of The Dog" (with a pulsing bass and a maelstrom of guitars) and "Dancing", almost a deranged psycho-billy number in the style of The Cramps. Halfway between nightmare and farce, "The Man With The X-Ray Eyes" instead dishes out a disco-punk beat to accompany another jolt of pure adrenaline, while the boogie of "Of Lillies And Remains" even flirts with ska, with Murphy trying his hand at a spoken part thick with morbidity.
Overall, one senses the band's attempt to move beyond the genre's fences, broadening their expressive range. This new direction manages both not to disappoint fans and to bring decent commercial success: Mask, in fact, reaches No. 30 on the British charts.

In February 1982, one of their "spiritual fathers", David Bowie, after catching one of their shows at the Old Vic, invites them to record a special version of "Bela Lugosi's Dead" for the soundtrack of the film "The Hunger" ("The Hunger"), a vamp-story starring the Thin White Duke himself and Catherine Deneuve as two children of Nosferatu.

Before summer comes "Spirit", another great single — evidently a house specialty for the band — which reaches No. 42 on the UK Singles Chart, with grim atmospheres that pull you into a dark vortex and an incipit that says it all: "Tonight I could be with you/ Or waiting in the Wings"… followed by an interesting (if extremely faithful) remake of "Ziggy Stardust".

The third chapter in their long run is The Sky's Gone Out, which, in its original edition, comes out with a studio album plus the attached live set Press The Eject And Give Me The Tape, featuring a series of classics recorded live around Britain, later reissued on its own.

Less cohesive and more fragmented than its predecessors, The Sky's Gone Out still boasts a few small gems, starting with the opening track, "Third Uncle", a successful cover of the song of the same name by Brian Eno — from "Taking Tiger Mountain (By Strategy)", 1974 — and the sinister "Silent Hedges", which, after a romantic start, sheds its skin and soon tangles itself into a labyrinth of horror sounds and effects. No less frightening is the other nightmare of "Swing The Heartache", crowded with leaden sounds and malevolent spirits, while the "The Three Shadows" trilogy indulges the band's more experimental and grandiloquent streak, almost brushing up against the lysergic trips of Pink Floyd with the narcotic "Exquisite Corpse".

And while the almost pogo-ready whirl of "In The Night" keeps ties with their (post-)punk beginnings, the forlorn "All We Ever Wanted Was Everything", built on Ash's elegant acoustic phrasing, satisfies the more crepuscular fringes of the goth crowd, sliding into an abyss of regret and nostalgia: “All we ever wanted was everything/ all we ever got was cold/ get up, eat jelly, sandwich bars and barbed wire/ squash every week into a day”.

After the release of a couple more successful singles (the epileptic whirl of "Lagartija Nick" and the feverish boogie of "Sanity Assassin"), the Bauhaus story comes to a close with Burning From The Inside (1983), an album that finds Murphy sidelined, unable to take part in most of the recording sessions due to a bout of pneumonia.

There are, however, at least three songs worth remembering: the anguished, grandiose "She's In Parties", which would remain one of their most beloved songs ever, and the sinister liturgies of "King Volcano" and "Slice Of Life", which nonetheless smooth out the rough edges further and seem to almost foreshadow the "softer" turn David Jay's career would later take.

But in the summer of 1983, the news of Bauhaus's split comes like a bolt from the blue. No fights or open disagreements, just perhaps the shared desire (Murphy's especially) to try their hand at other paths.

Ash, Haskins and Jay form Love And Rockets, who, juggling pop, goth and psychedelia, manage to snatch a further share of glory with the albums Express, Earth Sun Moon and (above all) Love And Rockets.

Murphy, meanwhile, forms Dali's Car with Japan bassist Mick Karn, and embarks on a solo career that, barring a few rare exceptions (for instance, the aching romantic ballad "A Strange Kind of Love"), won't live up to expectations. The cult success of Bauhaus, however, endures over time, through a steady stream of releases (rarities, B-sides, celebratory anthologies) and constant echoes of their work scattered across the records of countless disciples of their horror-rock, first and foremost the Californian Christian Death.

Then, just when the four British darkmen seem to have been consigned to the museum of 80s goth icons, and the echo of Murphy's voice seems destined to surface at best from the fog of some nostalgic dark-party, Bauhaus make a surprise return with a double album, Gotham (also available on video), recorded during the blazing "Resurrection Tour" of 1999, on which Murphy and co. celebrate, fittingly, their "resurrection". To cash in on the reunion, Beggars wastes no time releasing the (excellent, by the way) anthology Crackle as well.

Gotham captures the show held at New York's Hammerstein Ballroom, featuring most of the songs that made the band legendary, from "She's In Parties" to "Bela Lugosi's Dead", from "The Passion Of Lovers" to "In The Flat Field", by way of the remake of "Ziggy Stardust". Eighteen songs from their golden years, plus a cover of "Severance" by Australia's Dead Can Dance. A historic treasure for devotees of the darkest rock, and a precious legacy for successful Nineties bands, from Smashing Pumpkins to Nine Inch Nails, who have never hidden the fact that they drew from the Bauhaus toolkit.

Peter Murphy, meanwhile, has gone back to Turkey, where he settled some time ago, while the other three members of the band live in the United States, splitting their time between working as musicians and as producers.

After the 2006 reunion run, which saw Bauhaus reaffirm on stages across half the world the virtues of an unassailable repertoire presented with undiminished vigor, it's hard to hide a certain unease when faced with their first album of new material in 25 years.

The sore points of Go Away White (2008) are many, starting with Murphy's vocal performance, and continuing with the rushed production job, which can't even begin to rescue subpar songwriting. In Murphy's tired voice there's no trace of the desperate alienation of "In The Flat Field", nor of the shadowy allure of "Dali's Car", nor even of the Bowie-esque crooning of "Cuts You Up". In their place, an atonal moan that sounds like it belongs to some latecomer disciple. The result is ten slapdash songs that don't just dredge up goth clichés, but also draw from conventional, even more overused territory. So we get everything from the hard rock with its stale riff propping up "Too Much 21st Century", which boldly resurfaces in disguise on "Undone", to the embarrassing Eric Clapton-style guitar winks of "International Bulletproof Talent", partly softened by a mannered wave approach, down to litanies that echo Murphy's old solo outings, which weren't exactly triumphs back in the day either ("Saved", "Mirror Remains").

A disappointing comeback, in short, one that raises the question: was it really necessary?

Far more convincing, on the other hand, is the return of Peter Murphy, who resurfaces in 2011 with Ninth.

Contributions by Marco Bercella (“Go Away White”)

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