Buzzcocks - Love in the Time of Punk

Few bands managed to embody their genre so fully while simultaneously tearing down nearly all of its stereotypes, as the Buzzcocks did. That's one of the reasons they rank among the most original protagonists of an entire era. Punk in spirit, in their insolent approach, in their ability to distill rage and feeling into freeze-dried 2-3 minute song fragments, the Mancunians were nonetheless also so much more. Starting with their look of fresh-faced, geeky students, utterly lacking the vandalistic attitude of their punk peers. "We're four nice boys, the kind you could bring home and introduce to your parents," Pete Shelley joked in one of his early interviews. After all, he and Howard Devoto, the band's other brilliant co-founder, didn't fit the cliché of the bored proletarian kid looking for a brawl or nihilistic (self-)destruction. The former, born Peter McNeish, was an engineering student with a passion for the Romantic poets - not for nothing had he chosen as his stage name that of his favourite one: Percy Bysshe Shelley. The latter, meanwhile, had rejected the thoroughly English surname Trafford to take on the more mysterious one of Devoto, in keeping with his passion for literature and philosophy, which he studied while compulsively listening to that American strain of proto-punk born somewhere between the Detroit of the Stooges and the New York of the Velvet Underground and CBGB.

What really shattered punk's conventions, though, was above all their music. It was pop, thanks to the crystalline melodies and killer choruses they churned out with casual ease, almost like modern-day Beatles or Kinks. It was post for its art-rock attitude (which Devoto would later develop more fully in Magazine) and for its witty lyrics, which, instead of the nihilism of the Sex Pistols or the political broadsides of the Clash, dealt with teenage frustration, sex and - believe it or not - love, including the bisexual kind, openly celebrated by Shelley. But it was also an early embryo of indie: the debut EP "Spiral Scratch" (1977), released on their own label New Hormones, is regarded as the prototype of DIY (do it yourself). Finally, some have gone even further, imagining fanciful connections to jazz, like Paul Morley, NME's Manchester correspondent, who was blown away by their early shows: "They sounded like Ornette Coleman! The guitar and bass darted about, the drums were entirely polyrhythmic, the voice was a whip. If you stepped back five centimetres you'd think: this is free jazz."

Less celebrated than some of their peers, the Buzzcocks are nonetheless among the performers of that era who managed to leave a deeper and more lasting mark. Just think of an album like Graham Coxon's "Love Travels All Illegal Speeds", which clearly nods to their music, or a famous radio show hosted by Henry Rollins on Los Angeles's Indie 103.1 titled "Harmony In My Head" (the title of Shelley & co.'s favourite song of their own). Their punk-pop has proven impervious to the wear of time: from the era of the Ramones (perhaps their only true forefathers) to that of Nirvana (who adopted them as godfathers, bringing them on stage for their final tour in 1994), right through to that of Green Day, who simplified their lesson and carried it into the 2000s, and the punk-garage revival of the Strokes that would sweep the following decade. After all, it was Shelley himself who ambitiously revealed to NME: "Before I make a song, I have to be sure it can stand the test of time." A paradoxical statement, in the age of rock'n'roll's greatest swindle and the swift self-destruction of the Sex Pistols and their ilk.

Never mind the Buzzcocks

The spark is struck in 1975, when students Pete Shelley and Howard Devoto meet at the Bolton Institute of Technology's electronic music society, under the pretext of scoring an art video. Shelley, raised on kraut-rock and an accomplished inventor in his own right (he'd already built his first oscillator), takes to those experimental scores like a duck to water. The two click instantly: they decide to form a band and give it the cheeky name Buzzcocks, which is actually a blend taken from a running slang catchphrase in a TV series of the time, "Rock Follies": "That's the buzz, cocks" (though buzz is also the hum of guitars, and cocks... well, we all know what that means). In the year of our Lord 1976, there's one voice above all doing the rounds - or rather, spreading like wildfire - across England: that of the Sex Pistols. Pete and Howard, struck by an NME review, rush down to London to hear them play. A few months later, alongside Slaughter and the Dogs, they'll open for them at an epic show at Manchester's Lesser Free Trade Hall, widely regarded as the defining event for the local scene. Among the crowd that night: producer Martin Hannett, TV presenter Tony Wilson (future head of Factory), a young Morrissey, and three-quarters of Joy Division: Ian Curtis, Peter Hook and Bernard Sumner.

That gig is their baptism of fire: the Buzzcocks are ready to wreak havoc, led by Devoto's flamboyant genius and Shelley's decadent charisma. With Steve Diggle joining on bass and John Maher on drums, rounding out the duo, they get moving, and on 20 January 1977, thanks to a few dozen pounds borrowed from Pete's father, they manage to release their debut EP on their own label, New Hormones.

It lasts just ten minutes, Spiral Scratch (reissued in 2000 by Mute), but it marks the start of an era. From the very first track, "Breakdown", the Sex Pistols' obvious influence is felt, though filtered through Devoto's unusually theatrical crooning and an introspective approach evident right from the psychotic lyrics, which recount a nervous breakdown and the impossibility of holding oneself together (“If I seem a little jittery I can’t restrain myself/ I’m falling into fancy fragments/ Can’t contain myself/ I gotta breakdown”). More light-hearted, "Time's Up" pokes fun at waiting around (for a girl, but also for the time needed for things to change), while the breakneck "Friends Of Mine" is an ode to youthful exuberance.

But the real generational anthem is called "Boredom", with its extraordinary rhythmic drive, Shelley's relentless two-note monochord solo and an irresistible melodic line, in what Simon Reynolds called "a meta-punk exercise", since "the tedium it expressed was genuine ("I'm living in this movie/ But it doesn't move me") but at the same time boredom was an obligatory subject for punk songs: a theme so predictable it became boring in itself."

And it's boredom itself that will push Devoto to quit, out of the blue, right after the EP's release. True to the chameleonic Bowie-esque motto "if something works, throw it away", the inscrutable Howard will leave his bandmates, already declaring himself "tired of the noise and out of breath", but above all fed up with the "inflexible nature" of punk, with all its baggage of dogmas and approximations. Devoto, after all, had always looked to the art-glam-rock tradition of the sacred triad Iggy Pop–David Bowie–Roxy Music, but also to the more melodic side of kraut-rock and the "coldest" side of funk and soul. On top of that, being a (former) philosophy student, he loved writing lyrics a bit more cerebral than the average of the time. He'll find full satisfaction for his avant-garde ambitions at the helm of Magazine, writing another memorable chapter of British rock. But over the years there will be no shortage of sporadic reunions with his old comrade Pete.

The demos recorded while Devoto was still in the band would later be released on "Time's Up", an album long available only as a bootleg, containing alternative takes of the Spiral Scratch tracks plus early versions of songs later included on the debut album, as well as a deranged cover of the Troggs' "I Can't Control Myself".

Sneaking in the back door with dirty magazines

Now your mother wants to know 'bout all those stains on your jeans

(from "Orgasm Addict", 1977)

Addicted to orgasm

It's almost a knockout blow. But Shelley proves to be a formidable survivor. It will fall to him to carry forward the Buzzcocks saga, with Diggle moving from bass to guitar and new bassist Garth Smith, soon replaced by Steve Garvey. After all, the path has already been laid out, all that's left is to follow it with conviction. This new line-up embarks – alongside the Jam, Subway Sect and Slits – on the Clash's massive White Riot Tour. Then, now buoyed by a devoted fanbase, they sign with United Artists at Manchester's Electric Circus: it's 16 August 1977, which, incidentally, is also the day Elvis Presley died.

The seal on the new partnership comes a few months later, in November, with the first of many successful singles. It still bears the Shelley-Devoto double credit and has a title that says it all: "Orgasm Addict". The Buzzcocks immediately set themselves apart from the rest of the crowd: no political proclamations or self-destructive urges, better a healthy sexual addiction, like that of teenagers devouring porn magazines ("Sneaking in the back door with dirty magazines/ Now your mother wants to know 'bout all those stains on your jeans"). An ode to onanism – the flip side of do-it-yourself and an antidote to loneliness – sobbed out by Shelley in his high, melodious tones, light years away from the distorted screams of Rotten, Strummer & co., with Diggle's crackling guitars crashing against Smith's circular bass lines and Maher's frantic drumming. Almost more glam than punk, in the way it mocks the clichés of masculinity. The BBC won't approve, perhaps also because of those simulated female orgasms, and will bring down the censor's axe. Worth remembering too is the cover, a collage by Linder Sterling, further proof that the Buzzcocks always paid close attention to the visual side of their work (the covers of the first three albums, designed by Malcolm Garrett, will always carry geometric motifs, and even their logo, with its two "Z"s, will remain instantly recognizable).

Five months later, on the new single "What Do I Get?", Shelley turns less brazen, almost politely asking for "a lover like any other", with a menacing riff driving his lament forward; Garvey and Maher lock into a manic rhythm, while Diggle remains a constant harmonic anchor without which the Buzzcocks' songs would lose much of their physical impact.

Everybody says that punk songs aren't meant to talk about love.

Well, I don't agree, so why should I follow the rule?

(Pete Shelley to Melody Maker)

By March 1978, the first album, Another Music In A Different Kitchen, is already finished: it embodies the purest essence of punk, with taut structures, frantic rhythms and often zany vocals, yet already shows an unmistakable sound in which raw exuberance meets genuine melodic fragrance, abrasive guitars fuse with catchy, sentimental choruses, and lyrics are often sincere teenage tirades against a society of conformity and oppression. Take, for instance, "Fast Cars" – which opens almost identically to "Boredom" – a relentless indictment of classism and the culture of appearances (inspired by a car accident Diggle was involved in); or "No Reply", which beneath its energetic pace conceals all the desolation of someone left to rot beside a phone, unable to get so much as a simple answer.

But, as mentioned, Shelley has no qualms about bringing romantic themes into the punk arena. "People tend to say things like 'punk songs aren't meant to talk about love'. Well, I don't agree, so why should I follow the rule?", he'll confide to Melody Maker. Hence "You Tear Me Up", sung in soft tones to reveal – almost by contrast – the suffering of a rough, violent and dirty love. Or two blunt attempts at courtship like "Get On Yor Own", with vocals pitched ever higher, and "Love Battery". And then the romantic idyll of "Fiction Romance", undermined by doubt and disillusionment, and the surreal bewilderment of the disappointed lover in "I Don't Mind" ("I don't know if I'm an actor or ham"… "I don't know if I'm an actor or a ham"), condensed into almost sixties-style melodies that nevertheless conceal chord progressions far from elementary, worthy of the best Ray Davies. Decidedly more dissolute, on the other hand, is "I Need", where the gospel of sex, drugs and rock'n'roll merges with a childlike Ramones-style chant and a blazing guitar solo.

There's no shortage of harsher moments either, like "Autonomy", with its almost trashy groove, and "Sixteen", which marches forward before abruptly shifting tone with a distorted noise interlude worthy of the future Sonic Youth, before returning to its original form. Closing the album is the unusually long "Moving Away From The Pulsebeat": seven minutes of more experimental rock, with a vocal delivery reminiscent of the Beatles (cited by Diggle as the band's biggest influence alongside Ramones, Bowie and Bolan) and a grueling guitar solo.

Wait before you fall in love with someone you shouldn't

(Viviane Blaine a Marlon Brando in “Guys and Dolls”)

Falling for the wrong person

But let's take a step back. November 1977: Buzzcocks are on tour in the UK. Before a gig at the Cavendish Ballroom in Edinburgh, they find themselves at the Blenheim Guest House, pints of beer in hand, while the musical "Guys and Dolls" is playing on TV. At one point, one of the characters, Adelaide (Vivian Blaine), turns to Marlon Brando's character (Sky Masterson) and says: "Wait, before you ever fall in love with someone you shouldn't." Shelley doesn't think twice and builds a song around it that will remain, arguably, his definitive masterpiece: one of the most memorable melodies of an entire era, with the singer's tongue-twisting refrain, propped up by his bandmates' backing vocals, gliding over a bubbling magma of guitars, while the drums keep up a devilish pace. It will also become their biggest hit (No. 12 in the UK), relaunched in 1987 by a successful cover from Fine Young Cannibals. A feat that also marks a watershed against punk's typical macho clichés. Behind the playful pun of the title, in fact, "Ever Fallen In Love (With Someone You Shouldn't've)" defuses the pain of Pete's relationship with Francis Cookson, his partner in the side project Tiller Boys, with whom he lived for 7 years before Cookson went off to get married in Switzerland. Following in the footsteps of his idols Bowie and Reed, Shelley embraces a fluid, undefined sexuality: "I tried to be as neutral as possible between the sexes when writing songs, because for me the same song could have been used for either sex," he would explain. Rarely has punk shown itself so candid and vulnerable, even if wrapped in layers of salacious irony.

If passion is a fashion

Then emotion is a curse

(from "Just Lust", 1978)

Buoyed by this formidable icebreaker of a single (one of the few to be included on a later LP), Love Bites (1978) cements the Buzzcocks myth, even as their sound keeps evolving and their songs grow longer and more structured. The sharp social commentary remains, not far removed from the Jam, as on the frantic "Just Lust", where Shelley vents against the coldness of those who use people just to possess and discard them, in a kind of "emotional consumerism" ("You're driven to possess, it hurts, it's so unjust… If passion is a fashion/ Then emotion is a curse"). Rhythm also takes centre stage on "Operator's Manual", which ironically calls for a manual to deal with difficult or embarrassing situations; while Shelley & co.'s innate gift for melody finds fresh confirmation in the brilliant "Nostalgia", which needs only a few chords to plunge into an abyss of melancholy, and in the breezier "Sixteen Again", which offers more well-assembled fragments of life philosophy.

Mr. Shelley, the most romantic of punks, holds forth on love's lies ("Love Is Lies"), immersing himself in tenderer moods reminiscent of the Who in acoustic mode (with Diggle on vocals), and once again doesn't shy away from exposing himself, laying bare all his emotional scars on "Nothing Left", where an abandoned lover sobs without respite: “I’ve lost a lover/ And I am certain/ I’ll get another/ So why’m I hurtin’?/ ‘Cause I’ve nothing left at all”. Finally, the two instrumentals ("Walking Distance" and "Late For The Train") hint at the full experimental potential of the band, especially the latter, with an electric guitar adding a touch of psychedelia and a rhythm section that is, once again, exemplary.

Lightning-fast punk-pop anthems, in short, which Shelley translates into vibrant live performances, with his trademark slurred singing and his mix of anger and sentimentality readable in his eyes, as he stares stubbornly into the camera, almost as if flirting with it.

Pretty girls, pretty boys

Have you ever heard your mommy say

Noise annoys

(from "Noise Annoys", 1978)

The bible of punk-pop

But even more than in their albums, the best of the Manchester band is captured in their singles, almost none of which were ever put on an LP, as a matter of deliberate ideological choice (with the exception of "I Don't Mind", "Ever Fallen In Love?", "Autonomy" and "Just Lust"). That's why Singles Going Steady (1979) stands not only as their finest work, but also as the most representative document of an entire era. Branded with a cover that openly pays homage to the Beatles' "Let It Be", the album came out as an anthology of the 8 singles Buzzcocks had released up to that point, plus, on the second side, their respective B-sides. In United Artists' plans, it was meant to be their passport into America, since it was their first official release overseas (two years later it would also be pressed in the UK). It would fail to chart, but there would be time for redemption, because the sixteen ante-litteram pop-punk gems it contains were written to withstand the wear of the years.

If the already examined (and unforgettable) triptych "Orgasm Addict"-"What Do I Get?"-"Ever Fallen In Love" had already showcased the full creativity of the Manchester band, the other songs only confirm Shelley's astonishing ability to compress an entire catalogue of broken hearts, heartrending goodbyes, shy infatuations and unrequited desires into short, breezy tunes that openly wink at 60s pop (the likes of "I Don't Mind", "Love You More", "Promises" and "You Say You Don't Love Me"), all without disdaining refined and complex harmonic constructions. And it's all so disorienting that you can almost catch psychedelic undertones amid the cutting riffs of "Everybody's Happy Nowadays" (basically the Beach Boys on an acid trip with Wire), where the cynical disenchantment driven like an obsessive mantra (“Life’s an illusion/ Love is the dream/ But I don’t know what it is”) and the exuberance of a manic (falsetto) chorus conceal a sense of harrowing terror.

A layering of styles that resurfaces in the hard riffs of "Harmony In My Head", where it's Diggle who grabs the mic, his raw warmth countering Shelley's childlike backing vocals in a chaotic urban tableau, as well as in the decadent boogie of "Something's Gone Wrong Again", already fully projected into the post-punk era, with a jangling keyboard, Garvey's melodic basslines, Maher's monstrous drumming and a Diggle unleashed on guitar, amid exquisite flourishes and a sprawling solo. And even a seemingly innocuous B-side (of "Promises") like "Lipstick", with that searing guitar riff also used by Devoto on Magazine's landmark "Shot By Both Sides", only reinforces the impression that Buzzcocks were already "beyond".

But there's also punk for punk's own sake, like the delightful "Noise Annoys" – almost Blur ante-litteram with that breezy, distorted chorus (“Pretty girls/ Pretty boys/ Have you ever heard your mommy say/ Noise annoys”) – or like that flash of a song "Oh Shit!", a biting condensation of anger and recrimination packed into a single minute and 35 seconds (though that was enough to earn it a new round of censorship). Nor is there any shortage of Jam-style social commentary. Take, for instance, that gut-punch called "What Ever Happened To?" (the B-side of "Orgasm Addict"), with Smith's repeated opening bassline leading into the explosion of Diggle and Shelley's distorted guitars in a nostalgic tirade against an England eaten away by the disease of consumerism.

The one exception to the songs' strict concision is the 6:36 tour de force of the dissolute "Why Can't I Touch It?" (written by the whole band): a tight-knit clash between Diggle's and Shelley's riffs in an atmospheric punk jam session that somewhat echoes the guitar duels between Tom Verlaine and Richard Lloyd in Television.

Reissued on CD in 2001 with 8 extra tracks, Singles Going Steady remains the sacred text of punk-pop, as well as one of the most representative documents of an entire era.

I'm not expecting things to be perfect

But a high success rate would be nice

(da “I Don’t Know What To Do With My Life”, 1979)

Pre-decennium Tension

The third and final official album before the band's split two years later, A Different Kind Of Tension (1979) is the most fragmented of the three, with a somewhat schizophrenic mix of old-school punk tracks and more ambitious experiments, struggling against the passage of time and, inevitably, shifting trends and sounds. It kicks off strong with the energetic "Paradise", built entirely around the bassline, with a sardonic lyric about a paradise where everything seems fine until "the knives fly out on a Saturday night" ("Why are things so nice? Is this the place that they call paradise… Don't tell me what's wrong and what's right/ 'Cause a knife fight on Saturday night"). Decidedly softer is the anguished "You Say You Don't Love Me", another of Shelley's romantic novelty numbers on the theme of unrequited love, with a dreamy melody with a 50s flavour. Its "hedonist" counterpart is the other ode to the pleasures of sex, "You Know You Can't Help It", inevitably swept along at a gallop by the rhythm section deep in punk territory. Always reliable on guitar, Diggle takes centre stage in the accelerations of "Sitting Round At Home", his distorted voice alternating between slow phrasing and flashes of ultra-fast thrash, and in the equally frenzied "Mad Mad Judy", where his raw, scorched voice screams: "Nothing's left in this world except madness and diversity". From there comes the bitter conclusion of "I Don't Know What To Do With My Life", another punk thunderbolt complete with a bonsai-sized solo, in which the nihilism of the Sex Pistols takes on self-deprecating overtones that, at the very least, leave a sliver of hope (“I can’t wake up in the morning/ And I can’t get to sleep at night/ I'm not expecting things to be perfect/ But a high success rate would be nice”).

Born out of Devo, who a year earlier had released their milestone debut "Q: Are We Not Men? A: We Are Devo", the alienated title track features Shelley's robotic vocals obsessively spewing slogans, scarred by Diggle's razor-sharp riffs over a relentless, martial rhythm, while the leader's tightrope-walking talents are confirmed once again on "Raison d'Etre", where the lyric's existentialism is sublimated into an explosive punk charge and a fine, fading guitar solo.

And while "Hollow Inside" still shows off the band's talent for masking bottomless psychological and emotional chasms behind sticky choruses, the long, seven-minute ride of "I Believe" condenses the Buzzcocks' most experimental ambitions of the late '70s, with Shelley's recited list of things he believes in abruptly cut short by the line "There is no love in this world anymore", intoned like an obsessive electronic mantra, while the band push themselves to the limit. All this before the brief radio snippet of "Radio Nine" mockingly brings back the refrain of "Everybody's Happy Nowadays", closing the record in a total sense of estrangement.

Partly abandoning the melodic effectiveness that had defined them up to this point, the Buzzcocks show, especially in the second half of the album, that they can immerse themselves in more layered sounds and more complex themes, complete with political hints and references to the writer William S. Burroughs, dipping a toe into the now-flourishing post-punk scene.

In 1980, Liberty Records signed the band, releasing three singles that nonetheless fell short of expectations (only one of the three, "Why She's A Girl From The Chainstore"/"Are Everything", made the top 75), so in 1981 the band called it quits and decided to split.

Shelley began laying the groundwork for a solo career, Diggle and Maher formed Flag of Convenience, who would release several singles between 1982 and 1989, while Garvey first set up Motivation, then joined the Blue Orchids, relocating to New York. But that's not the end of the story.

Turn the television on

You’ve been reading too long

Turn your radios on

And I’ll sing you a song

(from "TTT", 1993)

Reunion Test

Unexpectedly, the Buzzcocks reunited in 1989. The mainstays remained Shelley and Diggle, who called back their old bandmates Maher and Garvey for a world tour. Maher was briefly replaced by Mike Joyce, former drummer of the Smiths, before Tony Barber on bass and Phil Barker behind the kit stepped in for good in 1992. It would be this line-up that joined as support act on the final Nirvana tour, in 1994. And with it came the songs of a new album…

Suspended between celebrating old times and staking a claim to being the forefathers of later waves of wave bands (and now grunge too), Trade Test Transmissions (1993) finds the Shelley-Diggle tandem in good shape, backed by a solid rhythm section, though less powerful than the original one. Punk-pop dominates over post-punk, with mostly short, catchy songs that largely set aside the experimental temptations of the early Buzzcocks' final phase.

Enter the timeless punk-rock of “Do It”, with its bouncy rhythm and a new, sardonic lyric: “My only consolation is that someday you’ll care/ Perverse sophistication, you won’t get far if you’re going nowhere”. Shelley's trademark specialties return too: adrenaline-fuelled rock'n'roll (“Never Gonna Give It Up”, “Energy”), vocal acrobatics balanced on sharp high notes (“Smile”, “Who’ll Help Me Forget?”), carefree sixties-style choruses (“369”), more or less desperate love torments (“Innocent”, “All Over You”, “The Last To Know”) and reflections on loneliness (“Isolation”), all disguised beneath layers of jaunty melodies and frantic guitar clatter.

Diggle also carves out his own space, putting his gravelly vocals to work over the whiplash riffs of the near-psychedelic “Alive Tonight”. The title track, shortened to “TTT”, instead reopens the rooms of Devo-style psychotic schizophrenia, with a pulsing bass and an obsessive rhythm backing the zany opening line: “Turn the television on/ You’ve been reading too long/ Turn your radios on/ And I’ll sing you a song”. Finally, the fun comes courtesy of “Palm Of Your Hand”, a 90s “Orgasm Addict”, with its new ode to masturbation built on a play on the title of their most famous hit (“Ever fallen in love with the palm of your hand”).

In short, the band rediscovers its taste for the game. And so, three years later, they release All Set (1996), which however pays the price for a certain weariness, with a more pop sound that's less driven and, above all, less fresh than its predecessors. Shelley tries to break free from the shoals of self-quotation (evident in the guitar lick of “Point Of No Return”, which echoes that of the old “Harmony In My Head”, and in the quirky rhythm à-la “Sixteen” of “Pariah”), for instance adding a touch of Hammond organ to the tender “Hold Me Close” and chasing 60s psych-pop vibes (“Give It To Me”, “Your Love”), while Diggle unleashes a sturdy rock attack on “Playing For Time” and “What Am I Supposed To Do”, before concocting a dialogue between acoustic guitar and synthetic strings on the ballad “Back With You”.

“They still sound like the Beatles on a caffeine overdose”, Ali Sinclair of Westnet would write of them, but these likeable middle-aged musicians chasing the elixir of eternal youth stir up a touch of melancholy, if not outright boredom (“Totaly From The Heart”, “Some Kinda Wonderful”). The lyrics, too, lose much of their edge, becoming less sharp and more rhetorical.

We were tired of being a rock band, so we said to ourselves:

why get bored, let's get more modern

(Pete Shelley)

Modern love

Three years later comes Modern (1999), where a massive injection of electronics gives the band's sound a new lease of life. It's their own idea of “modernity”, expressed in typically wry fashion by Shelley: “We tried not to make a rock album, attempting a more studio-based approach. We were tired of being a rock band when everyone else was trying to be one, so we said to ourselves: why get bored, let's get more modern!”

What remains is punk's concise, angular, neurotic approach, but sealed in new synthetic packaging where synthesizers and drum machines coexist with the usual insinuating guitars. In practice, it's new wave well past its sell-by date, and one really gets the impression that Buzzcocks have picked up, in spirit, from the year they split (1981), when punk was rapidly shedding its skin. The result lands somewhere between ex-bandmate Devoto's Magazine and Shelley's 1983 solo album (“XL1”). But it's still 1999, and these nostalgic art-punk-wave pastiches look hopelessly dated.

That said, there's no shortage of enjoyable moments, such as the opening “Soul On A Rock”, with its near dance-rock stride; the Blondie-style power-pop of “Rendez-Vous”, with its little choruses and crackling guitars; Diggle's more conventionally rock “Speed Of Life” (with Who-style backing vocals); the schizoid “Why Compromise?” (with the bass back in the spotlight, a tight, sharp guitar riff and Shelley's sinister vocal); and the new sixties-style nursery rhyme of “Phone”, submerged in a magma of electronics and distorted guitars. And Shelley confirms the sheer peculiarity of his vocal style, which continues to disrupt the symmetry of more conventional pop, pouring out fresh waves of unease and frustration (take, for example, the two singalongs “Runaround” and “Thunder Of Hearts”).

Elsewhere, however (“Doesn’t Mean Anything”, “Stranger In Your Town”, “Choises”), the electronic grafts feel a bit more tacked-on, ending up distorting the band's sound. Still, credit remains for the courage to want to turn the page, even if drawing on a noble kind of retro-futurism rather than the sound of the present (or the future).

Curious, too, are the two more or less explicit homages of “Speed Of Life” and “Don’t Let The Car Crash”, which echo two titles from David Bowie's “Low” (“Speed Of Life” and “Always Crashing In The Same Car”), surely one of the reference points for this kind of electronic art-punk hybrid celebrated on Modern.

28 years after their formation, Shelley and co. proudly confirm they're still in the game, releasing their first self-titled album, Buzzcocks (2003). Having shed the electronic trappings of its predecessor, the Mancunians go back to doing what they've always done best: splinters of pop-punk, all perky four-to-the-floor rhythms, singalong choruses and sturdy guitars. The shine, inevitably, is no longer quite what it was in the golden years, but drive and passion keep a handful of new songs afloat - as honest as they are unsurprising.

The hyperkinetic “Jerk”, with its blazing rhythm section, brings to mind Bad Religion and the whole wave of Californian punk. The pace stays dizzying on “Wake Up Call” too, a sort of call to arms powered by machine-gun bursts of guitar, as well as on the equally frantic “Friends” and the closing “Useless”, where Pete vents all his rage and his bleak view of the world. The band's playful streak also resurfaces (the ramshackle boogie of “Up For A Crack”, with a nice weave of backing vocals), while, on the opposite end, “Sick City Sometimes” advances menacingly, riff after riff, before melting into a striking melodic opening.

More anonymous episodes that sound all too familiar, like “Keep On”, “Driving You Insane”, “Certain Move” and “Lester Sands”, give the impression that the band has truly lost the thread (and the beat).

But the real gem is track number 8, which marks Devoto's historic return alongside his old partner Shelley following their 2002 album Buzzkunst (halfway between punk and electronica): given the premise, one might have hoped for something more, but “Stars” unleashes real firepower, condensed into a couple of minutes of white-hot assault, complete with an intriguing distorted guitar coda that once again recalls the Berlin-era Thin White Duke.

That same year, the Buzzcocks are invited to open for another grunge legend, after Nirvana: Pearl Jam, fronted by Eddie Vedder. It's the crowning moment of the band's second youth, by now an essential reference point not only for devotees of punk and wave sounds, but for rock fans in general.

All of my hopes, dreams and desires

Assembly required

That’s flat-pack philosophy

(from “Flat-Pack Philosophy”, 2006)

Flat-Pack Philosophy

Three years later, it's a cult indie-scene label, Cooking Vinyl, that releases their new album, Flat-Pack Philosophy (2006), with Danny Farrant taking over from Barker on drums. Nothing new under the sun for a band that has spent thirty years doing the same thing (the pop-punk they helped invent), but hasn't done it better than anyone else in at least twenty. And yet the record holds more than one surprise: the songs work and do their job just fine. In fact, after a few listens, quite a handful stick in the mind. First of all, the feisty title track, “Flat-Pack Philosophy”, a term referring to the way objects are bought as separately packaged pieces (crammed into small boxes, like the one depicted on the cover) to be assembled at home; a concept the Manchester band applies to their own dreams, desires, thoughts, to life and to what it should/could be (“All of my hopes, dreams and desires/ Assembly required/ That’s flat-pack philosophy”).

Also making a mark are “Wish I Never Loved You”, yet another unfiltered romantic recrimination over a power-pop bed, “Reconciliation”, complete with “oh oh oh” backing vocals, “I Don't Exist”, with a swing that couldn't be more English, and “Dreamin'”, two minutes and forty seconds worthy of the old days. In short, these are the tracks where you can hear Pete Shelley's now well-worn hand and voice.

Diggle, on the other hand, grabs the mic on the single “Sell You Everything” (complete with a video shot in Las Vegas), yet another tirade against the fleeting temptations of consumerism, a theme also found in “Credit”. The guitarist also puts his stamp on the triptych “Soul Survivor”-“Big Brother Wheels”-“Sound Of A Gun”, showing solid craftsmanship — including as a singer — but little inventiveness. At times the ghost of Green Day imitators seems to lurk around the corner, but the Buzzcocks dodge it with flashes of disarming self-irony.

Overall, Flat-Pack Philosophy is an unpretentious album that nonetheless delivers far more than it seems to promise.

This time a long pause follows, during which the chances of a new album from the band seem to fade. But a new resource comes to the Buzzcocks' rescue: fundraising. Through the PledgeMusic platform, they manage to release The Way (2014), the glorious outfit's ninth studio album and, sadly, the last with Pete Shelley. And it's he, punk's incurable romantic, who poses a new impertinent question — “Are you smiling? Are you frowning?” — at the album's opening, on the energetic “Keep On Believing”. After all, that's what the Buzzcocks have always done: smile and frown, with no contradiction whatsoever, often even within the same song, lightening punk of its more ideological, barricade-storming veneer and feeding it with an irresistible British irony, without ever giving up voicing their dismay at the world's ills.

With a rhythm section now made up of Chris Remington and Danny Farrant, the Manchester band dusts off its usual arsenal of cutting guitars and easy choruses, but what's mostly missing are the hooks, the quick-grab melodic lines. So new punk-pop fragments like “The Way”, “Out Of The Blue” and “It's Not You” scatter their adrenaline potential, evaporating quickly. Better, if anything, is the new tirade of “Virtually Real” — this time aimed at the dehumanization wrought by social media — which lands a nice distorted riff to scar Shelley's lament.

Diggle's performances are a mixed bag: clearly more at ease on the snarling “Chasing Rainbows/Modern Times” — complete with a nod to the famous pop-punk riff of the Ramones' “Blitzkrieg Bop” — and on the boisterous garage of “Third Dimension”, the guitarist can't redeem from mediocrity flabby rock numbers like “In The Back” or “People Are Strange Machines” (which recycles the title of the famous Doors hit), ultimately losing his way in the overambitious final tour de force of “Saving Yourself”, which also lacks the band's proverbial self-deprecating irreverence.

Unlike a band almost their contemporaries, Wire, who made drawing closer to pop a (partially successful) late-career mission, the Buzzcocks of The Way seem almost trapped by the wild rawness of their roots, and end up losing the bubblegum effectiveness of their classic heartfelt melodies along the way.

Oh, shit – The Epilogue

As mentioned, sadly, we will no longer be able to hear Pete Shelley's unmistakable, thin and tormented voice. The historic frontman of the Buzzcocks died on December 6, 2018, at the age of 63, in his home in Tallinn, Estonia, and if it weren't such a sad occasion, one could almost smile at how punk it was, after all, to choose such an unusual residence for a rock star. But that was Peter McNeish: genius, recklessness, and an instinctive revulsion for all conventions. Including those of punk itself. He leaves behind a wealth of dazzling snapshots in song form under the Buzzcocks name, as well as six solo albums, the last of which, clearly cinematic in inspiration, was recorded two years earlier (Cinema Music And Wallpaper Sounds).

Shelley's death brought the long saga of the Buzzcocks to its saddest possible end, although Diggle doesn't seem ready to let go just yet. In the summer of 2020, the band organized a tribute at London's Royal Albert Hall for their late founding member, featuring members of the Damned, as well as Thurston Moore, Pauline Murray, Peter Perrett and Tim Burgess. That same year, Cherry Red Records released a new 7" single featuring two tracks by the band: "Gotta Get Better," a reworking of a Diggle solo track, and the B-side "Destination Zero." Diggle and co. have stated they intend to keep playing live on tour. In the name of Pete, and of the indestructible Buzzcocks name.

Contributions by Valentina Vodovar and Luca Fusari

Ride the wave of great music

Add OndaRock to your favorite sources on Google Discover. Don't miss our reviews, milestones and latest news straight in your feed.

Follow on Google