Test Dept - The Unacceptable Face of Freedom

I've done plenty of interviews in the most disparate situations, yet I had never stumbled into the quintessential glamour location: a hotel lobby. Funny that my first time should be with a band about as far removed from the rockstar stereotype as their instrumentation is from a classic rock line-up…

What ties me to Test Dept isn't just an unconditional musical and political affinity, but above all a rather curious anecdote: “Beating The Retreat” was the terrifying backing track to my high-school final oral exam, a chaotic little multimedia show with muddled Marxist ambitions, carried out with the seriousness of an avant-garde performance. While a small stereo brought from home blared out those martial clangs, with Marinetti-esque agitation I handed out reproductions of Soviet propaganda posters, all the while reciting passages from “The Society of the Spectacle” (what on earth tied these three things together is still a mystery…). The teachers were so stunned by that mess that they gave me full marks without much discussion, perhaps for fear I might start raving again: if I managed to get through that nerve-wracking exam, in some measure I owe it to them too. I was on edge after the Milan and Turin dates were cancelled, but thankfully Bologna will reaffirm its special bond with these pioneers, hosting them for the second time in four years.

The circumstances of the meeting are stormy: I'm told the hotel's address at the very last minute, and unsurprisingly it's on the other side of the city, set in a post-industrial landscape rather fitting with their imagery; as if that weren't enough, the appointment gets moved half an hour earlier so as not to clash with the soundcheck. I arrive flustered and a bit rattled, an image that immediately clashes with the cordial composure of Graham Cunnington and Paul Jamrozy. A single glance is enough to sketch out the two personalities: battered and limping, the first is a genuine Ken Loach-esque “lumpen”, with the wounded but dignified look of someone who's been through a lot; the second, by contrast, has an almost professorial air, summed up in a permanent knowing little smile. What unites them, however, is an adorable “cockney” accent, which here and there will put my comprehension to the test. Time is short, so brevity is the order of the day.

“Disturbance” arrives a full 21 years after your previous-to-last album: given your background, it's hard to separate a record like this from the dramatic present we're living through. Did you feel the urgency to speak your mind on a situation that, in Britain especially, is going through one of its most uncertain chapters?

Paul: In some ways that's true, but you have to consider that we started working on this project back around 2014. The creative process unfolded slowly because at the same time we were also reorganizing our archive, and meanwhile the political situation exploded: that definitely gave a different meaning to the new songs, which now make more sense than ever.

Graham: Starting in 2012 we began remixing our back catalogue, and we realized how many similarities there were between the mid-80s and the current situation: it felt like everything had come full circle, because what we're experiencing today has its roots right there in that period. That was really what pushed us to become active again.

From the anti-Thatcherite anthems of your first records, culminating in the memorable '84 tour alongside a choir of miners, to this open indictment of Brexit, Test Dept have always been an unshakeable bulwark against neoliberal oppression: has the world changed for better or worse since your beginnings?

Paul (after a long sigh): My impression is that things are gradually getting worse, and not just in Britain. We're all products of the environment we live in, and right now that environment is an incredibly corrupt, dishonest political culture pushing an almost dystopian propaganda narrative. The media, who could have enormous power to turn this situation around, are standing by as if nothing's happening: nobody is trying to counter Boris Johnson's political actions, and he's nothing but a pathetic Trump impersonator. The world is now full of these cut-rate pseudo-dictators, I'm also thinking of Bolsonaro and the terrible things he's doing in the Amazon. The outlook is decidedly bleak, we're living through frightening times.

In these new songs, though, there's no sense of resignation: personally I hear an energetic, positive anger, I'd almost venture to say hopeful. Does music still have the power, not to change the world exactly, but at least to influence reality?

Graham: That's true, there is a feeling of hope within the album. We tried to imagine a shared resistance against this system: we need to come together and fight all together, on our own we can do very little. All over the world there are strong reactions happening against the oppression of power, look at what's happening these days in Hong Kong. I remember that in the 80s there was a feeling that a revolution was about to break out against the extreme measures Thatcher was taking against workers: you'd watch the news and see riots everywhere. We could never have imagined that period would lead to the disaster we're living through now, but the fact that there's a reaction today just as there was then is certainly a positive thing. So yes, there's a kind of counterbalance.

Paul: Obviously we don't have our heads in the clouds, and we're not under the illusion that this record could spark a mass reaction, but we still tried to bring out a positive voice, hoping it might pass the right energy on to someone.

On your early, pioneering recordings you relied solely on salvaged industrial materials, a modus operandi pioneered by the late Z'EV and carried on by bands like 23 Skidoo, Rhythm and Noise, Crash Worship and of course Einsturzende Neubauten. Compared to those names, though, your approach sounds less intellectual and more savage, physical, "proletarian": you yourselves explained it at the time as a choice driven by economics rather than artistic intent, since you couldn't afford "real" instruments...

Paul: The choice was driven by both reasons. As I said, we're the product of an ecosystem, and the ecosystem around us at the time was littered with this industrial scrap. Besides, those were the post-punk years, there was an enormous urge to experiment and lots of stimulating people were doing similar things: it was the right moment to break the traditional rock machine and attempt something more ambitious.

Graham: The idea was to disavow the commercial nature not just of rock'n'roll, but of punk itself. So we decided to do without guitars and use voices and percussion instead, trying to explore new sounds and structures. The fact that we lived in the Docklands, among disused factories full of scrap, made the choice a natural one. And yes, it's true, Z'EV was definitely a huge influence, and there were plenty of other rhythm theorists around at the time.

Paul: Like the 23 Skidoo you mentioned, who blended in gamelan music, or A Certain Ratio with their Brazilian-style tribalism, like batucada. We listened to a lot of that kind of stuff, and rhythm has always been fundamental to our work. We liked to call ourselves "the only true industrial band", in the sense that we actually worked with industrial materials and in industrial spaces, often raising funds for the people who worked in those industries. For many it was a purely conceptual thing, whereas in our work politics and art have always gone hand in hand.

Let's dwell for a moment on your aesthetic. Simon Reynolds compared you to a "Soviet factory", and the influence of movements like Constructivism, Suprematism and Russian Modernism is tangible in your public image: I'm thinking especially of Malevich's paintings...

Graham: Absolutely. One of our first moves was actually to use Malevich's famous crosses during our shows, turning them into our trademark.

Paul: What was crucial here was meeting the experimental filmmaker Brett Turnbull, who came to one of our shows and had this vision of how we could present ourselves to the outside world: we became a genuine collective, with our own aesthetic. That's when we moved on from the early brutalism to something more intellectual: Brett had gone to film school and had seen films by directors like Vertov and Eisenstein, he wanted to make similar work and used us as actors in pieces deeply influenced by the Soviet avant-garde. It was a genuine education that turned us from naive punks into people interested in art history.

Graham: These references to the avant-garde and to Socialist Realism were actually already there before he came along, and the music was heading in the same direction, building a symphony of iron and chains, as if we really were inside a factory.

Paul: In post-punk there's always been references to historical avant-gardes, look at Cabaret Voltaire with Dadaism or Art Of Noise with Futurism. Those were movements that spoke of machines and noise, so they couldn't help but be interesting to us. In general I've always had the impression that European industrial was closer to the avant-garde, while in the United States it was more about pushing rock music's noise to extremes: it's the mirror of two different cultures, if you think about it.

Let's talk about your musical evolution, from the primitivist tribalism of your first records to the muscular techno-EBM of your new era, passing through the worldbeat suggestions of the 90s…

Graham: The seeds of this path were already there in our first single, “Compulsion” (1983). We've always been interested in dance music and club culture, something that has taken on growing importance at different stages of our existence. Between the late 80s and early 90s, British counterculture was swept up by the acid house revolution and the great illegal raves: we were part of that counterculture too, the places we played were the same ones, and that's where the political conversation shifted. Inevitably, being immersed in that environment influenced the course of our music, so we started playing in dance clubs, though not always successfully. I think our last album sums up our whole history, uniting electronic sounds with the aesthetic of our early days.

Paul: This evolution obviously also depended on the constant advancement of technology, which took a huge leap forward in the late 80s. We were much more engaged with the new technologies, and that changed how we thought about music. One thing we realized was that we didn't want to become a project driven purely by a computer's bytes, so we developed these very immersive live shows. We did a lot of them right here in Italy together with Mutoid, who took refuge in Santarcangelo di Romagna when the British government ordered a crackdown on people who "gather in large numbers to listen to repetitive music," as the infamous "Criminal Justice and Public Order Act" of 1994 put it.

Bologna in particular was very welcoming to you…

Graham: Back then we played in a lot of social centers in Italy. Bologna was the first city we visited and we liked it a lot, it became sort of our Italian base. At first there was some resistance to dance music in the squatted venues, but by the second time the whole thing clicked and there were some huge parties. These parties were always occasions where different communities came into contact and political activism grew stronger, which is exactly why the police banned them in Britain.

In recent years there's been a massive industrial revival: I'm talking both about the comebacks of glorious living legends and about the sheer number of new bands popping up like mushrooms. Do you think this is a good time for the genre? Is it these restless times that inspire so much grim violence?

Paul: Yes, I think that could be part of it, music always reflects the times it's born into. In some way a bridge has formed between the new generations and those of the 80s, which seems positive to me.

Graham: Then, as you know, there are different styles of industrial music, from the kind hybridized with techno to the kind more closely related to noise. There's always been a lot of experimentation within this genre, that's the defining feature of it. It's more an attitude than a specific type of music. That's why it makes little sense when someone just imitates what's already been done: it's a genre without boundaries, and you have to keep experimenting with new technologies. You can even hear the influence of industrial in Black British underground culture, for instance in a lot of grime beats.

One thing's for sure: Test Dept aren't retreating…

Of course not: we're still the unacceptable face of freedom! (both the question and the quick-witted answer play on the titles of their two most famous albums, “Beating The Retreat” and “The Unacceptable Face Of Freedom” respectively, ed.)

Meanwhile we're joined by the other members of this small multidisciplinary collective: drummer Zel Kaute, electronics wizard Greg Konrady, visuals director David Altweger and sound engineer Lottie Lou, a pillar of English post-punk who has worked alongside Wire, Pop Group, Throbbing Gristle and many others. Apparently it's time to go. They suggest I ride along to the venue in their van and watch the soundcheck: I don't need to be asked twice…

(continues here)

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