Pop-funk fusions on another level

Level 42 remain one of the iconic names among the great "one-hit wonders" of the 1980s, while also embodying one of the most typical paradoxes of that era's music: remembered mainly for one song, an unforgettable international hit, they were never truly appreciated by the wider public for their intriguing pop-funk/fusion discography, their skill as musicians, or their ability to craft a sound full of ideas and inspiration. Which is why it's never too late to go back and listen to them properly.

The one-hit wonder

When you mention the name Level 42, an English funk-pop outfit with strong jazz, soul and fusion leanings, the label that usually comes to mind is "one hit wonder" — those famous musical shooting stars especially common in that slightly schizophrenic decade, the 1980s — and the song everyone more or less remembers, especially those who were around at the time and watched Mtv, is of course "Lessons In Love", from 1986. The paradox behind the phenomenon is that of a thoroughly excellent band, made up of highly skilled musicians capable of blending different stylistic languages into a discography that, especially as far as that decade goes, is nothing to scoff at and stands up well against productions by the biggest pop-rock names on the charts at the time, such as Tears For Fears, Duran Duran, Simple Minds or Police. But through some trick of fate, behind which lie ever-evolving media mechanisms, then as now, Level 42 remain famous for little more than that one song. Some die-hard fans and connoisseurs might name a couple more tracks: "Love Games", "Hot Water", "Something About You"... But generally that's where it stops. And it's rare to hear anyone mention any of their albums other than Running In The Family from 1987 — not by chance, the record that contains "Lessons In Love", a multi-platinum international hit, whose lead single reached the remarkable number 2 spot on the Italian charts at the time. The promotional video would go on to become an Mtv staple in the decades that followed, immortalising the band playing inside the famous (and thoroughly fake) red house under construction.

This, however, is only the tip of the iceberg — and, strictly speaking, not even their best song — of a musical story that is actually far more notable than people think, unjustly forgotten and often hastily filed away, perhaps also because the band never fit the "sex, drugs and rock 'n' roll" cliché. Case in point: Mark King, the celebrated bassist, singer and frontman of Level 42, is a memorable face but hardly shows the charisma of other '80s stars, and for all his confidence on his instrument and considerable musicianship, he was never likely to "pop off the screen" on camera.

Beyond the hit

But, as happens more often than one might think, digging beneath apparent "normality" can reveal unexpected brilliance: because the sound of Level 42, especially in those glorious 1980s, turns out to be genuinely original, tight, cohesive and convincing. A formula studied and refined album after album, almost instantly recognisable and, at the same time, built on careful, mature and intelligent songwriting; the result can yield perfect, catchy chart-pop hits as well as instrumental jazz pieces of fine texture and delicate composition; improvisations inspired by free-fusion: sax solos and complex time signatures dot their songs here and there, alongside well-judged vocal harmonies and deep, poetic lyrics, all built around the core dialogue between bass — Mark King's slapping is, among white musicians, arguably second only to that of Flea from Red Hot Chili Peppers — and keyboards, an instrument explored in all its possibilities by the brilliant Mike Lindup, also the band's second vocalist.

Rounding out the classic line-up were the two brothers Phil Gould (drums, percussion) and Rowland "Boon" Gould (guitars), along with a handful of loyal collaborators, such as the celebrated keyboardist Wally Badarou, or saxophonist Krys Mach, during the golden period of the second half of the decade.

The band's original core — King, Lindup and the Gould brothers — came together in 1979 following their involvement in Robin Scott's M project ("Pop Muzik", 1979, is the song to mention here). Level 42 took their name from Douglas Adams's famous "Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy", a sci-fi classic in which the number 42 is produced, after centuries of computation, by a supercomputer as the definitive answer to "life, the universe and everything". The English band's early influences point mainly to the jazz fusion of the 1970s, with Miles Davis, John McLaughlin and Keith Jarrett among the key names worth mentioning.

From jazz to pop, phase 1

Like any self-respecting band, Level 42 built their name slowly, playing live and losing themselves in jams steeped in jazz improvisation, and they were also known for their ability to handle a wide range of instruments. Boon played both bass and saxophone, and Lindup could also handle drums. Legend has it that King, who started out as a drummer and guitarist, sold his drum kit to pay for his trip back to London after a European tour gone wrong, and then decided to take up bass, studying the technique of American musicians and mastering slapping to perfection within a matter of weeks. The activity of the early Level 42 can be heard clearly in their output from the very start of their career, arriving just at the turn of the decade: their sound is flexible, fluid, inventive, giving plenty of room to groove without forgetting, at least in the early songs, a strong technical component and the building of distinctive atmospheres, not unlike the records of the Mahavishnu Orchestra or Weather Report.

The band quickly attracted attention and in 1980 signed to the small label Elite, who encouraged the members to add vocals and lyrics to their songs. The right formula was soon found: King was the frontman with the voice best suited to lead parts, while Lindup handled the vocal harmonies; the Gould brothers wrote the lyrics, while the other two composed the main musical parts.

They quickly made a name for themselves with the early singles "Sandstorm" and "Love Meeting Love", and within a few months were signed by major label Polydor, who launched their career in grand style. Their first official recordings date back to 1980 for Elite, but weren't released until 1982, on an album fittingly titled The Early Tapes (July/Aug 1980), also known under the title Strategy. For fans, though, this is effectively the band's first album.

The perfect funk/jazz/pop blend can already be heard in "Sandstorm", an instrumental with a vigorous stride and a very 1970s fusion atmosphere, not unlike much of the prog-leaning output of Chick Corea and Return to Forever. "Theme To Margaret" pushes even further in that direction, openly crossing into prog (or rather, neo-prog) territory, with keyboard echoes recalling Keith Emerson. Far more romantic and sensual, on the other hand, is the light "Autumn (Paradise Is Free)", unfolding in a very loose jazz style. Also worth mentioning is the hard funk of "Mr. Pink", a dense track with a relentless rhythm, on which King lets loose on bass, turning almost into a proto-Les Claypool.

Up to this point, the Level 42 style is impure, essential, instinctive, and carries all the youthful character of ideas born from live improvisation and instrumental jams.

The band's official, proper debut came in 1981, with an album simply titled Level 42. What launches them is the sparkling pop-soul with funky guitars of the splendid "Love Games", seasoned with irresistible riffs and the obligatory backing-vocal hooks. But the record also shines in the mysterious, intriguing opening of "Turn It On", with another memorable riff and sophisticated tones in the style of Genesis. Next comes "43", a fusion adventure lasting exactly seven minutes, in which the band is at its best as an instrumental outfit, with the musicians conversing and passing the baton to one another, each given the chance to show off their technique to the fullest.

Also worth noting is the engaging "Heathrow", another very Genesis-like piece with strong neo-prog accents, and the sensual, almost whispered "Dune Tune", which truly evokes the image of a desert landscape with subtle sci-fi overtones.

From jazz to pop, phase 2

The lyrics of many of the band's songs speak of love in a fairly traditional way, albeit with imaginative metaphors, as in "Weave Your Spell", the esoteric track — bearing certain traces of the Electric Light Orchestra style — that opens the group's third album, The Pursuit Of Accidents (1982); others instead draw on its darker sides, like the bleak rock/jazz of "Last Chance", taken from the same record.

But in their most interesting lyrics, King and his bandmates venture to explore far deeper themes, such as the clash with adulthood, the conflicted relationship between the individual and society, and dreams and aspirations crushed by the concreteness of reality. That's the case with "You Can't Blame Louis", one of the most underrated tracks in their catalogue, which delivers social commentary through an apparently innocuous pop chorus, hitting hard on every level.

On the Level 42's third record, one can already detect a growth towards increasingly accessible music, which nonetheless does not abandon experiments still very close to prog, such as "Eyes Waterfalling", an aggressive uptempo track with a bass driving a frantic rhythm that alternates with near-abstract passages; and "Shapeshifter", which once again conjures specific images belonging to an exotic (inevitably Eastern) world, in an atmosphere steeped in mystery. Striking and unjustly overlooked too is "The Chinese Way", an invitation to openness towards Eastern philosophy and spirituality, a rejection of Western materialism (complete with sounds vividly evoking ancient China), yet expressed within a perfect pop song, complete with a catchy chorus and a thoroughly danceable beat: an example of the dualism typical of the quartet's finest work.

Level 42's fourth album, released hot on the heels of the others in 1983, is Standing In The Light. It brings no real innovations and indeed confirms the use of a formula that makes the band's songs part of a vivid, engaging songbook, one in which the tracks could just as easily be played on shuffle. Indeed, it's a common view among the band's fans that their songs could easily blend into one another, in an endless jam session. Still, the new album continues to build an increasingly assured and intriguing funk-pop formula, starting with "Micro Kid", a perfect new wave track about the dawn of the new digital age ("Micro-Kid speaks digi-talk"), similar in theme to much of the lyrical content of the first Buggles album; another driving funk moment, part Commodores, part 70s-era Stevie Wonder this time, is the cautiously hopeful "The Sun Goes Down (Living It Up)".

Another standout track is "Dance On Heavy Weather", an invitation to face adversity and make the best of it through a wonderful metaphor, seasoned with a new wave rock sound that glows with youthful exuberance ("Raise the heartbeat of the young"). "A Pharoah's Dream (Of Endless Time)" is a more refined episode, more exotic and mysterious than the band's average output up to this point, with Eastern-tinged touches recalling "Dune Tune" and keeping an imaginative drift in their sound.

But the record's high point is marked by "People", a social commentary on the hardships of modern life and the struggle for understanding between individuals, set within a sophisti-pop arrangement of refined melodies: an excellent song, written and sung by keyboardist Mike Lindup, who shows real songwriting talent.

Pop, funk and the charts

With True Colors (1984) begins the most "classic" phase of Level 42's career: the peak of their success and fame as shining stars of mid-decade British pop, with surefire hits and memorable songs that readily climb the charts, losing none of the well-honed blend of pop, funk, soul, rock and jazz that makes up their music — which by this point has become a seamless, effective amalgam, free of rough edges or hesitation. The record opens with "The Chant Has Begun", a memorable, very tribal heavy intro reminiscent of contemporary work by Xtc. Absolutely worth mentioning too is "Hot Water", one of the band's funkiest tracks: an anthem to personal liberation, with one of the best grooves the quartet ever built; and "A Floating Life", a bitter reflection on the emptiness of fame and wealth, told through an alternation between a delicate, building rock verse and a powerful horn-driven refrain. Either of these last two songs mentioned could easily contend for the title of best Level 42 track.

The rest of the record is no less interesting, from the tight funk-rock of "True Believers" to the once again Eastern-flavoured fantasy of "Kouyate", arriving at one of the English band's most memorable power ballads: "Hours By The Window", a track with an incredible atmosphere whose sound anticipates the early solo productions of Sting.

The album is a huge success, and Level 42's popularity, buoyed by the pace of a release a year, grows with every single. In 1985, their fame — but also their incredible presence as a live act — is documented by the release of the double live album A Physical Presence, which showcases the vibrant live dimension of their music's colours, while also making clear their background as seasoned jazz instrumentalists.

The peak of Level 42's most pop-oriented, successful period begins with World Machine, also from 1985. It is also their best album, when viewed as a perfect balance between all the tendencies gathered in their sound, between their skills as pop craftsmen and their talent as jazz musicians, in a collection of perfect potential hits, suited both to those who just want to dance to cheerful music and to those with a keener ear attuned to every sonic nuance. The title track, which opens the record on highly rhythmic pop-funk tones, echoes somewhat the concept of "Wish You Were Here" and "Welcome To The Machine" by Pink Floyd a decade earlier: man versus machine, the individual versus society, a theme — as mentioned — recurring throughout the music of the quartet led by King.

It's impossible, on this record, not to dwell on "Something About You", one of Level 42's biggest hits. Fittingly, it's a love song with a very soulful, romantic vocal delivery, the kind that must have made plenty of couples swoon on club dancefloors in the '80s, quickly becoming a classic of the decade. The pop crafting is just as flawless on the lively "I Sleep On My Heart" and the dreamy "It's Not The Same For Us", but what really stands out is the political funk-rock of "Coup d'Etat", a track that comments on the tension of a period of instability in various countries on the Cold War chessboard (without naming any specific one) from a more human perspective. Proof that, even while comfortably indulging in romance, Level 42 never forget how the power of music can and should also address political and social messages.

"All The Dreams We've Built"

The absolute peak of Level 42's career, especially in terms of popularity and sales, comes however with the blockbuster Running In The Family and the hugely famous single "Lessons In Love", a track that laments one (or more) lost loves and what you learn from a broken heart. The single reaches number 1 in several countries (number 2 in Italy), and the video remains unforgettable, a huge favourite on MTV, showing the band playing on the construction site of a building under construction. The song boasts an utterly catchy, memorable refrain, with a unique intro, a driving, decisive rhythm, an incisive melody and a dreamy, fleeting variation. It's a perfect hit, written by King and guitarist Gould, with the crucial contribution of Wally Badarou, starting out from a live coda to "Physical Presence", performed in 1985.

While it's true that this seventh album by the quartet sells extremely well and makes the top 10 on many charts, it's equally true that the L42 musical formula starts to show a certain "stiffness" in the face of the need to produce pop songs that, at this point, have to self-justify and reiterate the band's fame. That's why the tracklist is less fluid and inventive, and what stands out, besides the aforementioned lead single, are especially the title track, with its immediately recognisable synth-horn pattern, and the hopeful "Children Say", featuring one of their best refrains, carried by Lindup's well-honed falsetto. The driving closing track "Freedom Someday" is the only other song that truly stands out. And so ends what for many — though not for this writer — remains Level 42's best album, as well as their last truly classic one. It's also the swan song of that spontaneous, energetic style, because right after this things start to change.

Staring at the Sun

During 1987, in fact, both Boon and Gould decide to leave the band, right at the peak of their success. Both cite the stress of constant touring as the main reason, not to mention the intense, relentless pace of recording; but Gould also has an issue with King, whom he blames for pushing the band's new "pop" sound. There's no time to stop and reflect, though: the band's popularity is through the roof, demand for new music is high, and they need to get back into the studio. King and Lindup quickly recruit respected jazz drummer Gary Husband and guitarist Alan Murphy, a former session player for Go West.

With this lineup, a new album is released in 1988, Staring At The Sun, a title that seems to reflect both the bright and dark sides of the band's huge success.

There's confirmation that the formula still works, if only by momentum. Although the opening track, "Heaven In My Hands", seems to announce a shift towards a Toto-style arena rock band, with an unusually prominent guitar and "stadium" atmospheres, the rest of the tracklist (still largely written by Boon Gould before his departure) shows no substantial change to Level 42's sound. Songs like "I Don't Know Why", "Over There" and especially "Tracie" mark the calm continuation of the band's golden songwriting period, with the usual blend of pop, funk and fusion (perhaps slightly less jazz on this record) that keeps hitting the mark both in terms of compositional depth and sheer catchiness. There are also some real gems, such as "Silence", a gorgeous reflection on the inability to communicate, written and sung by Lindup, one of his best songs; "Man", an almost-prog track split into several parts, very '70s in feel, with a shadowy character; and the instrumental power ballad "Grasham Blues", which sounds a lot like the smooth jazz of the era.

The '90s and the decline

The ship still seems to be on the right course, then, as shown by the considerable success of the album and its singles. But it doesn't last: in 1989 new guitarist Alan Murphy suddenly dies of AIDS, a disease he had already been suffering from but had kept hidden from the band, so he could spend his final months playing the music he wanted, free from the tensions of his former band, Go West. Level 42 are forced to stop, and in the meantime the fateful turn of the decade arrives.

Lindup takes the opportunity to release his first solo album in 1990, while King had already debuted back in 1984 with "Influences". Level 42 meanwhile become a trio, with the historic core of King and Lindup joined by new drummer Husband. Together with various collaborators, including Dominic Miller (guitarist for Sting) and Allan Holdsworth (Soft Machine, Lifetime, Gong, Jean-Luc Ponty) as well as longtime session players Wally Badarou and Gary Barnacle (sax), they put together a new album, the first of the '90s: Guaranteed.

On this new record, the turn of the decade goes almost unnoticed, because the sound is still rooted in the '80s, albeit now with a distinct pop-soul lean, greater attention to vocal harmonies at the expense of the instrumental parts, with the jazz and fusion elements almost entirely absent and arrangements with fewer ideas and less flair. Overall, it's a collection that still works on the lingering momentum of a decade of non-stop music, but one that shows clear signs of fatigue, even if tracks like "Overtime" and "Her Big Day" are still brilliant and "Set Me Up" recaptures the full funk power of King's bass intact. Also standing out on the album is the deep electro-acoustic fantasy of "My Father's Shoes", a mature, intense track with a distinctive atmosphere, hinting at an interesting direction the band never went on to explore.

Other songs, however, work much less well, such as the slow, uncertain "A Kinder Eye" and "She Can't Help Herself", further proof that King's vocal timbre, distinctive as it is, isn't the strongest component of the band's sound to rely on.

Even though the album still achieves a degree of success, the path ahead looks like a decline, and truly memorable hits are in short supply. There's also some confusion over the fact that Jakko Jakszyk, the newly hired guitarist and future member of King Crimson, doesn't actually appear on the album but is hired for the live shows, and so appears on the album cover alongside the other three members, as well as in the promotional material — music videos included.

The '90s carry on as a period of crisis: the new four-piece lineup starts recording a new album around 1992 or 1993, but the material remains unreleased, because in the meantime Husband leaves and the drum seat is taken back by Phil Gould, the band's historic co-founding member. Jakko doesn't work with the band in the studio, and the guitar parts are instead recorded by American musician Danny Blume, for the band's tenth and second-to-last album, Forever Now, released in 1994.

Measured against this record, which remains perhaps the worst or at least the least interesting of Level 42's career, a now-mature songwriting, free of 80s pop euphoria, leans on openly soul sounds, much slower and dreamier than before. The result is an album with little grip, where the only track that truly stands out — in classic Level 42 style — is "All Over You".

For the rest, it's like hearing bits of Lionel Richie and bits of Simply Red. "Romance", perhaps one of the lowest points in the band's discography, is arranged like a 70s Barry White song but carries none of his charisma or distinctive vocals. "The Sunbed Song" is the only other vaguely interesting piece, coloured by sounds that recall the band's work of a decade earlier.

The musical bed obviously survives — King's bass and Lindup's keyboards above all — but it's all smothered under a foggy haze. The attempt to revive an 80s sound in the mid-90s, ignoring the evolution of the contemporary scene — which, in Britain, in those years led to Britpop — and stubbornly sticking to the formula that "works", is the wrong strategy.

The band's fame keeps the singles charting, and the album itself reaches the Top 10, but it's clear that the Level 42 sound is by now tired and half-hearted, lacking big ideas, and the absence of any will to experiment or keep up with the times is painfully obvious. Things get worse once the promotional tour begins, when Boon Gould — back for a brief spell — leaves again, disillusioned by the record label's incompetence. Jakko Jakszyk returns on guitar for live shows, while Gavin Harrison joins as a guest on drums. But it doesn't last long. Halfway through the tour, the band announces its intention to officially split once the live dates are over.

On 14 October 1994, Level 42 play their final concert at the Royal Albert Hall.

Mark King and his "one man project"

Does it end there? No. Mark King, as the band's acknowledged frontman, takes up its legacy and, still working with Boon Gould (who contributes only lyrics), releases in 1998 his second and, to date, final solo album: "One Man". The title is telling, since King stitches the project back onto himself, performing live both his own songs and Level 42 classics with a new lineup called The Mark King Group. But the band's songs are still, understandably, the most beloved, and it doesn't take King long to realise that the name Level 42 is what everyone knows and loves, despite the popularity of his face, his voice and his unmistakable bass technique. So, in 2001, he reaches an agreement with Mark Lindup and acquires official rights to the name, effectively bringing the band back on the road but without its original members. Among others, there are Gary Husband, drummer for two albums, and Nathan King, Mark's younger brother.

Lindup does in fact rejoin the lineup, though at first he doesn't return to live shows, while still taking part in the recording of the band's last official album: Retroglide, from 2006. In effect, it's a continuation of King's one-man project, as he records the album essentially as a solo artist with his own band. Gould co-writes the songs with him and appears on just one track with a guitar solo, while Lindup contributes only occasionally, and essentially as a guest.

It's therefore hard to say whether this final Level 42 album is actually a band effort or not, even though the style is clearly the same — which reveals a lot about just how much influence Gould and King actually had within the classic 80s quartet.

Good musical ideas do return, in any case: in the seductive hard-funk of "Rooted", in the impassioned "Just For You" and in the fast, funk-tinged "Sleep Talking" — but the atmospheric, reflective and deep title track also stands out, lending weight to a musical formula that may not be modernised (the sounds are, after all, still the same ones) or renewed, but is by now solid. Perhaps it's because Mark King can finally do whatever he wants, but what we hear here is a group that, after twenty-five-plus years of career, can still turn out solid songs. Yes, it resembles the historic 80s band only in part, and the energy has largely faded — the second half of the record gets somewhat lost among various ballads, among which only "Hell Town Story" truly stands out — and age naturally plays its part too: in 2006 King is 48, and it's hard to expect the same conviction and the same "rock" spirit of a twenty-year-old from a musician active at that age. But it matters little at this point: anyone who's followed Level 42 this far will hardly find the last album unlistenable, even if the chart failure of both the record and its singles really does seem to mark the end of the band's story.

Not quite yet, though. Seven years later, in 2013, there's time for one last EP called Sirens: six new tracks that, in a determined push, finally bring the band's sound up to date, with unprecedented house elements in the rhythms that actually recall bands of that genre from twenty years earlier — 808 State, for instance. Better late than never, one might say. The new character of these songs owes much to the production, handled by John Morales, a veteran house producer. The overall result is interesting but alienating at the same time: it's like listening to an entirely different band, and while the effort to change up the sound is certainly commendable, at this stage of Level 42's career, it's not quite enough to be truly significant. A work that might even prove interesting if heard as a standalone project, but the problem is that the overly regular, club-style rhythm lets one song slide into the next in a continuous flow that works in a dance context, but less so in a pop one, and especially not in a funk/fusion one.

The title track and "Build Myself A Rocket" are the only tracks that really work, and even then they're too long to leave much of an impression. The rest of the EP sounds pretty flat and repetitive.

After this ingloriously conclusive episode in their career, Level 42 have released nothing further, aside from live albums, B-side collections and best-ofs. Today, like many bands of their era, they keep touring, mainly revisiting their classic hits for devoted fans from generations past, falling squarely into the ranks of British bands left "stuck" in the 80s, like Tears For Fears, Simply Red, Abc, Spandau Ballet and so on. It's worth rediscovering their discography more than their story, especially by placing it within the musical landscape of the time, with that extraordinary crossing of styles and genres in a perfect sonic and commercial marriage, resulting in some of the most dazzling, warm and energetic production of those years. And coming back to the present day? The band's current standing matches how the general public perceives them: an old glory of that mythical decade, when anything seemed possible and a lineup of excellent musicians could find the perfect balance between skill and success. It's hard to imagine anything like that in today's landscape — at least not on the same... "level".

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