Bronski Beat

Young kids from the outskirts

A grey afternoon in the early Eighties, a one-way train ticket in his pocket. Destination: London, the menacing British capital still nicknamed the “big smoke,” a legacy of the coal-mining era that was, at that very moment, being dismantled by the Thatcher government, sparking endless clashes and strikes. Domestic coal burning in London had already been banned by the Clean Air Act back in 1956, but a pale greyness still lingered in the air, reflected off the concrete of brutalist architecture and the imposing brick buildings that had survived the war. Arriving at King's Cross station is a frontal assault: a disreputable, decaying place, with the whole of St. Pancras just beyond the forecourt still a crumbling ruin occupied by addicts and crusty punks. Not exactly the warmest welcome for someone arriving from the provinces in search of work and a new life, but courage must be summoned.

Just outside the station, on the left side of the square, stands the first phone box along the York Way pavement. The number to call is 01-837-7324. On the other end of the line, volunteers from the London Gay Switchboard answer the unwitting traveller's questions: where to look for housing and work, which venues cater to a certain kind of crowd, the nearest clinic where you can pick up a pack of condoms. But sometimes all they can offer is a few kind words to ease the loneliness of someone who feels they've landed in Hell. That phone number is printed on the sticker of The Age Of Consent, an album that, more than any other of its time, tells the story of its own community: unemployment, the workers' struggle and gay rights, social alienation and political activism, the spectre of AIDS, cabaret and the disco floor.

Academics today speak of “queer migration,” a phenomenon that for centuries has seen thousands of people uprooted, either forced to flee oppressive situations or driven by the search for a community of their own kind. So many different stories, voices and situations, and yet in a sense very much alike: some manage to build their own support network as an alternative to the traditional family, others lose themselves in loneliness, alcohol and drugs; some survive and find a professional outlet, while others end up on a bed at the London Lighthouse in Ladbroke Grove, one of the first hospitals in England dedicated to caring for terminal AIDS patients. The idea of an idyllic freedom of expression exists only in the minds of those who have yet to make that journey, because reality can be far harsher, though not without its small, electrifying triumphs.

James William Somerville, known as Jimmy, knows this all too well: a small Scottish lad from Glasgow with an oversized head and a voice like a kettle's whistle, the son of humble working-class parents with a rigid sense of social decorum that leaves no room for behavioural deviation of any kind. Life in Ruchill, the working-class neighbourhood where his family lives, is already hard enough as it is; the last thing anyone needs is a queer son. Et voilà…

[…] the reality of Glasgow was tough for me — I'm barely five foot bloody nothing, I look like a little girl, I'm gay, and on top of it all I've got red hair… I don't know, might as well cut my legs off while you're at it!

Our Jimmy isn't entirely wrong: if homophobia already carries its own weight, bullying redheads in the UK dates back to the days of the witch hunts, another deeply entrenched legacy, alive and well from schoolyards to public parks. As adolescence sets in, Jimmy feels like an alien. To reach the first venue frequented by people as “different” as him, tucked safely out of sight of the rest of the neighbourhood, the boy has to take two buses and walk part of the way on foot. Once at the door, he finds himself teetering on the edge of a precipice: crossing that threshold is a metaphorically weighty act, meaning he must admit his own truth and be ready to pay the consequences. In Scotland, homosexuality was only decriminalised in 1981, but by then the eighteen-year-old Jimmy had already left Glasgow, and his whole family, behind.

Steven William Forrest, known as Steve Bronski, was also born in Glasgow and lived through much the same experiences. Granted, his build offered him a bit more protection than skinny little Jimmy; Steve has that square, somewhat rough face shaped by heavy pints at the pub with his fellow bricklayers during the Sunday rugby match. But behind that facade hides a young man who loves literature and the hits of Donna Summer — and, if he fancied, the rugby players too, not necessarily out on the pitch but perhaps in the locker room after the match. The story of Jimmy, Steve and so many other young people of their generation was immortalised in a melancholy romance for voice and drum machine fittingly titled “Smalltown Boy,” a huge radio hit of the era accompanied by a moving music video that, in just five minutes, packs in the plot of dozens of books and films:

No artifice or cheap sentimentality here, no small-town-versus-big-city parochialism: “Smalltown Boy” is a sweeping story about youthful redemption and hope for a better future, especially in times of economic stagnation — even though the images captured in the video are specifically dedicated to the young gay men of the era, almost like a letter of brotherly understanding in which they could see themselves reflected.

Activism, rage and inspiration: a classic is born

That need to build a community that could serve as an alternative family is a central theme in the lives of the city's newest arrivals; the very young Jimmy threw himself straight into socio-political activism and soon became active in the London Gay Teenage Group alongside a wide array of characters from every corner of the country. In 1983, the collective's members put together a documentary called “Framed Youth: The Revenge Of The Teenage Perverts,” a series of interviews centred on the experiences of young gay men and lesbians, interspersed for effect with the all-too-honest remarks gathered on the street from various passers-by. The result is a moving, low-definition film, raw and direct, yet able to capture in black and white the attitudes of England at the time.

Over the course of the film, Jimmy recites a poem he wrote long ago, in the throes of his teenage insecurity; his friends are stunned by his strange and unexpected vocal talent and encourage him to turn it into a proper song. That's how the blueprint for "Screaming" comes about, a bitter Ariadne's lament set to dark synthetic drones and icy emotional disturbances, so descriptive it borders on raw, yet works wonders precisely because of that genuine innocence: evocative musical poetry backing a fervent lyrical directness that has no time for overly complex metaphors. Youthful existential angst, social commitment and a good ear for music can coexist within the same emotional space even amid the dizzying carousel of the Eighties — you just need to find the right key to unlock it, and the leap turns out to be shorter than expected.

Jimmy meets Steve Bronski at a bar one evening; Steve is already living with his partner Larry Steinbachek, a native Londoner from Hackney, an introverted type with a passion for Kraftwerk, eurodisco and American mutations like Hi-NRG, house and techno. The three soon find themselves sharing a squat in Brixton and form the core of Bronski Beat: a curious band, halfway between the sophisticated British fashion for synth-pop, the disco rhythms of Soho, and the jazz and cabaret flourishes that have been part of Lgbt cultural heritage since the days of Judy Garland, Lena Horne and Hollywood's great Divas. All of it filtered through a progressive political outlook and distilled into a handful of songs that immediately strike a chord with their target audience and the sharpest-eared record executives alike — the deal with London Records comes together in no time, together with a partnership with producer Mike Thorne, who arranges recording sessions for the band in London, at John Foxx's studios, and in New York.

Special mention must go to Jimmy's unmistakable voice, truly an instrument all its own: a falsetto that never cracks, capable of dispensing the sacredness of a choir of boy sopranos, losing itself in plaintive streams of love, and then flying into a rage with hysterical fervour — as if all the repression endured in his youth suddenly found an outlet through a pair of vocal cords as resilient as rubber, an immense elasticity that lets him hit soprano-range high notes rarely matched by other men with such consistency across nearly forty years of career. His idol? Sylvester, of course.

Upon the release of "The Age Of Consent" in October 1984, Bronski Beat also picked up a fair share of detractors. Here were three perfectly ordinary lads in jeans and t-shirts, hardly likely to cause a stir next to the colourful, lace-and-frills peacocks of the contemporary new romantic scene, yet unlike those peacocks, they were openly gay and proud of it, ready to claim their place in the world at every turn and on every occasion. Where mascara didn't reach, high notes and synths did. Inside the album's booklet, the age of consent for homosexual relationships in every European country is printed — a list that shows how England, stuck at 21 compared to the majority of other nations which had lowered theirs to 16, was still lagging well behind on the issue.

But these are niche concerns that others simply don't bother with; in the New Musical Express, for instance, reviewer Biba Kopf thunders without mincing words:

[...] a trio of career gays, full-time victims and accomplices in whatever kind of misery drives singer Jimmy to bemoan his endless white-boy blues [...]

Those words were probably inspired by a listen to the other famous single, "Why?", placed right at the top of the tracklist to open the album with an irritable eagle's shriek and a booming Hi-NRG tank that oozes joy from every pore. The opening line, sung by Jimmy in a mix of anguish and defiance, leaves no doubt about what follows:

The disgust in your eyes

As I turn to kiss his lips

But Kopf is spoiled for choice, because if it's gay-flavoured blues we're talking about, "Need A Man Blues" is exactly the kind of song that fits the bill: melancholy and sensuality, blended in an embrace of soft falsettos and desperate high notes hurled at empty bedsheets. Not that Bronski Beat are ever vulgar, but the historical moment they were operating in was such that even merely hinting at a certain kind of love was cause for great shame in some circles.

Those who choose to listen further will find touching tracks like "Junk", a dense synthetic surge dedicated to inner chaos in a moment of pitch-black despair, and "Love And Money", a bleak account of the grim living conditions under Thatcherite society, a song that, in truth, almost anyone can identify with, from members of Soho's gay scene to Welsh factory workers and miners left at home with no future. And then there's "No More War", another shadowy, introspective slow number, capable of settling over the heart like fog along the banks of the Thames on a late winter afternoon. All proof that, beyond the swaying sounds typical of disco "gay-pop", the lives of the three members of Bronski Beat were tied to the fortunes of the rest of British society.

"The Age Of Consent" can also be fun and adventurous. The cover of the great biblically sceptical Gershwin classic — George & Ira Gershwin's "Ain't Necessarily So" — is a delightfully playful jazz number, the kind you'd play in a bar on a wild night out. Released as a single just before Christmas, it came with a video in which the band, interned in an all-boys boarding school, hold a contest during mass to see who can eat the most mince pies — the candied fruit tarts typical of English festive celebrations. As if to say: you've cut us out of your traditions, so we couldn't care less. Even more curious is the miniature "Heatwave", a sensual and delightfully fun cabaret moment whose steady rhythm is kept by the click of heels on the wooden parquet of Caroline O'Connor, a tap dancer and actress active at the time.

Trouble in paradise: storm in the Sea of Veils

There's also a need to pay homage to the most pervasive musical tradition of the recent past, the one that made the band's young members dream so much when, still teenagers, they'd lock themselves in their bedrooms imagining a bright future: disco. With their cover of the evergreen "I Feel Love" by the trio Summer/Moroder/Bellotte, Jimmy & co. close out their album with a flash of ardour and feminine pride, that driving, relentless synth bassline continuing tirelessly to act as social glue for thousands of restless, lost young men.

But there are at least three twists worth unpacking. Although initially presented under the plain title "I Feel Love", the track actually contains a striking interpolation of "Johnny Remember Me", a manic Sixties hit by John Leyton that here serves as a curious homoerotic aside — or at least, that's how young Jimmy always interpreted it, and he now gets it off his chest through a rather daring medley. But this same track was later reworked as a duet with Marc Almond, adding yet another interpolation, this time of Donna Summer's "Love To Love You Baby", just to make the erotic tension between the two singers even more obvious. In this now thoroughly shameless version, the single climbed to No. 3 on the British chart, bringing Bronski Beat back into millions of English homes after the success of "Smalltown Boy" — the track was included on the superb remix collection "Hundreds & Thousands", released in 1985.

But behind the scenes, things are already going a bit sour. Jimmy, the uncompromising activist, finds it unbearable that almost every other popstar known within the scene to be somewhere on the spectrum of homosexuality keeps hiding behind smoke and mirrors, especially when it's time to hit the streets and take a few truncheon blows. Bronski Beat put their faces on the line - Jimmy himself would later find a way to get arrested during a protest at Parliament Square - while Almond, by contrast, struts around dressed as a fetish vampire and releases deliberately provocative videos, yet remains evasive and dodges any definition.

He's certainly not the only one; when the famous actor Rock Hudson dies of AIDS in 1985, the press launches a full-blown media hunt against gay men. Predictably, partly out of a desire for privacy and partly to protect their careers, many prefer to blend into the excesses of the moment's fashions - after all, England already has its share of preened dandies like Adam Ant, Duran Duran and Spandau Ballet, while across the Atlantic, Rick James and Prince flounce about in heels and garters.

But for Jimmy and his trainers, the entire British squadron leaves a lot to be desired. Freddie Mercury is lost in his own carousel of saunas and theatres, Elton John even goes and marries a woman in 1984, to the world's amusement. Then there are Bowie's offspring, the aesthetes of Leigh Bowery's circle who gather at the Blitz: Steve Strange, Pete Burns, Marilyn, Martin Degville, Boy George and many others, all feathered and sequined dandies shifting millions of records, yet never to be seen at a demonstration.

Things are no better in the ranks of the other pop crowd, with George Michael still trapped in the role of teen-girl sex symbol, or the inspired indie poet Steven Patrick Morrissey, who glides above any definition. Even Holly Johnson and Paul Rutherford of Frankie Goes To Hollywood have to maintain a certain decorum to keep pace with the rest of the band, despite having just made the entire nation sing along to the rhythm of an orgasm with "Relax". Before long, even the Pet Shop Boys will find themselves saddled with the label of being "cagey". Jimmy fails to realise that the community is a community precisely because it's varied, made up of different ways of presenting and expressing oneself - but in those years of militancy and social struggle, his creed allows for only one path.

The situation soon turns against his own bandmates too, Steve and Larry. The two of them were never all that bothered about the fate of the Labour Party to begin with, but once success arrives, they seem far more inclined to spend their evenings in Soho enjoying their new status as national heroes. Jimmy, on the other hand, hasn't forgotten his working-class roots for a second: to him, the fight for gay rights and the fight for workers' rights are simply two sides of the same coin, with one common enemy named Margaret. Around this time, Bronski Beat play a historic gig at the Electric in Brixton in support of the striking miners, as recounted in the film "Pride" - a genuinely galvanising moment for Jimmy, who would happily have lived forever on nothing but marches and rallies.

But soon enough, the record industry machine comes knocking again; there's the option of opening for Madonna's American tour, a move pushed by the label to hitch Bronski Beat to the lucrative bandwagon of the Second British Invasion. Steve and Larry jump at the chance, but Jimmy wants nothing to do with it - the pop circus bores him, he feels alienated from his own passions. Disillusioned, he leaves the band - the entire era of "The Age of Consent" lasted barely a year.

Of course, the story doesn't end there; the remaining members of Bronski Beat will recruit a couple more singers in an attempt to reclaim the charts, without ever quite managing it. Paradoxically, it's Jimmy who will go on to find an unexpected new wave of success, founding Communards alongside the refined, conservatory-trained musician Richard Coles, formerly of the London Gay Teenage Club and a session player for Bronski Beat themselves.

With hindsight, we can look back on the story of all these young men as protagonists of an important social and cultural period, a puzzle of personalities, situations and considerable drama, out of which came so much fine music that still holds its own dignity today. "The Age Of Consent" is forever part of history. Our history.

Dedicated to N.D., wherever you are.

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

05/03/2023