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Written on spec, to pitch to go along with the band's Exciter tour in 2001. I was sort of working in the same vein as the piece I had done for The Mercury on The Who the year before. They didn't choose to go with this one, though. A
QUESTION OF TIME by Jamie S. Rich Depeche
Mode Friday nights were kind of a downer in high school if I didn't have something to do. I would spend a lot of time wondering why, wishing that someone would call and invite me out. It was you regular teenage problem -- too much time, not enough to do. I remember one such night riding my bike down to the house of the girl who was currently in the process of breaking my heart. I was concerned that she was with another boy, that the reasons she had given for not going out that night weren't true. I took my Walkman with me, and a copy of Depeche Mode's Black Celebration. I was careful when riding around her house not to ride so close as to give myself away. I had to work my way around, circling the neighborhood, slowly getting closer to where I could get a clear view. It was important to see what lights were on in which room, what cars were in the driveway. I'm not sure how long this took, but I do know I heard a lot of that album. I listened to the ballads of self-loathing and doubt ("Sometimes," "It Doesn't Matter Two"), joy in community ("Here is the House"), dastardly womanhood ("Dressed in Black"). It was one of my favorite records, and as most Walkman children know, there was nothing quite like listening to just such an album on headphones, the rest of the world blocked out. It truly does become your soundtrack for life. Ultimately, I became convinced that the girl was indeed home, and even if she wasn't in there doing what she said she was going to do, she was in the house alone, and I had nothing to worry about. As I began the ride home, a warm summer rain began. By some cosmic chance, the tape had reached its last song -- "But Not Tonight," a tale of redemption and cleansing, where Dave Gahan, singing Martin Gore's lyrics, emerges from some scary lost weekend into a life-affirming downpour. "Oh, God, it's raining, and I'm not complaining, it's filling me up with new life." I laughed and rode fast and sang along, cheering that I was not a cuckold that evening. In Wayne's World, there's a joke about how when kids move into the suburbs, they are issued a copy of Frampton Comes Alive! as a matter of course. Well, for kids in Southern California, it's the complete Depeche Mode catalogue. The black-clad quartet offer the right kind of moodiness for the sunny lower coast. Amidst a society that was looking to mold me and market me, DM and their ilk stood apart with a different offer. Unfortunately, like me, the musicians who fueled my youth have gotten older, and not always gracefully. While Morrissey and The Cure, for instance, have continued to put out good records, they still seem like they're stuck in the same groove. The Moz of his 40s seems obsessed with the same things that captured his interest in his 20s, which is a shame, because I wouldn't mind hearing what he has to say about middle age. No such problems with Depeche Mode. Following inner turmoil and some well-publicized self-destruction, they came back with technologically advanced, mature records. Both 1997's Ultra and their latest, Exciter (Mute/Reprise), reflect the ravages of time. Songs like "The Sweetest Condition" examine a worn-out heart, and "I Feel Loved" is about the things that keep you from falling prey to your weaknesses. It's the sound of a band that's grown up and gone forward, not content to stay the same. Seeing Depeche Mode live again is going to be a welcome experience. If they play "But Not Tonight," I know it's going to hurtle me back to when I was 16 and totally inept at love. And if they don't, I know that what they choose is also going to work for me in the here and now. It's why I still buy their records, and why they still make a difference. Even if I'm a long way from Southern California, and a long way from 16.
(c) 2002 Jamie S. Rich |