Most American music fans don't seem to know it, but Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark were around long before Andie and Ducky worked up the self-esteem to show up stag to the prom. The band's U.S. crossover success didn't come until their sixth album, by which time its more creative juices had stopped flowing. So like Adam and the Ants, the Human League, and Dexy's Midnight Runners, among others, their homeland success and spirit of experimentation has been erased from U.S. music discourse in favor of hegemonic assumptions and lazy potshots.
With that in mind, I was almost as much surprised as I was pleased to learn that Virgin bothered to release reissues of OMD's first three albums in America. But with the indie calendar turned back 20 years, it almost makes sense, and who knows: maybe once the embers of post-punk are fully explored and its rigid dance moves are all perfected, a synth-pop revival is next. The Human League got their well-deserved due earlier in the year with reissues of their three most vital records-- augmented by bonus tracks-- and now OMD's peak years get the same treatment.
In its earliest guises, the Liverpudlian group's only connection to American hits such as "If You Leave" and "So In Love" were the dramatic vocals of co-founder Andy McCluskey. He, along with fellow multi-instrumentalist Paul Humphreys, wrote and recorded songs throughout the late 70s, the best of which were compiled for their 1980 self-titled debut. Because it's a series of tracks written both over a long period of time and before they'd hit upon an original voice, Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark does at some points seem like an artful pastiche of overground electronic influences. If you're more of the cup-is-half-full type, however, you might consider it their most varied effort, but either way, OMD's adventurous blend of drama and pathos-- and its nods toward the more rhythmic end of Krautrock-- elevated them above the Eno/Kraftwerk template clung to by many of their peers.
Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark's original release was highlighted by the exquisite "Electricity" (here also joined by the slightly inferior yet eye-catching Martin Hannett mix) and the brooding "The Messerschmit Twins", but the reissue's coup is the single mix of "Messages". The band's commercial breakthrough, the elegant "Messages" stands out next to the record's often sparse, minimalist soundscapes.
OMD's second LP Organisation was hastily released six months later, and it sure sounds like it. Typically, a sophomore rush job means a band is cowardly-- quickly rolling out more of the same-- or taking a wide-eyed bid at chart stardom. For OMD, it meant recoiling from the spotlight, regrouping to make a willfully dark album. If that was the goal, pre-album single "Enola Gay" did little to keep fame at arm's length. Despite the song's dreary subject matter (it's named for the plane that dropped the first atomic bomb on Hiroshima), its infectious, gurgling bounce and McCluskey's theatrical vocals make it one of synth-pop's peaks.
The remainder of the album is primarily hit-or-miss synth noir, an embrace of the Northern miserablism of fellow Liverpudlians Echo and Bunnymen and a homage to OMD's brief Factory Records roots. The addition of drummer Malcolm Holmes made this record more muscular than its predecessor, but its psuedo-Joy Division gothic leanings quickly wear thin. The bonus tracks are less valuable, too: b-side "Annex" is welcome, but the addition of a four-song instrumental EP is more a curio than a necessity.
OMD made a quick return to form, however, on their third album, 1981's Architecture & Morality. Shaking off the dread of their music engaging with the public while simultaneously weathering critical scrutiny, OMD shows a greater facility for pop melody, crafting songs of aching fragility rather than off-putting gloom. Along with the Human League's Dare-- also initially released in 1981-- Architecture & Morality is a bridge between synth-pop's more bleak, industrial beginnings and the shimmer and shine of ambitious New Pop. Lush ballads such as "The Beginning and the End" and "Souvenir" effortlessly cast aside OMD's final notions of Gary Numan-esque faux-robotics. After all, as "Enola Gay" hinted, technology sometimes had a devastating price.
Instead, here they explore the mechanics of the soul, again reaching into the past for inspiration, this time with four (yes, four) songs "about" Joan of Arc. OK, that seems a bit precious, but the teenage heroine trapped between duty and common sense, faith and delusion, and reality and virtual reality made for a poignant central metaphor for a band exploring the fragility and warmth of the heart with what is a stereotypically cold, even pragmatic sound.
Even with the reissue's addition of some frequently bewitching B-sides, Architecture & Morality retains a fairly even mood, one which is either a bore or something to cherish depending on one's willingness to be charmed by electronic lullabies of longing and poignancy. So while OMD's self-titled debut perhaps offers more to like, Architecture & Morality is more frequently beloved and the closest the band ever came to making an essential record.
