One record at a time: 549. Nitzer Ebb - Showtime

The first Nitzer Ebb album I heard was a borrowed compact disc of "Showtime" in 1990. I felt compelled to listen because the blistering neon sleeve looked as if it might burn through the plastic case, the carpet and possibly the floor beneath (for some reason no camera seems to accurately reflect the true colour of the artwork). Thirty-four years later, I found the vinyl in one of my favourite second-hand record emporiums, and buying it felt less like a decision than a simple administration task.

Whilst Flood returns in the production chair, the album moves away from the stark minimalism of its predecessor "Belief". A sampler appears to have wandered into the studio control room, presumably wearing boots and looking suspicious, bringing with it added mood, texture and a slightly broader sonic palette. This shift is nowhere more pronounced than on "Lightning Man", the first piece of music I ever heard from the band. As the chorus kicks in, Bon Harris's usual crushing synths are complemented by clarinet samples that wind themselves around the melody with the guile and menace of a Boa constrictor. 

Another single, "Getting Closer", moves from distorted synths and stuttering rhythms into a grinding dance groove built around distinctive drum samples. It is impossible to identify a particular drum machine anywhere on this record as the sounds seem as unique as the group themselves. "Fun to be Had" is another obvious single, all clenched momentum and industrial swagger, although the title remains one of the more optimistic statements in the Nitzer Ebb catalogue.

Elsewhere, the drunken stumble of "Nobody Knows" is a bit of a misfire, although the music is at least perfectly suited to the lyrics. "One Man's Burden" has flashes of the sound Flood deployed on Depeche Mode's "Violator" around the same time, while "Rope" delivers a relentless four-on-the-floor groove that is equal parts sinister and danceable. That combination is difficult to pull off without sounding like an aerobics class held in a disused warehouse, but here it works beautifully.

I like this album, but I still find myself preferring its predecessor, where the groove was starker and more sinister. That is not to say "Showtime" sounds like Lionel Richie, although the very thought may require a lie down. It is more that some of the hard, aggressive corners have been rounded off as the band lean into a more structured style of composition. The result is still forceful, still menacing and still very much Nitzer Ebb, but it feels a little less like being chased down a corridor by a murderous robot than I'd like. 3.5/5

One record at a time: 548. Nitzer Ebb - Belief

I was playing this album on my computer one day when it struck me that, although I already owned “Belief” physically on compact disc, it didn't feel enough. The CD had done sterling service, of course, sitting there in its little plastic case like a well-behaved office worker with excellent attendance. But some albums seem to demand the full ceremonial treatment: a sleeve, a spine, a place on the record shelf and respectable smattering of dust to prove you actually play your records. After a quick visit to Discogs and several days waiting for Royal Mail to complete its customary snail-like procession, I became the proud owner of an original UK pressing.

Like a lot of people, I first became aware of Nitzer Ebb through their association with Depeche Mode and Mute Records. They were clearly not as commercial as their labelmates, but there was something about their raw, disciplined and unrelenting sound that I found fascinating. Not least because their music felt properly electronic rather than merely decorated with electronics. Released in 1989, “Belief” captures the band at a point where muscle, machinery and menace all seem to be working from the same instruction manual.

The irresistible opening track, “Hearts and Minds”, has a chorus that showers sparks as if the synthesisers have been left unattended in a fireworks factory. It is urgent, severe and oddly thrilling, which is not a combination most artists manage without sounding like they have mistaken shouting for conviction. “For Fun” has a peculiar rhythm that would probably force listeners to dance as though they were suffering from a dislocated shoulder, making it truly intriguing and only mildly hazardous. Doug's vocal on the centrepiece, “Control I’m Here”, is delivered with suitable menace while Bon Harris’ synths grind away underneath like heavy machinery with a grudge.

The production skills of Flood, along with the sound of his Roland System 700, are really prominent on this album. The record does not feel built from familiar presets, or from the showroom demonstration mode of someone’s new keyboard. Nothing drifts by politely. “Belief” arrives, points at you, and expects a response.

The standout on the second side is “Shame”, a masterclass in aggressive minimalism. It proves that you do not need layers of ornamentation when you can simply deploy rhythm, repetition and attitude with the confidence of someone kicking open a fire door. Things tail off slightly on “Drive” and “Blood Money”, but every album has a lull, and at least Nitzer Ebb’s lulls still sound like they could pass a fitness test. The final track, “Without Belief”, is a driving closer that serves as a thematic bookend to an album that constantly seems to ask, “What is it to be human?” Admittedly, it asks this question while sounding like it has confiscated your chair and replaced it with a steel bench.

Industrial music, or electronic body music, is rarely this deep. “Belief” makes you engage your brain while your feet are busy filing a formal complaint. It is stark, inventive, confrontational and far more thoughtful than its surface aggression might suggest. A record that fully earns its place on the shelf, even if it looks as though it might start an argument with the albums on either side. 4/5