Mark Hollis
Mark Hollis
(Polydor, 1998)

Not sure, but it was probably the poofy hair. Or maybe it was the drums that went peueww. For whatever reason, New Romantic bands never got a lot of respect from critics for their artistry—the quality of their songs—and history hasn’t treated them well. (That is, unless you consider ’80s dance nights.) Talk Talk was stuck in this camp when they issued their debut in 1982 and, while they organically evolved into a sort of pre-post-rock band, a lot of people left them there.

There’s no question, though, that Talk Talk were artists crafting songs as artful and as nuanced as any other outfit, and the man largely responsible was singer-songwriter Mark Hollis. The London-based band quickly ditched the dancey, synth-heavy sound of early singles like “Talk Talk” and “Mirror Man”, which saw them paired with Duran Duran producer Colin Thurston, and morphed into a more cerebral combo showcasing great ambience, natural themes, jazz-inspired chord progressions, and poetic lyrics. Talk Talk would chart a few radio almost-hits in “Life’s What You Make It” and “Give it Up” in the late ’80s, and they enjoyed much critical acclaim by the time they released their final album to indifferent commercial response in 1991. The band would influence everyone from Radiohead to Shearwater, but they never knew it in their day, and they disbanded without much fanfare in 1992. Thereafter, their multi-talented songsmith fell off the map.

The singer reemerged in 1998 with his self-titled solo debut. Mark Hollis is a stunning, quiet, and strange record, and it went unduly ignored. Those who heard it were treated to some of the finest material Hollis has written. He took many of the same influences that he showed in his later Talk Talk days and built upon and expanded on them, stretching each facet to greater lengths. Featuring a bevy of squonking horns, shuffling tempos, and bomping bass, the album has the jazz overtones of The Spirit of Eden, and on tracks like “A Life (1895-1915)” it shares that album’s amorphous song structures. The opener, “The Colour of Spring”, borrows the title of an earlier Talk Talk record and showcases the sparse, graceful piano Hollis has become known for. He’s famous for this quote: “Before you play two notes learn how to play one note—and don’t play one note unless you’ve got a reason to play it.” This song exemplifies his philosophy perfectly. It’s also heartbreakingly beautiful.

Talk Talk in its later incarnation had rusticity and an open space in its music, and that continues here—there’s space around the notes, between the notes, and between the instruments, amounting to a spare feeling that carries through and unites the entire record. Somehow Hollis manages to be stark and cinematic at the same time, with aching horns on songs like “Watershed.” Mark Hollis is in many ways a study of such contrasts. The music is simple—that one piano note—yet strangely free form and complex. Certain songs like “Westward Bound” are so quiet and fragile you have to strain to hear them. Others assail with jazz skronk. The lyrics have a superficial sparseness to them, but are actually quite deep.

And there’s always that voice—one of the best in rock—a languid croon that always has a depth and sadness to it. Lyrically, the singer returns to his roots, filling these eight songs with an ache and longing for a simpler, less materialistic time more in tune with the natural world.

Mark Hollis is perfect as the backdrop to a quiet evening, but it deserves a closer listen than that. And it certainly deserves more attention than it’s received.

Watch: “The Colour of Spring” [at youtube.com]

Like this article? DIGG it and sign up for our RSS feed!