Rolling Stone

 

By Mark Coleman   |   July 17, 1986

 

Routinely dismissed as a band of synth-pop robots, Depeche Mode actually uses its machines to make some of the most human sounds around. Black Celebration is certainly this British quartet's most melodic effort to date: the clanging disco-concrete fusion of early LPs like Construction Time Again has mellowed into a brand of brooding, romantic music only hinted at on last year's Some Great Reward. "I haven't felt so alive in years," gushes singer Dave Gahan on "But Not Tonight," this LP's ghostly closer, although for composer-lyricist Martin Gore, even celebration is pretty bleak.

Gore dissects his gloomy obsessions with wit and intelligence. He's abetted by his bandmates, inventive technicians who understand that machines weren't meant to sound like souped-up electric organs. Despite its campy horror-show title, "Fly on the Windscreen — Final" is the sort of matter-of-fact meditation on mortality most people flash on behind the wheel of a car. A bank of synths buzz ominously through the verses of "Fly," amplifying the unease, then whoosh gratefully when the first chorus reaches for life's only solace: "Come here kiss me NOW."

Most of these ditties are unabashed love songs, albeit brutally honest — quirky ones that pick apart popular notions of emotional independence ("A Question of Lust") and adolescent sex ("A Question of Time," "World Full of Nothing") to an itchy, mechanized beat. Songs like these and some serious image-mongering have won Depeche Mode a loyal teen following, appropriately enough. But underneath their bleached-blond, black-leather pose lurks musical maturity and a wry sensibility deserving of a wider (read adult) audience.

 

 

 

 

NME

 

"Nipple Erectors"

 

"Somewhere, between Basildon and Berlin, is a place that Depeche Mode call home. It's an uncomfortable abode though it gleams and sparkles with pristine decor and designer-built functionalism, a matt-black (naturally) dream home whose geometrical symmetry hides a thousand sins. Although Depeche Mode - and their mainman/songwriter Martin Gore especially - long for that certain Euro-ambience, these four suburban boys are forever blighted by a peculiarly English sense of propriety, a pop protocol that drips with politeness.

This well-behaved music threatened to slip from its axis on '83's quite invigorating 'Construction Time Again' when the awakening promise of 'Everything Counts' and 'More Than A Party' approached the realm of cheeky subversion. Alongside Gore's political awareness grew an unhealthy fascination with the sturm und drang of German industrial culture, the viral music of Neubauten and our own Test Dept. Yet what tension Depeche Mode possessed of late - and there was little to be detected on last year's atrophied 'Some Great Reward' - came from the frisson of Gore's dark Teutonic pretensions with the continued tyranny of studied, harmonious order that his three accomplices seemed quite happy to perpetuate. As a virus, Depeche Mode's music is closer to sleeping sickness than to any nerve-wrenching disorder. Worse still, the psychology-by-numbers cant of a song like 'Masters And Servants' [sic] teetered ominously close to the chanting histrionics of a Tears For Fears' "Shout! Shout! Let it all out!" exegesis.

On 'Black Celebration', the contradictions continue and continue to remain unresolved. Martin Gore's presence is stamped all over this album, not least in the sex-death-lust angst which informs virtually every lyric whilst the accompanying music, although often hinting at impending disorder, is a paradigm of well mannered electro-pop. Opening with the title song, 'Black Celebration', which has nothing to do with the recently established Martin Luther King Day and a lot to do with being stoical in the face of life's sheer mundaniety, the album establishes a mood that is dark yet faintly ridiculous. Over those perfectly constructed jigsaw melodies, David Gahan's cloyingly winsome voice ennuciates Gore's adolescent fragments of despair. 'Fly On The Windscreen' includes the immortal line "death is everywhere" over a propulsive, multi-layered background complete with dismembered voices and cut-up sound patterns that are actually quite winning. Again, on 'A Question Of Lust', the overblown introspection of the lyrics defeats serious analysis whilst 'Sometimes' approaches the analyst's couch as Gore, via Gahan [Martin in fact takes the lead vocal on this track - BB] , informs us, without a hint of irony, " ... I'm the first to admit/If you catch me in a mood like this/I can be tiring/Even embarressing". Never.

It is left to the music to provide what relative highlights there are and, within their own parameters, Depeche Mode create a resonant, if undemonstrative techno-pop tapestry where the various percussive and melodic components often lend a rich textured sheen that is not without a certain depth. 'A Question Of Time', with its rising and falling structure, manages to perfectly complement an exceptionally curt and aggressive Gore lyric whilst 'New Dress' ruptures the prevailing introspective and fingers the media trivialisation of "real" news. Indeed, when the songs address topics other than the composer's state of mind - as on the evocative exploration of loneliness that is 'World Full Of Nothing' - Depeche Mode sound like a lot more than just a high tech, low-life melodrama. For the most part, however, they continue to provide a soundtrack for the up-to-date, matt black bedsit: dark, yet faintly ridiculous."

 

Sean O'Hagan
New Musical Express, March 1986

 

 

 

 

Melody Maker

 

"Black In The Night"

 

"The same old song. That Depeche Mode are willing to worm their way out of their lucrative niche as mega-cuddlies is encouraging even if they’ve been at it so long they’ve fashioned a career from sweet abrasion. Damn sure they know they’ll never swap their teddy bear image for chart terrorism but the effort has become the sole fuel to Martin Gore’s fixations.

It’s depressing, though, that in their own small struggle for personal and artistic dignity, Depeche have only managed to trade in one set of cliches for another – white for black, bright for bitter, tunes for twisted chants.

"Black Celebration" finds Depeche even more over-anxious than they were on the depressing "Some Great Reward" to shock for the sake of it, pussycats desperate to appear perverted as an escape from the superficiality of teen stardom. "Dressed In Black" is just "Master And Servant" revisited, an adolescent masturbatory fantasy. Similarly, "Fly On The Windscreen" attempts to evoke the claustrophobic swamp intertia of Mute labelmate Nick Cave’s "Wings Off Flies". These songs tell us, time and again, that they’re desensitised to love, that the only release open from spiritual malaise is a momentary tactile passion, a lunging, groping lust.

More saddening still is "New Dress", an unbridled attack on press hypocrisy which, in its humourless juxtaposition of headlines, ("Famine horror, millions die") against its refrain ("Princess Di is wearing a new dress") recalls nothing more than a secondary school poem.

As always, it’s difficult to discern whether Martin Gore’s clumsy lyrical truisms are intent on promoting his over-apparent desire to assume a sinister dimension or whether he’s honestly concerned for his subject matter. Are the Depeche of "A Question Of Time" revelling in the scenario of under-age sexploitation as an exercise in biting the hand the feeds, or are they genuinely dismayed at the inevitable moral decay of this rotting nation?

Then again, it’s precisely Gore’s naively logical lyrical equation, wedded to the established Depeche linear musical mode, that occasionally adds up to something successfully whole, something that incorporates optimism. The title track’s a throbbing metallic purging of the daily grind, "Stripped" is pleasingly minimal, if mannered, and there’s a wonderful hope in the appalling "New Dress": "You can’t change the world/But you can change the facts/And when you change the facts/You change points of view/If you change points of view/You may change a vote/And when you change a vote/You may change the world".

But it’s when Depeche are being unconsciously throwaway, when they relax their straining against their reputation, that they attain the sublime. "A Question Of Lust" is gorgeous, an Almondesque torch vocal mounting a simple electronic code worthy of The Human League. Mostly, though, "Black Celebration" is Depeche fucking with their formula and the real shock is the insight it provides into the troubled psyche of Martin Gore, a lad struggling to grow in public and, for all his opportunities, finding only sleaze and filth to feed off. They’d have it sickening – Gore a willing victim desiring the symptoms he purports to despise.

Silly boys."

 

Steve Sutherland
Melody Maker, March 1986

 

 

 

 

Record Mirror

 

"Here are some things to admire about Depeche Mode: (1) their self-sufficiency, (2) their refusal to follow anything but their own fashion, (3) their refusal to be anything but themselves, (4) their unswerving ability to come up with great, fresh melodies. "Black Celebration" is a comfy progression for the Deps, but it contains no huge surprises. It keeps to the rules they set for themselves in terms of quality, value for money, tunefulness and experimentation. It kicks off with three killer tracks – "Black Celebration", "Fly On The Windscreen" and "A Question Of Lust", the latter being a prize crystal-clear, soaring Mart-on-vocals special. But it really is like putting all your cards on the table before the game’s finished. Of the raunchier numbers, "A Question Of Time" stands out, as does the single "Stripped" and the moody "Dressed In Black". "New Dress", although it pumps and throbs, has rather excruciating lyrics, ditto "Sometimes", one of the rather too many sweet little ballads. Although the melodies are gorgeous, Martin seems preoccupied with sounding like the gawky school choirboy. Mr. Gore is again lyrically concerned with tenderness, sweetness, closeness with another, and putting his heart on his sleeve. That’s fine, balanced against Depeche Mode’s more exciting, sinister side. Beware the girly swot notebook with the arrow through the heart, boys, and you’ll rool OK. Strength through wimpery!"

 

Betty Page
Record Mirror, 15th March, 1986

 

 

 

 

Smash Hits

 

"Despite their seemingly endless stream of brilliant singles Depeche Mode always seem to go a bit wonky when faced with a whole album to fill. Not this time though. "Black Celebration" doesn't only see them go a bit weirder with lots of dark, mysterious percussive episodes (sung by Dave Gahan) snuggling up agains sweet, fragile and rather sinister ballads (sung by Martin Gore) but is also the first time thay haven't had to throw in any second-rate stodge. Their best album yet (apart from the very brilliant "Singles" LP, that is)." (8 out of 10)

 

Chris Heath
Smash Hits (UK) March 1986

 

 

 

 

AllMusic

 

Review by Ned Raggett

 

Whether the band felt it was simply the time to move on from its most explicit industrial-pop fusion days, or whether increased success and concurrently larger venues pushed the music into different avenues, Depeche Mode's fifth studio album, Black Celebration, saw the group embarking on a path that in many ways defined their sound to the present: emotionally extreme lyrics matched with amped-up tunes, as much anthemic rock as they are compelling dance, along with stark, low-key ballads. The slow, sneaky build of the opening title track, with a strange distorted vocal sample providing a curious opening hook, sets the tone as David Gahan sings of making it through "another black day" while powerful drums and echoing metallic pings carry the song. Black Celebration is actually heavier on the ballads throughout, many sung by Martin Gore -- the most per album he has yet taken lead on -- with notable dramatic beauties including "Sometimes," with its surprise gospel choir start and rough piano sonics, and the hyper-nihilistic "World Full of Nothing." The various singles from the album remain definite highlights, such as "A Question of Time," a brawling, aggressive number with a solid Gahan vocal, and the romantic/physical politics of "Stripped," featuring particularly sharp arrangements from Alan Wilder. However, with such comparatively lesser-known but equally impressive numbers as the quietly intense romance of "Here Is the House" to boast, Black Celebration is solid through and through.

 

 

 

 

Amazon.com

 

Depeche Mode's most foreboding album, leaning toward the gothic, is DM at their most bleak, black-armband, and nihilistic--no doubt played over and over by countless self-loathing teens as they dyed their hair black behind locked bedroom doors. The tracks are tastefully minimalist, yet the few sounds that dominate each song have a consuming, even overwhelming feel--like a big, heavy black cloud that descends upon and surrounds listeners until their knees buckle from the weight. Rhythmically, songs like "A Question of Time" are driven with moderately paced 16th notes pounded out on synths filling out the low end. Other tracks follow the path of "Stripped," an all-out lamentfest powered by David Gahan's overproduced baritone. --Beth Bessmer