by Dom Lepore (@domelepore)
Colin Newman is inseparable from the enigmatic, angular post-punk of Wire. Even after the band’s brief dissolution following their ‘70s trilogy, Newman’s solo material prolonged that acclaimed output – twisting punk rock’s simplicity into a more cryptic and eclectic medium. The final installment, 1979’s 154, was almost transitional for its emphasis on ominous industrial music, fueled by anxiety-ridden lyricism. Newman’s initial solo offering, 1980’s A–Z, is appropriately dubbed the “fourth” Wire album for recovering the remnants of 154’s successor. It’s more maximalist, plastered with whirring synths and burning guitar feedback. In-between the erratic tangling melodies is suspenseful ambient droning, explored further on 1982’s Not To. Newman toyed with sparsity and repetition well into the ‘80s, upon Wire’s reunion with mechanical electro-industrial pop. Given Newman’s ever-changing creative mind, Bastard was a naturally unforeseen left turn.
The 1997 addition to the long-spanning Wire-related oeuvre arrived amid trip-hop and downtempo leaving the underground to explode into the mainstream. Artists who perpetuated chopped percussive loops and skittery minimal techno became household names. Bastard was a clinical and primitive, yet charming exercise of playing with these genres. In retrospect, this direction shouldn’t be surprising since Newman’s wife, Malka Spigel, already engaged with these sounds in the early ‘90s. The album proper, though, is transgressive – none of Newman’s idiosyncrasies are heard. Not even the brushing guitars can be discerned as his own. Bastard is entirely instrumental, bar one song – “Turn,” which samples Spigel’s voice – and any art punk scaffolding is replaced with ambient techno leanings and floaty breakbeats. Newman’s subversive absence instils a peculiarly cold atmosphere. Certainly, it’s a Colin Newman album – his name is on the sleeve – but it doesn’t really contain any of his identifiable songcraft. Bastard, then, exists in its own vacuum. Spigel’s middle finger gesture on the artwork may project Newman’s dismissal of his “normal” arsenal of musical tools, but also his audience. So, is Bastard a bastardization of his artistry?
Upon revisiting it, that’s not true. Bastard has since quietly taken the form of a time capsule from when leftfield house and techno dominated the airwaves. Newman’s experimentation with this sound palette was appropriate. Wire never cruised in one spot during their heyday, and they certainly still don’t, so it seemed natural that Newman’s musical interest matched the electronica surrounding Bastard’s release. It helps that the songs are pleasant. Opener “Sticky” sways like Blue Boy’s soulful sample-heavy house anthem “Remember Me.” The looped acoustic guitar in “Without” evokes post-rock textures. Meanwhile, “g-deep” is a minimalist microhouse bop with a low-pitched rumbling bassline. “Slowfast (falling down the stairs with a drumkit)” and “Spiked” sound exactly like their titles: the former is interrupted by tumbling breakbeats, while the latter is a bass-heavy woozy trip. Newman neatly stitches apprehensive guitar lines into the background, making “Spiked” the only song carrying any of Wire’s DNA. The strange, playful alt-dance experiments of Bastard, likely collaborative efforts with Spigel, are fascinating glimpses of Newman’s willingness to sever what constitutes his “regular” songwriting. While it’d be even better if he put verses on these mellow soundscapes, to tamper with them would be bastardly.