Bauhaus, In The Flat Field (1980)

Bauhausin-the-flat-field

Artist: Bauhaus
Title: In The Flat Field
Description: album track, In The Flat Field
Label: 4AD
Release date: 1980
First heard: 1980

Bliss it was in the early 80s to be alive, but to be in Northampton was very heaven. Bauhaus were our band. Formed in our town. Forged in our town, where so little else was forged in those dark days before Alan Carr, Matt Smith, Mark Haddon, Jo Wiley and Marc Warren. Even after they became pop stars in late 1982 with a cover of Ziggy Stardust and Pete Murphy did the Maxell tapes advert, you’d still see David J, Danny Ash and Kevin Haskins in the wine bar on Bridge Street. (Don’t look for it, it’s not there any more, although the area around it has been turned into the Cultural Quarter, which is nice.) Not that any of us Goths were uncool enough to stare, or approach these local heroes. It was enough that they were still in town, when they could be anywhere else, like Pete Murphy always was. We never saw him.

Not that any of us thought of ourselves as Goths. Nobody did in 1982. But we were. Like Bauhaus, we wore black, and netting, and makeup (I never went that far), and we wore our hair high and hard. It was a heady time. I was 15 when I went to my first gig – U2 supported by Altered Images at Northampton College of Further Education, and yes, Dad picked us up in the car afterwards – and in that same year, I saw Bauhaus play at Lings Forum, a gathering of the Northampton tribes, most of whom were more aromatic and Gothic and sexually provocative than me and my friends Pete and Craig. But it didn’t matter. We were there. We lived close enough to walk home. My Mum and Dad still live within view of Lings Forum.

Bands did not slot Northampton into their national tour itineraries in 1982; it was a rock desert and we had to make our own entertainment (we were all in bands). People in raincoats and leather jackets had to take coach trips to Leicester and Nottingham and London for that particular cerebral fix. But Bauhaus, some of whom did the same art foundation course at Nene College that I would subsequently enroll for, were already here. (Our art history teacher, filling us in on the actual 1920s German art school, made the devastatingly cool claim that he’d taught members of the band about it and thus helped give them their name.)

Not since the 1960s when Northampton Town FC ascended and descended the four divisions in near-successive seasons – “The real miracle of 1966,” according to Manchester City’s then-manager Joe Mercer – had our town even been on the map. So you can perhaps imagine our excitement at Bauhaus’s ascent to the top of the pop table.

The nine-minute debut Bela Lugosi’s Dead makes a solid claim to be their meisterwerk. It was a national anthem for much of my youth, and thrills me to this day with its depraved dub and Grand Guignol. But the five-minute title track of their debut album, which, fittingly, I borrowed from Northampton Record Library and taped, distills all of what made Bauhaus far more than just a cheap, powdered novelty. The drums are fast, tribal and spotless and keep time in deafening haste. The bass rubs your loins. The guitar makes a blackboard of your senses, then become a writhing bag of spiders.

It is a waking fever dream, Pete Murphy’s hallucinogenic imagery moves from cut-up mind games (“into the calm gaping we … Calm eye-flick shudder … of black matted lace of pregnant cows … my slender thin and lean”) to punk-rock ennui (“I get bored, I do get bored”). He sounds like a ravaged, consumptive marquis in search of ever more filthy kicks, from Piccadilly whores to whatever the holy fuck “filing cabinet hemispheres” were. I’d never heard of a “lumbar punch” but I knew it wasn’t good that he was up for one. Aged 16, the very utterance of “spunk-stained sheets” was X-rated. Sometimes, especially when you’re a teenager, you need your favourite band to be on another plane, in another place, on another planet. (Even when some of them are in your wine bar.)

In The Flat Field is at once apocalyptic and Edenic. A runaway rapture of Hammer horror and Kafka nightmare that lifts the humdrum listener to unimagined heights of fetid fantasy. “Assist me to walk away in sin”, Murphy intones. To quote a road safety advert of my childhood, he don’t need any help, does he?

The sleeve shrouded around this record is none more black. Within, the band are picked out only in shirtless, emaciated shadow. The low, guttural, metaphysical moaning that underpins the song’s protracted outro is a primordial sound that would recur in Bauhaus’s canon, as they first got darker, then became more music hall, then fell apart in dub. I salute it. This was music to pore over. To take apart. To unpick. To offer yourself up to. To raise a blackcurrant-coloured drink to, as you had borrowed your Mum’s Mini Metro, which was parked up by the Guidhall.

For a couple of years, there really was energy in Northampton.

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8 thoughts on “Bauhaus, In The Flat Field (1980)

  1. For all the death metal and grunge stuff I listened to over the ensuing years, this track and its album, are the blackest. Amazing. And a great write up, Andrew. Small Talk Stinks.

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  2. Agreed – they were the champions of the art school crowd, collaging fave references, David Lynch, David Bowie and The Cramps. We had their name scrawled across our army surplus bags. And remember when Goth was Positive Punk – Blood and Roses and suchlike?

    Our equivalent home grown heroes were Depeche Mode. Spottable at local pubs (the Sam Lord) and clubs (Crocs).. Dave Gahan’s model created at Southend Tech, during his Window Dressing course was wheeled out by the tutors to impress the new students…

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  3. PS shame Pete Murphy turned out to be such a prize bell-end when I interviewed him for Vive Le Rock mag last year. Flouncing out of our Skype chat, when I dared to mention I’d asked Noir (Cathi Unsworth) and Horror (Syd Moore) writers to do profile pieces for the feature.

    ‘I am neither a Horror or noir artist’ said the star of Twilight, The Hunger and Granded of the Goth movement, before disappearing in a puff of smoke and dropping the call

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    • Shame. I interviewed Danny Ash for 6 Music, down the line from LA, and he was sweetness and light, and all for talking about Goth etc. But then, there was always a schism between Murphy and the other three. You can see why.

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  4. You nailed my own memories of this band in many ways. I managed to see them live in Birmingham in 1983. It was my first ever gig. I was 14 yrs old. I came from up the road in Rugby and would regularly go to Northampton trying to understand how that sound came from that town. Like another commenter mentions, a large part of the appeal of Bauhaus was those very odd “sounds” they created. No other band then or since made guitars sound like *that*. I haven’t listened to them for years. I think I will after reading this. Thanks for the memories.

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