THE
SONGS(^1) THE RAINBOW
Opening with muffl ed strings and muted brass,
The Rainbow sets out Talk Talk’s stall defi antly,
its Eno-plays-chamber-music foundations laid
confi dently amid quiet whirring and ticking.
Eventually, after over two minutes, a bold dobro
chord rings out and a restrained beat shuffl es
in. But when a chorus materialises, it evaporates
moments later like mist. Hollis’ distinctive voice
barely rises above a whisper, even when he’s
asking, “Well, how can that be fair at all?” It’s
therefore a shock when, the song having collapsed
in on itself after six minutes, a squealing, almost
distorted harmonica solo breaks out, before Hollis
brings things to another unforeseen close with the
words, “Sound the victim’s song...”
(^2) EDEN
Eden emerges from The Rainbow with the same
solemnity with which the album began. Ten years
later, Hollis would say, “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.” Here,
he tests that theory: as seemingly random sounds
are teased out of a variety of instruments, a single
guitar chord is strummed repeatedly until its strings
threaten to snap. The crescendo is refl ected in
the build-up to the song’s climactic chorus, Hollis
reaching forever higher notes as he declares,
“Everybody needs someone to live by.” Then he
drifts towards silence once more, paradoxically
intoning the words “rage on omnipotent”.
(^3) DESIRE
Much of Spirit Of Eden sports a spiritual quality,
and Desire starts with the soft murmur of organs
before the now-familiar sound of Harris’ minimalist
percussion slowly swells, his drums rumbling
ominously. The peace is suddenly broken when
Desire bursts into a fury of disturbingly fi erce
Hammond organ, guitars and cowbell. Twenty
seconds later, it’s over, the pastoral atmosphere
regained, only to be shattered even more
aggressively soon afterwards. Desire is Spirit Of
Eden’s most unsettling – even shocking – song,
seamed with tension and release.
(^4) INHERITANCE
After the storm of Desire, Inheritance opens
with a bucolic sobriety, the gentle swish of lightly
dusted cymbals and softly played piano chords
backing Hollis’ impressionistic opening lyrics:
“April song/ Lilac glistening foal.” His tremulous
vocals continue to deliver enigmatic instructions
to, “Dress in gold’s surrendering gown,” while
cor anglais, sundry other instruments and
unidentifi able sounds tickle the fragile melody.
The album’s shortest song – coming in at just under
fi ve-and-a-half minutes – Inheritance is perhaps
the slightest of the collection’s six tracks, but it’s
still impossibly haunting.
(^5) I BELIEVE IN YOU
A song of such exquisite elegance, it’s been
known to make grown men weep, I Believe
In You is full of organ swirls, chiming guitars
and bewildering growls, all underpinned by
a stripped-back bassline and simplistic 4/4
drumbeat. Hollis has never sounded more
humbly melancholic than when he sings of
how, “I’ve seen heroin for myself,” but the true
magic happens when the choir of Chelmsford
Cathedral appear like sunshine through clouds
for the rapturously affecting chorus. Six minutes
of religious ecstasy.
(^6) WEALTH
The fi nal comedown: elegiac, hymnal and
passionate. Over little more than Hammond
organ, plucked bass and gently strummed guitars,
Hollis sings cryptic lyrics that seem to speak of
love’s healing power and the willing sacrifi ces
one should make to fi nd it: “Take my freedom for
giving me a sacred love.” Wealth brings the album
to a mystical, sepulchral yet uplifting close, fading
away to nothing over two minutes of delicious
semi-ambience that leads us back – inevitably,
emotionally – to the album’s beginning.
Photoshot
had reached its zenith with
two sold-out concerts at the
Hammersmith Apollo and
a legendary show at the
Montreux Jazz Festival.
According to the band’s
manager, Keith Aspden,
signs that a radical change in
direction was afoot only came
in September 1986. As the
group fl ew back from Spain,
where they’d played their
biggest show to date, Hollis
dropped what Aspden calls
“the fi rst bombshell: he didn’t
want to play live any more”.
On top of this, “It became
apparent that the success of
The Colour Of Spring had
given Mark and Tim the
freedom and confi dence to do
a former church hall in North
London, Talk Talk bunkered
down for the best part of
a year, rarely breaking off from
work except to sleep or eat.
No one entered the studio
without invitation – and that
applied to Aspden, who’d
previously been involved
enough not only to have
insisted upon the inclusion
of one of the songs that had
earned the band their limitless
budget, but even to have
played bass recorder on The
Colour Of Spring’s fi nal track,
Happiness Is Easy. Instead,
Hollis and Friese-Green invited
a parade of prestigious
musicians to attend sessions –
among them Danny Thompson,
Robbie McIntosh and Nigel
Kennedy. These, Brown recalls,
would record “eight takes”
of their improvisations over
one of the eight drum patterns
that formed the foundations of
the six tracks, before the best
would be either mixed into the
emerging tracks or erased.
Back in 1982, in a telling
conversation with NME, Hollis
had discussed A Clockwork
Orange writer Anthony
Burgess’ methodology.
Keith Aspden said of Mark Hollis
after his death: “I can’t tell you
how much Mark infl uenced and
changed my perceptions on art
and music, I’m grateful for the
time I spent with him and for the
gentle beauty he shared with us.”
whatever they wanted, without
outside infl uence.”
What that meant was still
far from clear. The Colour Of
Spring had – in the shape of
the fragile April 5th and the
atmospheric Chameleon Day
- merely hinted at Hollis and
Friese-Greene’s inclinations
to explore a more cerebral
direction. Additionally,
Aspden’s belief that the album
needed another single – which
provoked Life’s What You Make
It – had led to the jettisoning of
It’s Getting Late In The Evening,
a subdued, deeply moving
track that foreshadowed what
would follow but that was
instead hidden on the B-side to
Life’s What You Make It.
So, as preparations began for
their next album, the band’s
label, EMI, readied themselves
for a blockbuster follow-up
that would break the US – and
beyond – wide open. Even Phill
Brown, brought on board to
engineer the album at Wessex
Studios, and who’d worked
with David Bowie, Cat Stevens
and Led Zeppelin, remained
ignorant about what lay ahead.
“It must’ve been obvious to
Tim and Mark that it was a
different beast,” he says, “but
I had no idea. It only became
obvious to me during the fi rst
two months. I thought – like EMI- that we were recording The
Colour Of Spring Part 2.”
Behind the closed doors of
CLASSIC ALBUM SPIRIT OF EDEN