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Zero Hour

by

Suicide

 
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Zero Hour
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Avg: 2.5 (6 ratings)

Punk minimalism at its most confrontational, in front of three audiences

  • We Say...

    Suicide are the truest punkers. Eschewing verse, chorus, even guitars, their strip-down and re-invention of the music — contemporary with the birth of the New York Dolls, pre-dating the Ramones, who seem quasi-normal in their wake — was an affront calculated to enrage, and it surely did, earning them tossed bottles and epithets and calumny from audiences of their peers who might have been expected to have an open mind. Their instrumentation was a primitive synthesizer, played by Marty Rev, a pulsing and relentless heartbeat overlaid by a random keyboard hook or chording, on top of which Alan Vega chanted and howled. Suicide's first self-titled album was hypnotic and trance-inducing, surprisingly shot through with '50s rockabilly images and odd dream-like wish fulfillments; its texture was so revolutionary that you can hear whole genres lining up to be born: industrial grind-core, the electronica of Kraftwerk, the synth-pop of new wave (see Orchestral Maneuvers in the Dark, Soft Cell and New Order) and even hip-hop as it grew from Afrika Bambaata. Perhaps these musics might have gestated without Suicide, and Suicide themselves might not have been hatched without the example of Silver Apples, one of the first duos to plug into the sawtooths and sine waves of synthesis. But the family tree starts here.

    Live was another matter. Playing before hostile crowds, who seemed to regard Suicide as an affront to rock & roll, they were about provocation. Vega truly did thrive on audience antagonism, baiting and switching, egging the crowd on and on; surely no band was better named. They asked the existential question "Why are we here?" and then offered their sacrificial music as a leap of faith, a cosmic dare.

    Zero Hour has a documentary feel, and the bootleg quality enhances the newsreel drama. In Brussels, the crowd is restive, mob-like, competing to be heard; in Berlin, a city reborn from the ashes of war, they are received more appreciatively. The cumulative power of the music impresses, its swim in a sea of flanging and echo; Vega's distorted vocals on "Rocket USA" scan their lines much as Iggy, and the confrontational roots are apparent. When he digs deep into his chest to howl, there is romanticism and sensuality in the pain. "96 Tears" reveals another stream of Michigan influence. By the time Suicide return to New York, they seem reassured by their home turf, just another urban noise, a car alarm and siren, the riveting beat of the subway and the rumble of traffic. Back home.

  • They Say...

    Zero Hour compiles live performances Suicide gave in New York City and Berlin in the late '70s and early '80s. Although these live takes aren't drastically different from the studio versions, the icy intensity of the music makes Zero Hour a must-hear for dedicated Suicide fans.

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