Life Imitating Art

There is little that I enjoy more than a good thriller, but it’s even better when the subject matter is suffused with extraordinary originality. This is a quality that the little known Cuban author José Carlos Somoza possesses in spades. There are very few writers around with half the imagination, ingenuity and creativity that Somoza exhibits in his novels.

Somoza has written about a dozen books, but only three of them have so far been translated into English, even though the first, “The Athenian Murders”, won the 2003 Crime Writers’ Association Gold Dagger award. This was both a murder mystery and a rumination on the relationships between translators and ancient texts. Born in Havana, Somoza trained as a psychiatrist in Spain before becoming a full-time writer. This education is put to good use in developing his themes and character profiles, allowing him to indulge in many philosophical and psychological games. His work is dazzlingly clever, seductive, intellectual and occasionally disturbing.

"Thinking"

“The Art of Murder” is built on a particularly audacious and compelling concept, working well as a darkly absorbing thriller, but equally providing a thought-provoking treatise on the art world. The book is set in the near future, in an alternative universe where everything is the same as ours, except for the art scene where living people are being used as canvases for each masterpiece.

Very different from a straightforward whodunit, Somoza still manages to build an atmosphere of tension and suspense with great skill and the last section in particular explodes into life. However, his real achievement is to create a weird world of deviant ideas about humanity and aesthetics and yet make it an utterly believable environment into which we are gently seduced like so many amoral voyeurs. It’s an enthralling piece of fiction, nay literature, which will make most readers question the ethics of the art world and haunt their thoughts long after they’ve finished it.

"Still thinking"

The story’s background is a morally dubious art world whose market is dominated by hyperdramatic art, where beautiful young models are prepared and painted just like a canvas. Wealthy collectors buy the pieces, which pose for a few hours each day, either in private collections or public exhibitions. Any work can be replaced by new models, but the first one is the most valuable, as he/she is the original. The undisputed master of this new movement is Bruno van Tysch and the story begins when the model for one of his masterpieces, Annek Hollech, is abducted and viciously murdered, in spite of elaborate and extensive security precautions. Investigators April Wood and Lothar Bosch must discover the killer before the imitations of thirteen of Rembrandt’s great works are put on show (and therefore at risk) in Amsterdam in the largest ever exhibition of hyperdramatism.

The process of hyperdramatic art is superbly described; so much so that you could be forgiven for starting to believe that it actually exists. Before being painted, each canvas (person) has to be primed, with their eyebrows, eyelashes and other bodily hair removed, and then “stretched”. During this arduous stage, the painter will physically and emotionally challenge the model, subjecting her to various degrees of degradation and violence, in order to prepare the proverbial blank canvas, a trance-like state of quiescence, before obtaining exactly the right expression on her face. The model will then be arranged into the desired pose that she will have to maintain for a few hours each day for the duration of the exhibition. To facilitate this unnatural state, the model is provided with muscle relaxation drugs to improve flexibility and endurance; medications to control the bodily functions (sweating, salivating and the rest); and body creams to protect the skin from the oil paints.

"She's a model and she's looking good"

That sounds bad enough, but there is a darker side to hyperdramatism. Aspiring and unsuccessful models are illegally painted as “objects”, such as lamps, chairs and tables. Even worse are the “art shocks”, where acts of pornography and brutality are reflected by “performance” models, who periodically move their poses. There are also rumours of young children being kidnapped to be used as canvases. All this before a killer, known as “The Artist”, sets out to destroy van Tysch’s masterpieces.

The dehumanising of the models is intensely unsettling. When they are not working, the models have personalities and interesting past histories, but once they have signed up to be a canvas, they become objects to be purchased and looked at. They are no longer referred to as people, becoming distinctly disposable, even though they may be worth millions as an artwork.

Being a masterpiece has something ... inhuman about it. Art uses us, my child, it uses us in order to exist, but it’s like an alien being. That’s what you’ve got to think: you’re not human when you are a painting. We have to destroy the human being in order to create the work. You don't need to know anything. You are the work of art. The only one who needs to know is the artist.

"Prize guy"

However, what is even more disconcerting is that the models not only accept all of the suffering and humiliation, but they actively welcome it. They regard themselves as being engaged in a serious artistic endeavour and their greatest desire is to be painted by a genius. They are willing to tolerate all the physical sacrifices and psychological brushstrokes (delicate caresses of the ego, probing questions and harsh insults) to be part of the artistic process, taking suffering for their art to a cult-like extreme.

She detested the instructions vulgar artists gave her, but if a painter she admired asked her to do something crazy, whatever it might be, she liked to obey without question. And that ‘whatever it might be’ recognised few limits. She was obsessed with discovering how far she would allow herself to go if the ideal situation occurred.

It is difficult to understand the mindset of a person who would want to be painted in this manner, effectively losing their own identity and becoming an object. Yes, the models are well paid and the best of them enjoy pampered lives when they are off duty, but what they really (really) want is to be considered a great piece of art. Each one desperately wishes to be the first canvas of a famous painting, the one that people will remember, even if a hundred other canvases become that painting later on.

"My blue period"

One such model is Clara, depicting a living version of Rembrandt’s “Susanna”, whose transformation is described in great detail. Her name is used in the original Spanish title for the book, “Clara y la penumbra” (Clara and the half-light), though this can also mean Light and Gloom, which is highly relevant to the novel’s message, as explained by the Dutch master, Bruno van Tysch:

We understand that day and night, and life and death too, perhaps, are merely different points in the play of light and shade. We discover that truth, the only truth worthy of the name, is shade.

There are clear parallels here with our own contemporary culture of celebrity, where beautiful young men and women will make any sacrifice, starting with their own dignity, to secure their tiresome fifteen minutes of fame. Just think of the conveyor belt of witless women who are pathetically grateful for any crumbs from the celebrity table, but also consider that the great British public (you and me) appear only too happy to follow their miserable lives in excruciating detail. The most highly prized works of hyperdramatic art are young women, who are generally partially clothed or naked, but youth is an ephemeral dream, so their shelf-life is a short one, leading to inflated demand for the crème de la crème. This is not a million miles away from the “real” fashion world, so the book succeeds admirably as a knowing critique of a society that invests so much in appearance, treating people as commodities to be bought and sold.

"Chapter One - we didn't really get along"

The book raises many interesting questions on what is morally acceptable when creating groundbreaking works of art – are there any limits? How far should artists be allowed to go to produce something spectacular? Can hyperdramatism really be considered cruel if the models are queuing up to become canvases? If we continue to desire hyper-realism, is hyperdramatic art the logical conclusion? And, most significantly, is art more important than a person’s life?

The debate on the value of art against a human life is taken a stage further in the book, when it becomes clear that the killing of a model is not seen as a murder by the art world, but as the destruction of a masterpiece worth millions. The hunt for the murderer is driven less by the loss of life, more by the value of the painting:

This, she shook the photo in his face, which apparently shows a young girl, is not a girl at all. It cost more than fifty million dollars. She repeated the words again, emphasising them with a pause between each one. Fifty. Million. Dollars.

However much the work cost, she was still a young girl, April.

That's where you're wrong. It cost that much precisely because it was not a girl. It was a painting, Lothar. A masterpiece. Do you still not get it? We are what other people pay us to be. This was once a girl. Then someone paid to turn her into a painting. Paintings are paintings, and people can destroy them with portable canvas cutters just as you might destroy documents in your shredding machine, without worrying about it. To put it simply, they are not people. Not for the person who did this to her, and not for us.

This world has become so crazy that even the act of murder is considered by some to have been executed in the name of art.

"Should have gone to Specsavers"

Somoza’s bleak view of the art world is articulated by van Tysch, the greatest hyperdramatic artist of them all, who says, “Art is nothing more than money”. Indeed, in his Author’s Note, he wryly asserts, “if someone discovers how to make money out of (hyperdramatism), it will not be moral considerations that prevent this human market from flourishing in the same or even more spectacular fashion as in my novel”. The art world in the book is well connected and secretive, so much so that the murders are not made public, for fear that this would cause panic among the models and those buying the art. As 10cc once sang: “Art for art’s sake/Money for God’s sake”.

Somoza’s thrilling prose paints the picture with fine strokes, using a sensualist’s eye for shade, colour, texture and skin tone to conjure up a living, breathing atmosphere in each scene. In this, he is reminiscent of Patrick Süskind’s “Perfume”, an equally evocative exploration of a surreal world similar to our own – weird yet captivating, disturbing yet memorable. There are also shades of Umberto Eco's "The Name of the Rose" in this potent cocktail of action, intrigue, emotional drama and sexual tension. The tale would make a fabulously decadent movie, but would absolutely require a director like Guillermo del Toro to make the fantasy elements work.

"Everybody's happy nowadays"

“The Art of Murder” is a clever, intricate and extremely provocative thriller that is full of surprises. Ostensibly a murder mystery, it’s also a fascinating, chilling vision that will slowly draw you in and make you reflect on a number of moral issues. As is so often the case, Oscar Wilde was ahead of the game when he declared, “Life imitates art far more than art imitates life”.

Mouth Almighty

Everyone seems to be talking about swine flu these days, but it’s come to something when Big Sam Allardyce thinks he can further raise the nation’s awareness of its dangers. The Blackburn Rovers manager recently made the remarkable claim that his players had passed on the virus to Chelsea, after the Premier League had refused to allow them to postpone the fixture, even though they had two cases of swine flu in their squad. The self-appointed global expert on the H1N1 strain stated:

There’s no doubt we could have passed it on. When you look at the medical side of it, this is a very infectious virus we have.

Leaving aside the fact that his players at no stage got close enough to the opposition during their 5-0 drubbing to pass on any infection, it is doubtful whether his team of clodhoppers is capable of passing on anything; certainly they appear to have no idea how to pass a football. Maybe he was concerned that El-Hadji Diouf, with his history of aiming spittle in the direction of others, may have infected the Chelsea players (or indeed spectators and ball boys).

"Cleverer than he looks"

In fact, it is far more likely that Allardyce is suffering from a close relation to swine flu, namely whine flu, which is a seasonal disease that has affected the likes of Fat Sam and Lord Ferg for many years. Symptoms include a total inability to accept any responsibility whatsoever when your team loses and a tendency to shoot your mouth off no matter how limited your knowledge of the subject. If Blackburn were really suffering so badly from swine flu, why not mention this before the game, instead of raising it as an important issue only after his team had been so comprehensively beaten?

Actually, we already know the answer to that question, as Jabba kindly informed us of the real reason, when he launched a stinging attack on his players for not following his masterful game plan. He described their performance as “pathetic”:

What looked as if it was working so well tactically in the first half completely went out of the window in the second half. I can’t understand the mentality of my players losing what I asked them to do. They went 2-0 down and tried to score three.

"Lump it!"

What on earth got into the Blackburn players? Trying to win a game of football – have they no shame? Apart from further de-motivating his squad by placing all the blame for the defeat on their shoulders, while boasting of his own tactical genius, this shows the limit of Allardyce’s ambition. He would prefer to lose a game by one or two goals, giving them “something to work on”, rather than attempt to win a match. He further explained his football philosophy, when he said that “ability comes after mental toughness and resilience”, though anyone who has ever had to endure watching any of his teams would surely already know that only too well. Before the game, he had suggested that the way to beat Chelsea was his favourite “tactic”, the dead ball situation, in other words, boot it to the far stick, where a pack of hefty thugs will be waiting to elbow their way into position, hoping for a lucky deflection. Unfortunately for him, this Neanderthal method is no longer a surprise to the big clubs (as Allardyce calls them).

Nor did it work in Blackburn’s next away game, when they lost 2-0 to Manchester United. Following the thrashing they received at Chelsea, this time Allardyce seemed to be far happier with his players, as they had followed his instructions – and lost. Well, it was only by two goals, right? Of course, his post-match press conference was never likely to be all sweetness and light, and Big Sam duly obliged, when he moaned that his side had a perfectly good ruled out for offside:

It’s so far onside, it’s unbelievable. It’s not even a close one. I’m not saying it would have changed the game, but with four minutes still to go, you never know. It might have made United edgy.

Of course, anything is possible, but the fact remains that United had absolutely battered Allardyce’s team for the entire match and this effort was just about Blackburn’s first shot on target. Talk about grasping at straws.

"I blinded you with science"

I suppose that it is a little surprising that Allardyce dared to question a decision at Old Trafford, given his well-known relationship with United’s manager, Sir Alex Ferguson. Well, I say relationship, but it’s more master and servant than a partnership of equals. We witnessed this last season, when Sensitive Sam complained that Rafael Benitez’s gesture to celebrate a Liverpool goal was disrespectful and had humiliated him, but not after the match; no, only after the purple-nosed one had spoken out.

The Wigan manager, Roberto Martinez, alluded to this when he reportedly suggested that some of his top-flight colleagues were little more than Ferguson’s loyalists. Martinez subsequently denied making the comments, but we all know who he’s talking about: Steve Bruce, Alex McLeish, David Moyes, Gary Megson and, yes, the walrus-faced wonder of Blackburn. Allardyce’s reaction to Martinez’s quote contained all of the pomposity that you would expect from this “elder statesman”:

Welcome to the Premier League, Roberto. Keep your mouth shut in the future. I just think Roberto has learnt a harsh lesson about what happens in the Premier League, if you start diverting away from you and your club business.

Just as well that Sam “accepted” Martinez’s apology. Take another look at his reaction – how does that come across to you? Shall we agree on patronising, xenophobic and self-important? No, the best adjective would be hypocritical, given that Allardyce presents himself as the rent-a-quote from the North, quite happy to give us the benefit of his wisdom on all matters football (and everything else under the sun), especially other clubs.

"Dress code: smart casual"

After yet another defeat away from home, when his team was humbled 6-2 by Arsenal, Allardyce borrowed another page from the Ferguson play book, when he attempted to deflect attention away from his abject team by, guess what, blaming the match official. He went as far as demanding that the referee be sacked after failing to give his side a penalty. Demonstrating no awareness of the sweet irony, he whinged:

I try not to say too much publicly and say it through the system, but unfortunately the system is not working, so I have to be heard.

Surely no danger of not being heard, when we have to sit through your excruciating English every single day. You even begin to wonder whether Sky Sports News sponsors this posturing pillock. He continued:

Major decisions like that could take you into the danger zone of relegation. If you want to get relegated, you want to get relegated by you not doing your job properly, or your team. Not by major decisions like that going against you.

Harsh words, indeed. Talk of relegation makes me think of the dream ticket for the drop zone, at least for most lovers of the beautiful game, which would be the unholy trinity of Blackburn, Hull and Bolton. How do you like them apples? As far as I can see, there are only two dangers to this fantasy: (a) there’s a very good chance that at least one of Phil Brown, Gary Megson and Allardyce will get the sack and be replaced by a manager who knows what he’s doing; (b) there are even worse sides in the Premiership than them.

"Suck on this"

In any case, I would respectfully suggest to Big Sam that the reason his team is in the relegation zone is less to do with the odd refereeing cock-up and more to do with their appalling away form. For a manager famous for building sides that are difficult to beat, he must have noticed that Blackburn have lost their last 10 (ten!) away games, including 5 this season, conceding 32 goals in the process. It’s not even as if they are showing any signs of improvement, as they have shipped 16 goals in the last 4 matches alone. Obviously, Sam has the answer with his patented credo of “the best form of attack is defence”:

The basis for starting to turn your season around comes from clean sheets. Teams like ours are very rarely free-scoring.

You can say that again: during this dire away run, his team has mustered just 4 goals. The role reversal from the days when the southern “nancy boys” were mashed “oop north” is richly ironic and deeply satisfying.

"You don't know what you're doing"

It would appear that Big Sam has been found out. I have always believed that he’s a footballing dinosaur, whose route one tactics belong in the lower divisions. Sam the Sham is a charlatan, who has somehow fooled the media into believing that he is a scientific coach by hauling an enormous back-up team of assorted experts around with him. It’s about time that a chairman asked why you need so many physios, therapists, statisticians, etc, when the only message to the team seems to be, “run around, kick the other team hard and lump it up to the big bastard up front”. Apparently, after a two-hour team talk at Newcastle, one of the players dared to ask, “but what do we do when we have the ball?”

Allardyce’s reputation, for what it’s worth, has been made by grinding out points with no nonsense football. At Bolton, this belligerent buffoon built a team in his own image, namely a bunch of ugly, functional, no frills shit-kickers. The passing years have not softened his stance:

This is a physical contact game and fans love the commitment. I’m a bit passionate about it, because it has become a game for pansies.

His politically incorrect views are arrant nonsense. These days any reasonably good team simply passes the ball around his one dimensional, aggressive players, taking their tough tacking out of play.

"With respect, I disagree"

A couple of weeks ago Allardyce tried to divert attention away from his dreadful record by taking on Giovanni Trapattoni, when he demanded an apology from the Republic of Ireland manager, after labelling his comments about midfielder Steven Reid’s long-term injury as “disgusting, disgraceful and completely out of order”. Ignoring the fact that nobody had noticed Trapattoni’s quotes about Reid until Sam opened his big trap (sic), I wonder what happened to his frequent calls for respect between managers. Let’s not forget that Trapattoni is probably the most successful manager in the history of Serie A, winning the league title 6 times (as well as the European Cup). Compare that to Allardyce’s record: his career highlight was securing Bolton’s promotion to the Premier League – via the play-offs. When Allardyce was asked whether he had actually spoken to Trapattoni, his response was curiously childish, “No, and after what he said, I don’t want to”.

Another Italian in Allardyce’s crosshairs is Fabio Capello, whose only crime is to have the England job that Big Sam incredibly thinks should be his. He cannot believe that the FA selected Capello (winner of countless league titles with Milan, Roma, Juventus and Real Madrid) over him (winner of Division Three with Notts County):

At the time I should have got it and I really don’t know why I didn’t. It had to be political for me, rather than my credentials.

He simply cannot understand how the FA “went for another foreigner”, despite Steve McClaren’s disastrous reign. However, he does not blindly support all British managers, only those who have “longevity and the experience of making mistakes in the lower divisions” – like a certain Sam Allardyce. Despite all evidence to the contrary, Allardyce’s belief that he is perfectly suited to coach the national team is unwavering. Looking for reasons why the FA have not yet contacted this tactical colossus, he wonders whether his “external look isn’t to everybody’s liking”.

"Really love your tiger feet"

It is true that Fat Sam is carrying more than a few extra pounds. Evidently growing up in an era when meat was cheap, there is more than a little of the late, great Les Dawson about him, though unfortunately none of the humour. No man should be judged by his appearance, but when you look like you get full value for your money on a Speak Your Weight machine, you really should not suggest that your players should lose weight or complain that England has become a “fat, lazy nation”, as Big Sam has done in the past. Who are you calling overweight, fat boy?

But this annoying lump of lard takes self-regard onto a different level. Is there anybody else who rates himself quite so highly with so little reason? When he left Bolton, he explained that he was determined to get “silverware”, so naturally chose to join Newcastle United. When that joke of a club sacked him, he informed the waiting world that:

Newcastle was not big enough for me. It didn’t live up to my ambitions in the short time that I was there.

Don’t worry, Sam. I’m sure that the Manchester United job will be waiting for you once Fergie leaves. Or at least it will in your own huge head.

"Big mouth strikes again"

If, by some miracle, United don’t bring Sam’s brand of scintillating, total football to Old Trafford, he can always fall back on a media career. Some days, when you cannot escape this incontinent imbecile, it’s as if he has already started. It makes you pine for the time when he refused to speak to the BBC, after the allegations of corruption made against him on Panorama. Allardyce threatened to “sue the BBC over the false and highly damaging allegations”, but the postal strikes affected him earlier than the rest of us, as the letter has still not been received three years later.

Sam’s constant media exposure brings to mind the old maxim, probably by Mark Twain, that, “it is better to keep your mouth closed and let people think you are a fool than to open it and remove all doubt”. Or to put it in terms that Fat Boy Dim would understand: keep your big gob shut.

Dare To Be Different

Back in 1981 things looked very bleak for The Human League. Two of the original members, Martyn Ware and Ian Craig Marsh, had left to form Heaven 17, taking with them most of the band’s equipment and the writing talent responsible for the music on the first two albums. They left behind Phil Oakey, the singer with the bizarre haircut and strong Yorkshire baritone; Philip Adrian Wright, the exotically titled Director of Visuals; and, of course, the band’s name. The music critics were quick to write them off, while their own fans were hardly placated when Oakey recruited two teenage girls from the local disco (“I Bet You Look Good On The Dancefloor”) to provide backing vocals and throw a few shapes.

However, the League was evolving from an experimental, underground electronic group into a more commercial mean machine, defining the sound of the 80s with shimmering synthesizers and booming drumbeats, culminating in “Dare”, the enormously successful third album (though the first album by The Human League Mk2). The record captured a moment in time perfectly (“Zeitgeist on a stick” according to Q magazine) as the post-punk fascination with electronica combined with an infatuation with fashion and modern art in the form of pop culture.

"League of extraordinary gentlemen (and ladies)"

The new breed of music was heavily synthesizer-based, but was welcome to those who were growing weary of the tired old guitar heroes and dreary ballads that belonged in the 70s. The energy provided by punk’s shining star had faded away, so the masses were looking for a new sound (of the crowd). Possessing sophistication and style, The Human League’s music was years ahead of its time. As a headline in the essential NME said, “The Human League: one day all music will be made like this”.

Although The Human League were more inspired by Kraftwerk and, to a lesser extent, Gary Numan, the synths have a quality unlike those seen on earlier hits like “The Model” or “Cars”, giving the League a unique sound. “Dare” was the first successful mix of electronics with pure, unashamedly commercial pop music. Taking it a step further, this record brought in sequencers and synth basslines. It sounded like nothing we had heard before, but it was also instantly accessible and utterly irresistible – straight to the top of the league …

"This is Phil talking"

The band threw another curve ball, when they hired veteran producer Martin Rushent. Famed for working with punk bands like The Stranglers and the Buzzcocks, Rushent was also an expert on the emerging music technologies of the time and his production is a true marvel – gleaming and seamless. His techniques gave the album a sense of power and urgency that electronic music had previously lacked, while the cleverly crafted pop with multi-layered, melodic synths provided warmth and took the edge off the chilly sound that typified the League’s early efforts. It is not too strong to say that the amazingly clean sound that Rushent achieved set the tone for the first half of the new decade.

For “Dare” was not only a genre-defining album, but one that re-invented and enhanced electronic music, heralding an era of synth dominance. It re-defined what people thought of electronic pop, establishing synthesizers as a viable musical instrument. Challenging the very conventions of pop music and the essence of innovation, “Dare” can be considered electronica’s “Sgt. Pepper”, proving that timeless pop music could be created using exclusively synthesizers and drum machines. Yet, with all the knobs and switches at their disposal, the League still went for the hook, demonstrating their love of a good song.

"Sheffield steel"

There were plenty of other electronic bands around at the time, but few managed to manipulate the technology in such an emotionally effective and satisfying way. “Dare” paved the way for groups such as ABC, Depeche Mode, Duran Duran, Soft Cell, Pet Shop Boys and, of course, Heaven 17. Uncluttered by sci-fi pretensions and art school cleverness, the face of popular music was changed forever, as solemn, industrial rhythms were replaced by unsullied, brilliant pop.

“Dare” sounds dramatically different from the League’s austere, experimental beginnings, such as their debut album “Reproduction” with its simplistic, repetitive songs, though the follow-up “Travelogue” is more fun and hints at the band’s future direction. Indeed, “Dare” remains true to the group’s original blueprint and is hardly a sell-out, when you listen to some of the darker, eerie tracks. What they did abandon was the new wave posturing that accompanied their initial appearances, focusing exclusively on making superbly realised, perfect pop songs.

"Up against the wall"

All of the innovation in the world would not have mattered and would only have been enjoyed by a small, arty clique, if it had not been for the songs. It was crucial to balance the modern techniques with tuneful charm, mixing the state-of-the-art technology with good old-fashioned songcraft. The League had an amazing talent for catchy melodies, lending a human touch to the cyber-rock and providing real emotional substance to the songs. Oakey’s gruff vocals blended surprisingly well with the untrained, sweet harmonies of the lasses, Joanne Catherall and Susanne Sulley, especially on the soaring choruses in the gleefully approachable singles. This was a triumph of content over considerable style. Never mind the haircuts, remember the music.

The cover’s fashion magazine pastiche captured the atmosphere of the heady period known as New Romanticism, but the League were never really part of that movement. Subversively glamorous, Dare’s album sleeve was ripped off from a Vogue magazine cover, though the band’s gender-defying portraits were cropped, so that the design would not age when their hairstyles went out of fashion. Who would have thought that Phil’s asymmetric fringe would ever date? I also wonder whether the album’s title is an in-joke reference to lyrics from Travelogue’s weird “Crow And A Baby”, where “the result was a dare”.

"The years have been kind"

The League were not renowned for social comment, but they dealt seriously with the age-old themes and issues of relationships (love, desire, beauty and jealousy), wrapped up in a love of film, books and television. Phil Oakey epitomised romantic agony in his songs, though he also exhibited a tough streak of intellectual scepticism. He made it acceptable for pop music not to sound happy, no doubt inspiring the likes of Neil Tennant. His lyrics were often deliberately obscure, in order to provoke thought and get people talking about the songs, but the music was insanely infectious. Love and Dancing, if you will – or, more pertinently, as their album of “Dare” remixes was entitled.

Ironically, the band’s success was really a fortunate accident. There was no grand plan, as evidenced by Oakey’s unwillingness to release “Don’t You Want Me” as a single. History shows that this became one of the highest selling singles of all time in the UK; but the band was convinced that this was the weakest track on “Dare”, which was why it had been relegated to last position on the album, and insisted that the single should be sold with a free poster to boost sales.

"Matinee idols"

In this case, the record company knew best, as it went straight to number one, aided by another innovation – a snazzy pop video. The ideal marriage between glossy visuals and perfect pop, the song featured the classic Human League vocal interaction between Phil and the girls, encapsulating the mood and feel of the period flawlessly. At the time, few bands understood the potential of music videos, but the League’s promo was a godsend to the nascent MTV.

“Don’t You Want Me” was the fourth hit single to emerge from “Dare”, though it is by far the best known. It’s a devastating, he said/she said duet, chronicling a frayed romance, first from the perspective of a svengali figure who plucks a waitress from obscurity, turning her into a star; then, from the point of view of the girl who no longer loves him after she has obtained fame: “Now five years later on you've got the world at your feet/Success has been so easy for you/But don't forget it's me who put you where you are now/And I can put you back down too”. The man is simultaneously threatening and pleading; the girl is defiant; and the song is a masterpiece. The utter genius of this pop classic, including one of the greatest pop hooks of all time, means that there is little danger of familiarity breeding contempt.

"Top of the league"

The song that gave The Human League 2.0 their first taste of success was “The Sound Of The Crowd”, a cracking tune with a big anthemic chorus, “Get around town/Get around town/Where the people look good/Where the music is loud/Get around town/No need to stand proud/Add your voice to the sound of the crowd”. This is the one that introduced the female backing on the vocals, which was a key ingredient of their new-found success. Appropriately enough, it’s a song for anyone laying on the slap, tarting themselves up, and getting ready to go out. It’s unclear whether the band approves of this glam lifestyle, especially with the playful “ah, ahh, ahhh, ahhhh” section, but I suspect that this is a dig at the glitterati trying to be oh-so fashionable, but ending up all dressing the same way.

“Love Action (I Believe In Love)” is simply pop gold, a semi-autobiographical confessional about good and bad relationships. Complete with the famous “This is Phil talking” lyric, inspired by a similar reference from Iggy Pop, this track just glowed in the dance clubs, taking me all the way back to the Camden Palace, though the message was far from a happy one, “When you're in love/You know you're in love/No matter what you try to do/You might as well resign yourself/To what you're going through/If you're a hard man or if you're a child/It still might get to you/Don't kid yourself you've seen it all before/A million mouths have said that too”.

"Smoke gets in your eyes"

In contrast, although about infidelity, the complex “Open Your Heart” is an uplifting song with an insistent synth melody. A glorious exhortation to better communication in relationships, this should cheer up any one who is feeling depressed, “But if you can stand the test/You know your worst is better than their best”. Oakey sings in a higher key than usual, which boosts the “feel good” factor.

In those days it was rare for four singles to be released from one album, but in truth, many other tracks could have been equally successful, like the wonderful ode to life’s pleasures “The Things That Dreams Are Made Of”. This is an exciting adventure into the League’s travel plans, as Oakey sings of taking a lift to the top of the Empire State; driving across the Golden Gate; and march, march, marching across Red Square. As synths swoop around the lyrics, punctuated by delightful keyboard flourishes, Oakey name-checks some of his favourite things, “New York, ice cream, TV, travel, good times, Norman Wisdom, Johnny, Joey, Dee Dee, good times”. While these are simple choices, the song is clearly also a metaphor for the group’s growing ambition.

"The black hit of space"

The chorus-heavy “Do Or Die” sees Oakey adopting a sneering tone to sing about a troublesome girlfriend - he said that it was “about being in love with a girl who has been taken over by a poltergeist”. The brilliantly unorthodox beat contains African grooves, which somehow imply intrigue and danger. Indeed, some have interpreted the lyrics as referring to an anti-government stance, but I’m sure that it’s working on a far more personal level, “I'd like to leave, so would you kindly look the other way/You tell me to be honest, but I've nothing left to say”.

The album also includes quite a few dark, haunting tracks, which are reminiscent of the band’s earlier work, showing the League to still be in a stage of transition. “Darkness” is a melancholy song, with the intro comprising a slow, atmospheric church organ and an almost Gregorian chant. It’s about subconscious fears from deep in the soul, which manifest themselves when you are alone at night, “And the clock stops/As darkness closes in/I hesitate, but it's too late/I scream and scream again/I hear colours black and red/I see sounds that fill my head/I'll never read those books again”.

"Make sure you get my good side"

Equally sombre is the extraordinary “Seconds”, which recounts the 1963 assassination of John F. Kennedy and its far-reaching impact. Glacial, powerful synths set the mood, as Oakey’s deadpan lyrics send shivers up your spine, making you really feel the urgency and outrage of such a despicable act: “Your knuckles white as your fingers curl/The shot was heard around the world/It took seconds of your time to take his life”. A cinematic, huge song that could have equally applied to John Lennon’s murder, which took place the year before “Dare” was released.

“Get Carter” is the album’s only instrumental, inspired by the seminal Michael Caine movie of the same name, serving as an intro into the ominous “I Am The Law”. Minimalist, stern and dominated by Oakey’s vocal, this track is perhaps most evocative of the early Human League, not least the science-fiction references. Inspired by the character Judge Dredd from British comic 2000 AD, the song was unusually written from a policeman’s viewpoint in a future world of martial law, “You're lucky I care/For fools like you/You're lucky I'm there/To stop people doing the things/That you know they're dying to do”.

"Here come the girls"

Although sounding nothing like punk rock, The Human League fully subscribed to the DIY ethos. They could not play any instruments, but their lack of musical prowess proved to be a blessing in disguise, as they constructed their records using synthesizers and computers. However, as they burst into the mainstream, they were condemned by the Musicians’ Union, who started a “Keep Music Live” campaign, as they worried that keyboards would make musicians redundant. In response, the League only needed to raise two fingers, first, because it was their style of playing synths; and second, as a V sign to the music business (and maybe their former band members), who had ridiculed them a few short months earlier and were now forced to acknowledge their triumphant return.

Phil Oakey had indeed done all the things he ever dared, producing one of the greatest pop albums of all time that completely re-invented the electronic genre. Without his compelling blend of synthesizers and soul (and his lop-sided haircut), many great electronic bands would not have seen the light, but for a short while his band was in a league of its own.