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We Love Our Audience!
07/20/1998 5:00 PM, Yahoo! Music
Wendy Hermanson
The voice on the other end of the phone line speaks in a calm British accent. "Hello, this is Kevin Haskins." A pause. "From...Bauhaus."
Haskins has the kind of unruffled, unhurried voice peculiar to shrinks or math professors. Still, his smooth diction buckles slightly when saying the name of his former--now of the moment--band.
As well it should. Despite a highly successful (and far more commercially broadcast) career drumming for alternative-radio favorite Love And Rockets, Haskins (as well as his L&R cohorts, Daniel Ash and David J) will always be most revered and adored--and revered and adored are indeed the proper terms in this context--for his role in the groundbreaking Gothic band, Bauhaus. The short-lived quartet (L&R with the addition the ethereal Peter Murphy on vocals) put out four records in four years and split abruptly in 1983 to pursue solo careers, leaving a bastion of fans clutching the final compilation album, 79-83, to their breasts in despair. However, similar to standard but defunct classic rock bands such as Led Zeppelin, the Bauhaus catalog continued to attract rabid fans year after year. Now, after 15 years, the band has made a decision to reunite (after numerous, adamant denials in the press--mostly on Murphy's part--that they ever would) and tour in their old roles of darkside lords, thus stirring up the small but quite existent current Gothic pot.
It doesn't seem all that difficult on the surface to explain the continued fervor directed toward Bauhaus: the band employed a fierce, dark theatricality, almost parodying themselves at times. The one single that ever squeaked its way into the main- (well, perhaps mid-) stream, "Bela Lugosi's Dead," was, as all novelty singles are, unforgettable, regardless of taste. And all of the Bauhaus members were still alive and remained visible in the music scene after their breakup, more or less successfully, thus creating scores of windows for the media to point out from whence they came. This is the simplistic way of examining the fanatical legacy.
What often is overlooked, though, is that Bauhaus's terse catalog of songs contains some of the just plain best tunes in a minor niche genre which doesn't have a huge selection to begin with. No other band in the Goth pool--the Cure, Siouxsie & the Banshees and Joy Division included--was able to go quite as dark while still remaining listenable (the Cure and Siouxsie, in particular, fared better with minor-key, contemplative pop). Bauhaus, despite their ability to dip deep into the pool of darkness, were not suicidal (see Joy Division)--they were glittering, obsidian, sharp, and possessed of an extensive range. Some of their songs were nearly punk in their speedy chaos ("Dark Entries," "St. Vitus Dance," "Lagartija Nick"), some spare and intelligently melodic ("All We Ever Wanted," "Spirit," "Crowds"), some poppy ("Third Uncle," "In Fear Of Fear," "Kick In The Eye"), still others standard cloak-and-velvet Gothic (the entire Mask album). Ash, one of alternative rock's most overlooked guitar talents, made certain songs ("In The Flat Field," "Double Dare") fairly throw off blue sparks. And then of course there was Murphy's extraordinary voice, which sounded like a Shakespearean actor gone mad. While Many wrote him off as a David Bowie wannabe, others would dare say that he surpassed the '70s god on Bauhaus's feverish, twitching cover of "Ziggy Stardust."
Add all of this together, and one can quickly discern the real reason behind Bauhaus's continued command of the dark music scene. Love And Rockets, while popular in their own right, never drew the same steadfast adoration. Murphy's solo career comprised a mellower, matured repertoire of songs; for the most part, his loyal core (Bauhaus fans, of course) hated it, which forced Murphy to augment his live shows with Bauhaus material in order to sell tickets. (To be fair: Murphy is not the only legend guilty of padding his musical bra, so to speak--alterna-god Paul Westerberg quite shamelessly belts Replacements chestnuts in his solo shows as well.) Still, all members of the former Bauhaus shook their heads adamantly when asked if there would ever be a reunion. That is, until 1998, 15 whole years later.
The obvious question is "Why?" And the reason seems nearly as obvious: to be blunt, Murphy's last two solo records bombed, and Love And Rockets--who've favored an interesting, trippy but niche-oriented electronica vibe of late--aren't doing much better, either. While both have found a new label home on Red Ant (which will be putting out the forthcoming new L&R and Murphy projects), it seems fairly obvious that the Bauhaus
reunion could be a ploy for attention (and/ or money). Haskins is such a polite presence on the telephone that it feels almost like fingernails on a chalkboard to ask him if this is the case, but he remains completely unruffled.
"We decided [to reunite] about three months ago. The timing just seemed right," he says. "The air felt right. The whole Goth revival, Madonna's video and all. Plus," he adds practically, "we, as Love And Rockets, had a window. We had nothing to do this Summer, so why not?"
According to Haskins, L&R bassist David J had been in off-and-on contact with Murphy, who lives in Turkey with his wife and children. Haskins and Ash were aware of this contact, but didn't really connect it to their own internal talk of a reunion until all parties involved decided to give it a shot. Haskins claims that they had no idea of the furor such a maneuver would generate.
"We were all surprised at the outcome. I thought we'd sell out like maybe one night," he says diffidently. (Three Los Angeles shows sold out in mere minutes.) "Friends are like, 'See?! What did I tell you?' but I had no idea. We knew there was cult interest, but that's about it."
Oh come on, Kevin! Bauhaus is the Led Zeppelin of the Goth movement. "I don't know about that," Haskins muses. "I'd put [Bauhaus] kind of in the realm of the Velvet Underground." Um, not a bad parallel, but if a Velvet Underground reunion were possible, no doubt it would sell out more than 'maybe one night.' "Well, yes, that's true," Haskins admits. He pauses for a moment. "I have seen two or three kids wearing Bauhaus shirts."
The drummer is a master of understatement. When describing the first rehearsal session the foursome engineered ("to see if the magic was still there"), Haskins recalls that he recorded the first tune played but can't quite remember what it was. "A weird jamming thing. It was nothing." He pauses again to think. "No, maybe it was 'Bela.'" He seems completely unaware of the bridge between the two--nor the bootleg value of the classic tune, if it was indeed the first song rehearsed, for that matter. It's no surprise then, that: "We took [rehearsal] very seriously in one respect. On the other hand, we didn't."
Haskins, who claims that L&R were "kind of bothered a bit" that Murphy freely blasted out Bauhaus classics in his solo shows ("We thought they kind of shouldn't be messed with, really," he states, then quickly defends Murphy by acknowledging that his former bandmate hasn't been relying on the legendary catalog of late), says that he hasn't touched a Bauhaus tune in years--the Ash-fronted "Slice Of Life" being the exception. However, "They do come back to you rather quickly." Like riding a bike, eh? Haskins laughs, sounding genuinely tickled by this. "Yeah, sort of!"
The opening show in Los Angeles was rather more like riding a tank. Haskins & Co. rolled completely seamless, ageless renditions of Bauhaus favorites over the writhing black-clad crowd, seeming, if anything, more confident than they ever have been. (And, if you have
ever seen a video of Bauhaus in their heyday--or were lucky enough to catch them before they broke up--you are most likely well aware of their complete command of the stage.) Murphy's animated performance lacked only the stripping off of upper garments to reveal his skeletal, deathly pale body--the omission of this theatricality, as with most of Murphy's
moves, a rather elegant decision, although he appeared ageless and may well have been able to pull it off. An eerie agelessness permeated the entire band, in fact, despite the fact that Haskins' two daughters were skipping about the venue. The audience smiled a lot. This was, it seems, a very good idea indeed.
To that end, the next obvious question lies in whether Bauhaus will ever record again as a band.
"It's come up in conversation," Haskins demurs. "It's possible." For right now, though, the main goal of Bauhaus is the simple and seemingly anti-Goth credo: Have Fun.
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