Fiction
In Coventry
1987
As Damian Yarschk joins the band the full 5 piece is in full effect. With recordings from the previous collection, introduction of new songs, this long compilation ends an era, puts some directions to bed that never needed to see tomorrow and teases where Fiction will go in the next few releases.
Liner Notes by Sue Peters
In Coventry
“In Coventry” represented a transitioning stage for Fiction, between early attempts with lots of covers and some ill-advised forays into pop, towards developing our own sound and aesthetic. You can hear the change happening in the music. We are feeling our way, meandering through a long, twisting corridor in the dark to our next identity and sound. It was a particularly dreamy stage for us.
We were exploring a lot of different directions. It’s a bit of a hodgepodge, really, yet evocative, and you get your money’s worth with 12 songs! Commercially, I doubt anyone would consciously put all these songs together on one release. But I think we liked the schizophrenia of the band. Perhaps it’s what comes with having five contributors with varied influences.
So, here’s what I remember, from my own dusty prism, which I know is an incomplete picture…
“Whatsoever.” I loved the grandeur of this song. It still holds up. An instrumental, we would sometimes start shows with it, in the dark, to get people transitioned into the mood of our music. Gradually we’d get on stage, one by one, first Rob, then me, then the others… I loved what Rob did with it percussively and with reverb. Sounds like the rolling waves of an impending storm at sea. Because we weren’t regularly gigging and had no contractual financial obligations, we were free to experiment with form, themes, even writing highly non-danceable instrumentals…
“Letter from Coventry” Coventry was the city in England that was bombed to oblivion in WWII, some say sacrificed, to not give away that the British had deciphered Nazi German code. In British playground vernacular, to “send someone to Coventry” is to give them the silent treatment. ‘Coventry’ captured perfectly how well we felt we fit into the local scene. Fun fact: Another local band of classmates who we once played with released their cassette of songs about the same time as us. Coincidentally, theirs was titled: “In California.” It featured songs about driving and girls. Ours: “In Coventry,” and featured songs about doubt, loss and insanity.
As for the song itself, the lyrics were about a lost (English) childhood friendship of mine and evolved from a dream. Sonically, I think I was probably inspired by “Charlotte Sometimes,” a song I was transfixed by at the time. I enjoyed playing this one because it allowed me to simply play, not program or turn knobs, or be a technician. I was also especially fond of the slightly off-kilter (technically, laid back) drumbeat by Rob, which helps create the musical and thematic tension in the song, a tugging away of something, trying to hold onto something that is letting go.
“White Rooms” was another dark-horse favorite of mine. I loved the slinky rhythm. I thought the rhythm and tempo and structure sophisticated. It was one of our few songs one might call sultry. (We probably didn’t realize it at the time, but we were using the Phrygian scale. Hence the Spanishness of the song. One of many examples where we did something instinctively that worked.) Rob’s drumbeat helped create the mood. The Bass and guitar were great too. But it needed…something. I thought it deserved better treatment. But was dropped pretty quickly from our set. Not sure why. I had the impression the guys weren’t that fond of it. Lots of parts to it. Granted, the vocals weren’t great (mine). (Backing by Dan and Rob, I believe.) A bit Siouxsie. And, of course, I would have been wise not to compete with Cream…
“Leave it Behind” and “Tomorrow” are more straightforward rock and were written about the same time, if memory serves, possibly in the same jam session. They originated with the guys and I laid keyboard tracks over/intertwining with what they wrote. (You can often tell which songs originated with guitar, which with keyboards.) “Leave it” features some manic drums by Rob, space-age sounds from the synth and was a bit rougher than some of our other songs. It was fun to play, less constricting than some of our more ornately arranged and sequence-driven songs like…
“The Shattered Chandelier” began as the result of me figuring out “586” by New Order on my fancy new (Korg Poly 800) keyboard which had a built-in programmable sequencer, and was inspired by the Eurythmics. I wanted to know if I could write a keyboard sequence like theirs. This was the result. Edmund was a sweet little boy who lived next door to us in England. (Dan and I spent five formative childhood years in the UK. Some of that crept into Fiction’s music.) Those images also represented lost childhood and the whirlwind of dreams and where they take us.
“Never There” was one of our more complete, fluid and beautiful songs. Dropped too soon as well. In the recording, the keys sound a tad flat, alas. When everything came together on that song it was very powerful and mournful. One of our more mature efforts, in the best sense of the word. Beautifully sung and lyrics by Daniel. The song began with Jeff, who wrote the melody on what I thought was acoustic guitar, but maybe it was on Igor (his electric guitar). A perfect example of our transition from an overly-synth band to one that was more balanced and fleshed out with guitar. It showed what we could do with more instruments. Arguably this combination was further developed on “Icicles” and “Pomegranate Dream.”
By the way, now that I reflect over it, I think I remember why we didn’t take certain songs into the studio: we simply didn’t have the money. We had to choose, so we often likely erred on selecting our newest, freshest material. That means some of the gorgeous chestnuts on “Coventry” and “A lot” never got their day in Hit Single with Randy Fuelle…
The song “Tallulah” is one of a handful that originated with me. I had a picture of a young Tallulah Bankhead on my bedroom wall, then a muse of mine from an era that fascinated me. I loved that era, but I was also aware that it was between wars. It’s a song about loss and longing (and transcendence). Arguably the whole album is. Like “Coventry,” the keyboards were fluid and didn’t require a whole lotta programming and knob-turning; I could simply play. However, because I was incapable of playing and singing at the same time, Dan took over the keyboards live. This freed me to take the mike and emerge from my dark keyboard corner. I daresay Dan in turn was happy to retreat back there! The audience seemed to like this unexpected change-up, but I was always happy to return center stage and the mike to Dan.
In “Tallulah,” Rob demonstrated his ever-brilliant and expanding production skills. We had a four-track by then. Listen to the layers. He wove in a swirl of twisted ragtime and then battered it down with the sound of machine guns, to ominously signify the impending advent of WWII, which ended the Jazz Age. His drum solo at the end of the bridge (responding to the lyrics “marching echoes again”) purposely echoes a military drum cadence. With the keyboards, I then play a descending mournful Charleston in a minor key. I remember when Rob first played me all the thematically enriching layers he had added, I was blown away.
As I write this, I realize how much thought went into our music. It’s possible we were too cerebral. Indeed, we were dinged for that by some in the press. But you read about bands from the 70s whose members went to art school or met in college, we were in good company… But it’s true some of our songs were meticulously structured. In some respects it may have been restricting – it’s hard to rock out when you are weaving a tapestry. Later on we developed a style that allowed us to do both. (“The Vanished One” comes to mind.) I think somewhere, somewhere, at the back of my mind and Dan’s too, were inspirations like “Bohemian Rhapsody” (Queen) and “Sebastian” (Steve Harley and Cockney Rebel).
“I Happy Am” is taken from the last line of a poem by William Blake that Dan’s and my older brother cited (“Infant Joy”). It’s about childhood innocence. That one line – “I happy am” – charmed and amused our brother, and must have resonated with us. (I’d venture to guess that Dan and I liked the Dadaist, childlike backwardness of the phrasing.) We gave it a dark twist with a relentless beat and descent into madness. I have always liked this song. It sounds like an Eastern European anthem and allowed a lot of purging and insanity. It featured some goth vocal effects by Dan and demonic backup vocals by Rob, portending our darker Bauhausian forays to come. Some nicely twisting guitar, while Damian had to valiantly compete with the overpowering bass embedded in the sequence, I’m sure a maddening battle. Not sure why we stopped playing this song. Oh, now I remember – these tight synth sequences I wrote were murderous for Rob’s arms. Synth riffs – at least mine – could be inhumanely fast or erratic in tempo. For me it was easy – program, press a button, stand back and play along. For Rob, it was a real workout.
“Mezzelune” was Rob’s song. The lyrics and title are his. Evocative of the Moody Blues, I always loved this song too. But I’m sure I’m biased cause it’s so keyboard heavy. We used a backing track I recorded that we played over a boombox when performing. Low-tech but we made it work.
We could also be quite perverse. After we debuted a song at a Torrey Pines High School dance that was poppy, upbeat, melodic and popular, and got people dancing – we instantly dropped it. (“First Inside”). We had proven we were capable of writing such stuff, but that wasn’t our goal. We didn’t at that point want to write pop songs. Not sure we even wanted people to dance to our music.
“Tomorrow” likely began in a jam by Jeff or Damian and I added keyboards. Without any synth/programs I was free to jam a bit (for a change). In this song, and on this collection in general, you can hear Dan find his sweet spot vocally. He lets go of the higher octaves he explored earlier and sinks into his more natural deeper voice that would go on to help define and haunt our more goth turns. It has a raw early Cure or even punk feel to it now. We weren’t plumbing the same depths as other songs, but had fun with it.
“The Annex” was a purposeful effort to be atonal. We wanted to squeeze out the aural agony of life. We enjoyed watching people try to dance to it or look quizzical, especially if we trotted it out after a more accessible song. It was written after I’d returned from a bohemian, starving-student year abroad in Paris, now preaching the gospel of Robert Smith. Factor Fiction then formed. (The lyrics are evidently from a particularly despondent moment in my life. But there’s a bit of levity hidden in there, thanks to Dan, who drops in an obscure reference to Laurence Tolhurst, an inside joke.) The song begins with a stark timbery bassline by Dan (Fiction’s original bassist!). It also features Dan playing glass bottles with a nice dose of delay effects. We had constructed a wooden frame (pictured inside the cassette cover) where we suspended about a half dozen empty Coke bottles, which Dan would play with drumsticks. It was an eye-catching, if bulky, stage prop when we performed live. I can’t remember whose idea this was nor who constructed it, but I remember some of us were interested in experimenting with unexpected instruments and sounds, inspired by examples like Robert Smith’s use of scissors in “The Top.” Glass emerges again in “Hameln” (from “Icicles”), which begins with a small string of metal bells trailing around a bottle. (Hence the inclusion of “glass” among our percussion credits.) “The Annex” was named thusly because it was inspired by The Cure’s “Pornography” album (still my favorite) and our joke was it sounded like it could be added on – annexed – to The Cure’s LP. We later named our practice space The Annex as well. Derivative? Homage? You choose. (I remember referring to that as our F-you song. Guess we had a tincture of punk in our soul. Shared root of goth, no?)
“sort of” was another first in this collection. It was the first song we wrote with our new five-member group, and it was the first song initiated by Damian. I have always loved this one too. The voice is meant to sound broken. It was purposely sung small and fragile as it was song about breaking up, predicting the loss of someone in the future. Unfortunately it also sounds off-key… Mea culpa. Nice guitar, simple keys. We showed restraint and maturity with this song. Not sure why we left it behind.
Band colors? Black and blue, of course. To match our battered souls.
Cover art: That is the inimitable Tallulah Bankhead, inspiration for the song of her name that appears here. In addition to being lovely and evocative, she was one tough dame. During that era, all of our gig flyers featured images of iconic actors, artists and performers from the early and golden era of Hollywood and Surrealism, many taken from my Vanity Fair book of photos. That was the last of our Kinkos-era print jobs. (I had a summer job there before going off to grad school.) After that, it was professional printing all the way.
This was also the last of our boombox, low-tech or valiant 4-track recordings. Here on out, it was professional studios for us! (Except for our solo tapes, but that’s a different story.)
As the band’s publicist, I was frequently asked to categorize our sound, for the media and press releases. I once coined “Innovox.” But it didn’t stick. I think Dan once suggested (possibly in jest) “Hippy New Wave!” We were not quite “goth.” We settled on: “Groovy dark alternative rock.”
This collection demonstrates that we were creative, if not highly studied. Our production skills were steadily improving. And we were all fairly well read, influenced by literature, philosophy, politics, art, other musicians. But we were also establishing our own sound in our own mental exile, and it was bonding between us and quietly exhilarating.
Infant Joy
By William Blake (1757-1827)
“I have no name:
I am but two days old.”
What shall I call thee?
“I happy am,
Joy is my name.”
Sweet joy befall thee!
Pretty joy!
Sweet joy, but two days old.
Sweet Joy I call thee:
Thou dost smile,
I sing the while;
Sweet joy befall thee!
Sue Peters, March 2021, Seattle
