Best albums of 1990: #1 Depeche Mode “Violator”

Well here we are at the number one album of 1990.

I started this particular countdown and mini-series back near the end of May and if you’ve been following along, you might have guessed this album would end up at the top, simply by the glaring absence of its mention thus far. “Violator” by Depeche Mode is quite simply, no question, my favourite album of 1990. And if it isn’t yours also, it should be. Wink, wink, nudge, nudge, say no more.

I’ve written about this album, and a handful of the songs it contained, many times over on this blog, so I will do my best not to repeat myself too much here. Indeed, I even decided just before sitting down to write this post to change up the original three requisite picks that I had previously selected, partially because a couple of them were obvious, but also because “Personal Jesus” and “Enjoy the silence” had both already received their own posts and also joined “Waiting for the night” in a post that counted down my top five favourite Depeche Mode tunes from the 1990s. So yeah, if you’re math is en pointe, three of my favourite tunes during the band’s (arguably) most popular decade in existence are on “Violator”, not too shabby for an album with only 9 songs. And for me, it wasn’t at all difficult, to find three replacements. It’s a solid album from open to close.

Produced by Flood and recorded in a handful of studios in Europe in the latter part of 1989, “Violator” marked a shift in the way in which the band recorded. It was more collaborative. The demos provided by principal songwriter Martin Gore were less complete, which allowed for more input by the rest of the band. The results were a bigger sound. Some might point out that it has a more pop bent and that it was more radio friendly and hit ready. Indeed, many of the tracks were released as singles and received airplay on both sides of the Atlantic. However, I would rather like to think that it was just that the buying public had finally caught up to what the quartet from Basildon, England had been peddling all along.

“Violator” is where I came in. I had actually heard “Personal Jesus” (as well as “People are people”) before I knew who Depeche Mode were, the cassingle of which was passed to me by a short-lived girlfriend at the time. But then, my friend John dubbed his CD copies of “Violator” and “101”, the double live album for their previous would tour, to cassette and I fell in love with both. I played the hell out of those tapes, to the point where I can’t hear any of the songs on either without immediately after listening, starting to hum the beginning of the next song. “Violator” is one of the first albums I bought on CD and was definitely the first record by the band that I sought out* when I started collecting vinyl again ten years ago.

“Violator” is accessible but it’s also dark. You can put it on at a party and people will sing along and it also feels right at home when played in solitude, in a darkened room, candlelight catching glints off the glass of red wine. Each song is practically perfect. Orchestral in scope but almost completely electronic. It is full and intense but it is also quiet. It is majestic and beautiful. It is uplifting and heartbreaking. It has kept me company at many points my life like a good friend should.

If you’re familiar with “Violator”, you’ve probably been nodding along as you’ve read these words. If you’re new to this album, I almost envy the possibility of experiencing it now for the first time. You could listen to any of the nine tracks as a teaser or as I mentioned above, start with the three that I’ve selected for you (that I’ve yet to write about on these pages before). Enjoy.

“World in my eyes”: “Let me take you on a trip around the world and back, and you won’t have to move, you just sit still.” These are the lyrics that open “Violator”. It’s like the band knew, like they were warning their fans and other unsuspecting listeners that they were about to be taken on an unprecedented voyage. The fourth single to be released off the album is said to be a positive and uplifting one. Perhaps odd in the group’s catalogue in that it paints love and relationships in a positive light. Its austere and overpowering opening sets the tone for the album, electronic like their previous work, but a lot more tactile and immense. This is music that is made for earphones. And it really does fulfill the promise of those opening words. It transports you elsewhere, not necessarily where you expected to go but they make it worthwhile.

“Policy of truth”: “It’s time to face the consequence for delivering the proof, in the policy of truth.” The third single released off the record was another big hit for band but actually sold better in North America than it did back home, a rarity for Depeche Mode singles. The song employs the use of guitars, notably in the intro and more obviously the slide guitars at the chorus, but in each case, the sound is modified and fed through synthesizers, sounding by turns like drills and presses. The result is a rock song feel but one with nothing organic about it. Frontman Dave Gahan is undramatic in his delivery, honest and upfront about dishonesty and the pitfalls of truth. Bolstered by Martin Gore’s backing sonics, the vocals become a dichotomy, deep and full, drenching the austere with sweat and blood.

“Clean”: “I’ve broken my fall, put an end to it all. I’ve changed my routine now I’m clean.” If you haven’t felt haunted throughout “Violator” already, the closing number might just do the trick. The pounding rhythm sounds alternatively like a heavy footfall and the thumping of something heavy and inert being dragged down a long staircase, echoing into the abyss. Much like elsewhere, the environment is vacuous. The band seems to be performing on another plane. It’s a soulful blues piece performed for aliens and robots. The mists are so heavy, they are impossible to clear. The distorted monk drones provide a backbone for a sinner repenting but fully knowing he will offend again. He claims he’s clean but it’s empty. Hollow and haunting and plodding infinitely. And it’s oddly beautiful, breathtakingly so. Like this whole record. It begs to be played on repeat.