from the LP Real Life, Virgin Records, 1978Revealing the layers of depth and ingenuity which were only hinted at in his former band the Buzzcocks, Howard Devoto’s work with Magazine has proved to be some of the most enjoyable & prescient stuff to come out from under the experimental umbrella of post-punk and new wave; seriously, this stuff is freaking light years ahead of many fellow ’78 brethren. Musically, the interchange between John McGeoch’s jerky, aqueous guitar and Dave Formula’s carnivalesque synthesizers creates a loose, spooky vibe; Formula’s reggae-inflected approach to the keys in the body of the song keeps things from feeling too dark. Devoto’s lyrics really shine here, generating a confluence of no less than mystical philosophy (a “tulpa” is a physical thoughtform), mother-son codependency, and sexual ambiguity---not to mention, the many-layered onion which is his existential-masturbatory proclamation, “…you can touch yourself anytime…”
