Weeping Beauty
Anniversary edition of an angst classic, in an atmospheric new mix.
Tears For Fears The Hurting ★★★★
Mercury ARHSLP 11 (CD, LP)
From Mick Jagger painting it black to Gary Numan locking all the doors in his Cars, neurosis has long had a place in pop. Few musicians, however, have examined their inner psyches so intensely, or so early in their careers, as Roland Orzabal and Curt Smith.
Has there ever been a radio-friendly hit single with a more despondent lyric than “the dreams in which I’m dying are the best I’ve ever had”? Yet, the doom and gloom of Mad World paved the way for Tears For Fears’ 1983 debut album to soar to No 1 in only its second week of release, heading for worldwide sales in excess of one million. Clearly, soul-baring angst can be lucrative.
Forty years on, The Hurting has, if anything, grown in stature. It may have started out as a more modest proposition than the anthems and bombast of the group’s follow-up, 1985’s global breakthrough Songs From The Big Chair, but there’s a substance to Orzabal’s songs some may have found surprising from a writer not long out of his teens. He ushered in a new era of selfexamination, passing on a therapeutic baton to the likes of Paddy Mcaloon and Lloyd Cole, while also serving as a teen response to the dolorous musings of Joy Division and The Cure.
A key text in Orzabal’s emergence as a lyricist of articulate honesty is the writings of Arthur Janov, the “say what you will, say what you want” mantra of Ideas As Opiates directly fuelled by the American psychologist’s theories on processing childhood trauma. Uncomfortable reminiscences pepper numerous other tracks, be it the eagerness to please of Memories Fade (“with hungry joy I’ll be your toy”), or the desperation of Suffer The Children (“the pain of birth, what is it worth?”); cries for help – or merely acceptance – couched in curiously alluring melodies.
Therein lies both the bafflement and beauty of
The Hurting. Less receptive or more cynical ears may have been tempted to dismiss it out of hand as little more than a feverish exercise in self-pity, but the songs’ ability to connect with a certain stripe of listener, the displaced, misunderstood or ignored, makes them valuable. Producing music with which the customer can identify stretches all the way back to the teenage frustrations of Eddie Cochran or the motor car coveting Chuck Berry did so well, but Tears For Fears weren’t afraid to dig deeper towards something more substantive.
Although the former is credited as sole writer on every track, the fairly even distribution of lead vocal duties between Orzabal and Smith is vital in fleshing out the album’s intent. It reaffirms the impression that this is significantly more than just one man’s autopsy of his innermost demons, and rather a broader tour of terrain where others, thousands even, can find parallels with their own experiences.
What’s especially effective about studio wizard Steven Wilson’s Dolby Atmos mix for this anniversary reissue is how the technology specifically serves the subject matter. The more pronounced separation between individual instruments adds dimensions for both the figurative and literal isolation of the words to make an impact, for the “fears” of the equation to leave a mark. In that sense, this new version has been repurposed as a therapeutic tool that remains as useful as ever, on which not only do we learn more about the band but maybe even ourselves.