The following text is taken from the booklet of the '93 CD "The Best Of Visage" (Polydor 521 053-2):
"Soho, London, 1978. Taking a turn off The Strand away from the cacophony and real life relics and into the outer spaces, myriad faces and sweet synthesised sounds of contemporary dance beats and dangerous melodies, listening to the music re-sounding, cutting the air like it was glass. RockÕnÕRoll juggernauts into demonic, elec- tronic, supersonic momentum".
Before W1 metamorphosised into an ugly A to Z of short lived one nighters, before warehouse parties with their extortionately priced warm beer and boom-hiss sound sytems, before raves full of sweaty Bridge and Tunnel denizens flaked out in bouncy castles, before London became intoxicated on a nauseous cocktail of house, ecstasy and Ribena, there was something else. Fifteen years ago every Tuesday night, in a little Covent Garden wine bar, something special and exciting was fracturing the post-punk complacency of London nightlife.
A likely Lad with more front than Selfridges called Rusty Egan (then drummer in the pop band Rich Kids) and a welsh boy calling himself Steve Strange, who looked like some happy accident at the Lancome factory, had done it before at a little gay club in Soho and now they'd found a new venue. Taking over Billy's for one night a week and renaming it Bowie night they dished out flyers (an ingenious innovation for the time) printed with the words "Fame, Fame, Fame. What's Your Name? A Club For Heroes." Rusty's vast record collection made him the na- tural choice for DJ. Ditching the usual turgid Brown Sugar and Hi-Ho Silver Lining bullshit you heard at the other clubs in favor of a sophisticated, European blend of Bowie, Roxy Music and Giorgio Moroder, Rusty pulled an audience of arty, party peacocks who crawled out from hibernation and began to fan their feathers.
Bowie Night was popular, sure, but keeping one step ahead of the game they switched their operation to Great Queen Street and Blitz (next door to what is now Brown's nightclub). Of course, in order to get in you had to get past Steve Strange, who had been appointed doorman. There was only one rule at Blitz - if you looked "right" heÕd let you through. If you didn't, forget it. This meant some seriously creative dressing. Theatrical get- ups were the clobber du jour; swashbuckling piratical gear, Kabuki mask, make-up, the lot. Trannies and cross dressers got a warm welcome (Boy George was a regular). There were sad Pierrot clowns, majorettes and Carmen Mirandas (and that was just the boys). Anyone else could shove it. For a while the Blitz and it's splinter clubs St. Moritz, Hell and Le Kilt were the maelstrom of the capital city's demi-monde.
Then the thing exploded. "The New Romantics. The Blitz Kids, The Now Crowd, Peacock Punks", the media machine worked overtime trying to think up names for the scene Strange and Egan had created. There were groups too. "Look bands" the press clumsily dubbed them. They had art-school names like Spandau Ballet, claimed working class soul-boy roots and played to invitation only crowds.
By now Steve Strange was an international celebrity, courted constantly by photographers from magazines like Stern, Vogue, Time and Donna. The Sunday Times Molly Parkin, a great admirer, wanted to know Steve's sartorial secrets and wrote "His larger than life attitude has been secret of the Strange success. At a time when the British economy is suffocating Steve Strange is firing on all creative cylinders, an example of superb self promotion." Steve was flattered of course, but heÕd already grown out of just fronting clubs, now he wanted to front a band.
Steve and Rusty had some influential and talented friends, image makers, hairdressers, artists but most impor-tantly, musicians who were intend on capturing the sound of the scene. They knew what they wanted - to make a record that would fill the floor at Blitz. Steve could sing (he'd previously exercised his vocal chords for the seminal punk band The Moors Murderers), Rusty was on drums and Midge Ure, a friend, had the right attitude and could play guitar. There was Bille Currie of Ultravox, who could get that really menacing Germanic sound out of the keyboard while Dave Formula, John McGeogh and Barry Adamson from the defunct band Magazine were keen as well. Working more as state-of-the-art jigsaw unit than some beery pub band they started recording their debut single "Tar", a paean to the pleasures and dangers of nicotine, released originally on Martin Hannett's Manchester label Genetic. Steve even had a name, VISAGE (french for "face").
With New Romantic now going national, and scenes breaking out in Glasgow, Birmingham and Manchester, BritainÕs Blitz kids needed an anthem. They found it in "Fade To Grey", which became an instant classic upon release, the songÕs inventive video clip flashing on TV screens in nightclubs all over the country. Further tracks, "Mind Of A Toy" and "The Damned DonÕt Cry", reiterated the dark side of VISAGE. "Night Train" was Moroder-like trans-european electro bop, "Pleasure Boys", a celebration of hedonism while a song like "The Anvil" was made especially menacing when sung by Steve in German ("Der Amboss").
"This new rave, Steve Strange etc. is nothing more or less than glam rock that's opened the dictionary by chance at 'romantic' rather than 'bi-sexual'" wrote Julie Birchill in one of her typically barbed dispatches in "The Face" magazine. But the "new rave" was so much more than that. Steve Strange's VISAGE encapsulated the spirit, motion and technogroove of the moment. They were gloriously vain, atmospheric, ambient, pale, interesting metropolitans making industrial dance rock for misunderstood outsiders everywhere.
More than a decade since ist original release, "Fade To Grey" recently hit the top forty again in the UK, sensi- tively remixed for the nineties but still sounding strangely fresh and contemporary. This '93 compilation includes that re-release as well as eleven other original recordings. It's a tribute to the Visage sound, an album for Pleasure Boys and Pleasure Girls everywhere.
Simon Mills (with apologies to Simon Puxley, author of sleeve notes on "Roxy Music")