Skip to main content

Joanne Catherall - The Human League

WHEN Joanne Catherall played her debut gig with The Human League in a Doncaster nightclub in 1980, the idea of playing to 16,000 people in the unfeasibly glamourous amphitheatre that is the Hollywood Bowl was, like so many things in the depressed north of England at the time, an impossible dream. Up until the Doncaster show, dark-haired schoolgirl Catherall and her blonde best friend Susanne Sulley had escaped the grey, post-industrial depression of their Sheffield home on the dancefloor of their local palace of neon naughtiness, the Crazy Daisy. Within a year, they'd be Top Of The Pops regulars, performing hits from the mega-selling album Dare - including the ultimate kitchen-sink Christmas number-one duet, Don't You Want Me?


"There'll be seven of us onstage, and we're just getting the clothes together now, " she says. "We've got this set designer to do this great big white set, so people have something to look at. It's all going to be very Human Leaguey glamour, Human League styley."

In her gravy-thick Yorkshire accent, such self-defining jargon makes Catherall sound like the teenage party girl of old, regaling Smash Hits with the band's latest plans. In fact, the band has been without a record deal since their last album, Secrets, merely scraped the charts in 2001 - despite best-of and remix compilations, and the patronage of voguish producers such as Richard X, who have sampled the League in new releases. The brief recent wave of electroclash acts may use digital technology, but they modelled themselves on the analogue image of their eighties forebears.

It might be showbiz bluff, but Catherall sounds cheerfully nonplussed about current reinterest in The Human League. "We need to make the money to keep the group going, " she says pragmatically. "We've got a studio in Sheffield, and that just eats the money up. We're hoping to get an album out next year."
 
It's all a far cry from The Human League's origins as a four-man sci-fi synth combo who'd illustrate live sets with slides of cult TV shows such as Captain Scarlet and The Prisoner. The band were picked up by Edinburgh's Fast Product record label, run by the band's future manager Bob Last, who would go on to influence their direction.

After two singles on Fast and gigs with The Rezillos and Siouxsie and the Banshees, The Human League signed to the major label Virgin - and, over the course of two albums, frustratingly under-achieved. After founder members Martyn Ware and Ian Craig Marsh broke away to form their own glossy-sheened major label act, Heaven 17, a chance meeting in not a cocktail bar but the Crazy Daisy saw The Human League reinvented.

With a tour pending, Oakey and remaining Leaguer Philip Adrian Wright were in the Crazy Daisy drowning their sorrows. Needing to act fast, they were struck by Catherall and Sulley's distinctively quirky dance moves, and made them an offer they couldn't refuse. Pending a hasty meeting with the girls' respective parents to reassure them that no rock-star funny business was in the offing, Doncaster beckoned.

"Most of the people we knew were there, " Catherall recalls. "Afterwards I remember my mother saying, 'Did you really need to put all that make-up on?'"

SUCH inherited down-toearthness would go on to inform the best of The Human League's material. Because, for all their retro-future stylings, there's always been a whiff of working-man's-club cabaret about them. It is a trait common to many bands from Sheffield, right up to the Arctic Monkeys and the lipglossed romance of The Long Blondes. Pulp's back-street frustrations and the gold-lame-clad gloss of ABC both explored the contrary nature of doing what they did while being where they were from.

From Catherall's own experience, the fact that The Human League were called "the puffy synthesiser group" by friends sums it up. "What we were doing was so different. It was fairly grim in Sheffield then, so when you turned on your TV and T-Rex came on, that's where the kick to do something came from." However, she adds, knowingly: "In those days there wasn't some sort of work ethic involved. It was more like a big party."

The last man drafted in to the new-look League was former Rezillos guitarist Jo Callis, who would go on to co-write much of Dare. An album full of glittering pop melodramas, it remains one of its era's defining moments, despite becoming something of an albatross around the band's neck as they attempted to follow it up. By the time 1984's Hysteria appeared, their moment had passed, and, while subsequent albums have contained flashes of wonder, Dare is the yardstick by which The Human League are measured.

The album is currently celebrating its silver jubilee and Catherall blithely states: "We never really liked it much. I don't think I've listened to it for a while. Actually, we prefer things the way they are now, with no record company telling us what we can and can't do. We're not young like the Arctic Monkeys. We don't have to be desperate to be on every radio show.

Especially now they've played the Hollywood Bowl. (Headlining, Catherall stresses, on a bill with the Psychedelic Furs and former ABC frontman and fellow Sheffieldite Martin Fry. ) She talks about the sensation she felt looking out on those 16,000 people as she performed. "Watching them dance, " she says, perhaps thinking of her teenage self, first up on the floor with Sulley at the Crazy Daisy. "It was special."


The Herald, December 6th 2006

ends

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Futureproof 2017

Street Level Photoworks, Glasgow until February 4th 2018
Four stars

Now in its ninth year, Futureproof's showcase of recent graduate photographers from seven Scottish art schools and universities returns to its spiritual home at Street Level, with nineteen artists embracing photo essays, abstraction and constructed narratives. It is Karlyn Marshall's Willies, Beuys and Me that grabs you first. Tucked in a corner, this depiction of a woman impersonating iconic artist Joseph Beuys says much about gender stereotyping, and recalls Manfred Karge's play, Man to Man, in which a German woman took on her dead husband's identity.

The personal and the political converge throughout. Ben Soedera's Foreign Sands contrasts natural resources and the constructed world. Gareth and Gavin Bragdon's The Bragdon Brothers moves onto the carnivalesque streets of Edinburgh. Kieran Delaney's Moments also looks at the apparently ordinary. Matthew Buick goes further afield, as tourists…

The Maids

Dundee Rep

Two sisters sit in glass cases either side of the stage at the start of Eve Jamieson's production of Jean Genet's nasty little study of warped aspiration and abuse of power. Bathed in red light, the women look like artefacts in some cheap thrill waxworks horror-show, or else exhibits in a human zoo. Either way, they are both trapped, immortalised in a freak-show possibly of their own making.

Once the sisters come to life and drape themselves in the sumptuous bedroom of their absent mistress, they raid her bulging wardrobe to try on otherwise untouchable glad-rags and jewellery. As they do, the grotesque parody of the high-life they aspire to turns uglier by the second. When the Mistress returns, as played with daring abandon by Emily Winter as a glamour-chasing narcissist who gets her kicks from drooling over the criminal classes, you can't really blame the sisters for their fantasy of killing her.

Slabs of sound slice the air to punctuate each scene of Mart…

Bdy_Prts

Sneaky Pete’s, Edinburgh
Saturday December 2nd


It should probably come as no surprise that professional dancers are in the audience for the Edinburgh leg of this mini tour by spectral performance art/pop auteurs Bdy_Prts on the back of the release of their sublime debut album, The Invisible Hero. Beyond the music, the raison d’etre of Bdy_Prts’ dynamic duo of Jill O'Sullivan and Jenny Reeve, after all, is a flamboyantly costumed display of kinetic physical jerks and modernist shape-throwing to illustrate a set of fizzing machine-age chorales.

In this sense, the Bdy_Prts live experience is several works of art for the price of one that's a long way from the pair's formative work fronting Sparrow and the Workshop (O'Sullivan) and Strike the Colours (Reeve). Part living sculptures, part Bloomsbury Group super-heroines, part widescreen pop fabulists, O'Sullivan and Reeve paint their faces with ancient symbols and sport customised shoulder pads that look both seasonally …