So In Love: Revisiting Orchestral Manoeuvres In The Dark's 1985 Classic

OMD

So I can't talk about Orchestral Manoeuvres In The Dark, better known as OMD, without telling this particular anecdote about them.

It was June 15, 1988, and OMD was at the peak of their popularity, only a few years previous released "If You Leave", the main song from John Hughes' classic '80s love story, "Pretty In Pink".

Of course I knew who they were.  Everyone recognized the faces of Andy McClusky and Paul Humphreys, the two who made the backbone of the band.  Even though they had gained fame in the early '80s with the single "Enola Gay" and had been known for some really experimental synthpop, I didn't get to know them until 1985, at the tender age of 15, when their sixth album, "Crush", came out.  I was introduced to their music by Jaime Garlish.  He was the cool kid in school, the guy who was a couple of years older than me and always seemed to know what was hip and new.  For instance, he was into The Smiths before many people in my school had heard of them.  Because Jaime liked them, I went and bought a cassette of "Crush", which is to date the only album I really know by the band.  It soon became an anthem to my teen angst.  The faux '50s vibe of "So In Love" and the jouncy, wistful synth vibe of "Secret" or the sappy romance of "Hold You" were personal soundtracks to the new experiences of being fifteen - first time falling in love, first girlfriend, first kiss, etc.

Now back to June, 1989.  OMD was on tour with Depeche Mode.  I just finished the day working at the auto parts store, and I went home to find friends inviting me to go see OMD and Depeche Mode with them.  Teens are fickle.  A few years earlier, these two bands had been everything to me, but, by then, I had outgrown them as was listening to things like The Mission UK, Cocteau Twins, and The Church.  But at the sudden invitation to go to this concert, I was eager to go - until my dad reminded me that I was saving money to go to Belgium in just two weeks.  I decided that I had better stay home rather than spend my money.

"Oh, you have such willpower," my dad said sarcastically.

So my friends left, and another set of friends showed up.  Mike Martin, a goth kid I knew, and Daron, a skinhead.  They didn't have money to go to the concert, either, but they asked if I wanted to go hang out in the parking lot.  I asked my dad, and he sullenly agreed.  After all, I wouldn't be spending money.  So we headed to Compton Terrace in Phoenix and hung out by the entrance of the complex.  It was fun people watching.  This was the '80s, so there was a lot of guyliner, black clothes, and hairspray.  We kicked back by a wall that separated us from the arena, listening to OMD blast classics like "Enola Gay" and "If You Leave".  It was cheap and fun entertainment.

Jump forward to 2016.  My cassette of "Crush" was long gone, and I was feeling nostalgic.  So I downloaded it.  As an adult, listening to this more than 30 years later, I can say that it sounds very dated.  As influential as it has been, it belongs in the '80s as much as the mullets they wore.  But  I find that I am enjoying different aspects.  Beyond the innuendo, they were called Orchestral Manoeuvres In The Dark for a reason.  Their is an orchestral quality about them, how they manipulate sounds and layers, giving their music a different quality from other bands at the time.  They were very experimental in the early '80s, and it wasn't until "Crush" that they started heading towards mainstream pop.  But as an adult, I am finding that I enjoy the more experimental songs on this album, the songs that were perhaps less known than "Secret", "So In Love", and "La Femme Accident".

"Bloc Bloc Bloc", with its rockabilly feel and horn section, has lyrics that have stuck with me even today.  The title track, "Crush", has some crazy loops taken from Japanese commercials.  "88 Seconds In Greensboro" has a definite Joy Division influence, and that blends into "The Native Daughters of the Golden West" with it's ominous string section, one of my current favorites.  "The Lights Are Going Out" is an example of their ingenuity, vocal loops over a slow drum beat and feverish lyrics, giving the whole song a nightmarish feel.  So beyond the nostalgia, this album actually has some artistic merit, and, as an adult, I have appreciation for McClusky's and Humphreys' song writing beyond appeal to teen angst.

Back to that night in 1988, we were hanging outside the OMD concert when the payphone next to us rang.  (Remember payphones?)  It was a guy named Jeff.  He was looking for a girl named Sarah who worked for OMD.  We called out to the crowd.  No Sarah.  So we hung up. A few minutes later, a Rolls Royce pulled up to where we were waiting.  A pretty, young girl named Sarah climbed out of the car and approached us with a look of desperation on her face, asking if anyone had called for her.  We told her about Jeff's call.  A few minutes later, Jeff called again, and he spoke for a few minutes with Sarah.  Sarah explained to us that she was letting OMD use her parents' Rolls Royce while they were in town.  (I wonder if the parents knew.)  She said that OMD was staying in room #2350 at the prestigious resort The Pointe, which was nearby.  They were having a party there, and she invited us to go.

So with stars in our eyes, dreaming of a night of debauchery, sex, drugs, and rock n' roll, we left the parking lot and drove to The Pointe.  After what seemed like hour of wandering the resort, we finally found room #2350.  We knocked at the door.  No answer.  We figured that Depeche Mode was still playing, so the band would not be over until after the show was over.  So we decided to kick back poolside, with the room in full view, until the band showed up.  After a long time, no one showed up, but we saw three, pretty girls, obviously groupies, come into view.  We said hi to them and asked if they were here for OMD.  Wrinkling up their pretty noses, they said no, but then they approached the door to room #2350 and knocked.  They left when there was no answer.

We decided that OMD was not worth waiting for hours, so we left and went home.  The next morning, my 14 year-old sister, Marina, asked me about the show, since she kind of had a crush on Paul Humphreys.  A story about waiting at the pool outside an empty room was not interesting enough.  So I made up a story about meeting the band and told her that I had met Humphreys, and that he had asked about her.  For the next several days, she wandered around the house, starstruck, saying with wonder, "He asked about me?!"

I didn't have the heart to tell her I was lying.  In fact, I still don't think I ever told her the truth.  Teen brothers can be mean.