The Damned exhume The Black Album on November 3, 1980


The year was 1980. People were still grappling with the notion of personal computers, nuclear war was a daily concern for those paying adequate attention, and the concept of "punk rock" was already becoming as quaint and historical as a Roman toga party. And then, precisely on November 3rd, 1980, a Monday, which in itself is an act of almost deliberate perversity for an album release, something rather extraordinary happened. I am, of course, referring to the release of The Damned's sprawling, mausoleum-dark, magnificent, and utterly bonkers double album, The Black Album.

Their magnum opus, The Black Album was a record that was, according to some highly unreliable sources, meant to sound like it had been recorded inside a very large, slightly damp, cathedral. Dave Vanian, the singer and master of ceremonies on this multidisc aural odyssey, delivers his vocals with the sort of theatrical gloom that suggests he has been practicing in front of a mirror with a candle and a copy of Dracula for reference. The listener will hear the ominous tolling of a church bell recorded in a graveyard at midnight. There's even a reference to the cinema classic The Abominable Dr. Phibes.

From the goth-mad opener "Wait for the Blackout" to the epic, 17-minute sojourn that is "Curtain Call" (a track so sprawling it practically required its own passport), The Black Album was less an album and more an entire musical universe. It had songs about love, songs about Barclay cards, songs about the distinguished Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, and probably, if you listened closely enough, a song about a particularly well-seasoned Salisbury Steak.

The decision to call it The Black Album was a clever one, mostly because the cover was, in fact, black. It was bold. It was experimental. It was less punk rock - a concept that was, by 1980, already feeling a bit tired and in need of a holiday - and more...well, it was more more. It was more ambitious, more gothic, and significantly longer than most people expected an album to be. And it was exactly the kind of thing that makes you scratch your head, look at your reflection in a slightly tarnished spoon, and wonder, "Did that really happen?"

And yet, it did. On a Monday. November 3rd, 1980. While the rest of the world was probably worrying about the heating bill or whether that nice Mr. Reagan would actually win the election, The Damned were busy birthing a black, beautiful, and utterly improbable sonic beast. Every side of every disc "plays 'till midnight, note perfect like clockwork."

Location: London, UK

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