(Translated from my original Italian text by ChatGPT and Piero Scaruffi)

Few groups have changed the history of dance music like the Pet Shop Boys, a duo consisting of singer Neil Tennant and electronic keyboardist Chris Lowe. Unlike many other British synth-pop duos, the Pet Shop Boys avoided the sensationalism and narcissism of groups such as Duran Duran and Culture Club. Their songs carried genuine intellectual weight, often delving deeply into the subconscious. Tennant’s vocal register had the ideal inflection for telling tragic stories, while Lowe’s arrangements achieved almost apocalyptic effects. With an almost “Brechtian” style, the Pet Shop Boys offered a pagan portrayal of the anxieties and horrors of urban life.

Their success was as sudden as it was unexpected. The fatalistic spleen of West End Girls, recorded in New York in 1983, released the following year, and professionally re-recorded in 1985, reached number one on both the British and American charts. The song relied on what would become the blueprint for all their hits: pairing an intellectual vocal tone with almost “noir” background atmospheres, sparkling dance rhythms, and sumptuous electronic arrangements. More sophisticated and equally melodic than the average British synth-pop, the Pet Shop Boys soon doubled the success of their first single with their third, in May 1986: Opportunities, one of the cornerstones of modern pop. Its opening break is epic, the vocals immediately soar into the chorus—this time delivered in a firm tone—then dive into a sly but still fiercely determined register, propelled by complex electronic polyrhythms and subtle synthesizer lines. Counterpoints shift constantly, and the melody swings on an exhilarating rise and fall through ever-denser harmonic territory. A few months later, the more relaxed Suburbia reconciled them with the audience, which had been shocked by the moral intensity of the masterpiece.

Please (EMI, 1986) was essentially a collection of singles, but the yuppie cynicism that characterized the philosophy of that work fully erupted on the subsequent Actually (EMI, 1987). Songs like Domino Dancing, Rent, I'm Not Scared, Left To My Own Devices, and others focused on the materialism of modern life, effectively forming a concept of social satire. It's A Sin, the centerpiece of the album, sounded like a requiem, buried under the symphonic layers of electronics and even distant thunder, with a rhythm stronger than ever—but in a catastrophic rather than playful manner, its melody doubled by keyboards in the style of an operatic chorus. It remains their most intense score.

Tennant mostly hummed rather than sang, carefully avoiding exaggerated poses or heroic tones, favoring a nearly conversational register—polished and slightly snobbish, yet neither pompous nor haughty. Lowe accompanied him with elegant but restrained orchestrations, seemingly casual, often tinged with suspense, and never overblown. Technically, they would be remembered for how they could begin a song with a theme that gives no hint of the main melody. Their style was existential, imbued with a sense of impending tragedy and moral decay. It was a style that could elevate even the lesser tracks, such as What Have I Done To Deserve This (with Dusty Springfield on backing vocals).

After reaching the top of the charts with a cover and a mediocre Heart (March 1988), the duo lost its form and quickly regressed into a living-room synth-pop, halfway between new age and soft jazz. Domino Dancing, Left To My Own Devices, and It's Alright are singles lacking vigor. The mini-album Introspective (1988) contained the "extended dance versions" of these singles.

Behavior (EMI, 1990) was a collection of even more mature and introspective meditations, particularly So Hard and Being Boring; yet the joyful melodicism of their early work was definitively lost.

Very (EMI, 1993) presented them again in the same guise of somewhat pessimistic, somewhat indifferent philosophers—exquisite arrangers (now adapted to house, jungle, and trip-hop, but still inspired by 1970s orchestral soul) and impeccable melodists (Yesterday When I Was Mad, Liberation, I Wouldn't Normally Do This Kind of Thing).

Discography (EMI, 1991) is an excellent singles anthology, allowing a clear view of a duo somewhat underrated by critics.

On Bilingual (Parlophone/EMI, 1996), the lush disco of Metamorphosis is not enough to revive those moments of glory. The melodies—always the pillars of their harmonies—are missing. What remains is only the verbose rambling of the lead singer, caught in countless existential dilemmas. The duo was never adolescent, but now they may be too mature even for their own audience.