Summary.
One of dark-punk's most overrated artists, Siouxsie left behind very few
compositions that deserve to be remembered. Most of her "music" was actually
attitude, and therein lies her importance.
She was an icon, and undoubtedly influenced bands worldwide. Goth-rock would
not be a widespread phenomenon without her.
But, unlike her model Nico, she was "only" an icon, and never a musician.
Thanks to heavy promotion from major labels since the beginning of her
career, she did achieve a bigger commercial success that the rest of dark-punk's
emaciated ranks but at the expense of sacrifing whatever little originality
her music had.
If nothing else, the commercial scam
helped give the genre some credibility with labels, which in turn materialized
in a broader acceptance of gothic music worldwide.
That is what Siouxsie will be remembered for.
Full bio.
(Translated from my original Italian text by ChatGPT and Piero Scaruffi)
The Banshees emerged from the same London boutique run by Malcolm McLaren where the Sex Pistols had formed just a few months earlier. The singer Susan Dallion, better known as Siouxsie Sioux (pronounced "Susi Su"), the bassist Steve Severin (Havoc), the bassist Steve Severin and the drummer Sid Vicious of the Sex Pistols performed at a punk festival in 1976. Siouxsie appeared as an Ossianic version of Patti Smith, a nocturnal witch chanting lugubrious songs of the grave. The Banshees’ music had very little in common with the punk-rock of their peers: arcane lyrics, hypnotic melodies, grating distortions, martial tempos, and dark atmospheres. The terror of punk found in Siouxsie’s epic inflections a secondary outlet.
They were launched by the single Hong Kong Garden, a nursery rhyme set to a Chinese rhythm. The album The Scream (Polydor, 1978), released with great fanfare, had little else to rely on. Siouxsie’s vocals, John McKay’s distortions, and the rhythms of Severin and Kenny Morris represented more a symbol of rough approximation than a personal style.
Join Hands (Polydor, 1979) nonetheless made a virtue of their technical shortcomings. As existential depression deepened, roughness truly became a style, and a highly influential one on contemporary dark-punk. Playground Twist, weaving an anguished atmosphere with a funereal refrain of saxophone and tolling bells immersed in a whirlwind of distortions, and the lacerating suspense of Staircase marked the transition from the savage rock and roll of their origins (still present in Love In A Void) to a more psychedelic horror. The album is nevertheless fundamental in Siouxsie’s discography because it contains the long “danse macabre” of The Lord's Prayer (14 minutes), which had been her live tour de force from the beginning.
Their performances were dominated by Siouxsie’s icy lament, a barely modulated recitation in an impious and resounding register, sterile yet emphatic, rising into otherworldly screamed refrains. The rest of the harmonies were limited to the kaleidoscope of abrasive riffs from John McKay’s guitar, a monotonous and relentless drumming, and the somber bass lines of Steve Severin.
Thanks to a revamped lineup with the imaginative drummer Budgie (Peter Clark) and guitarist John McGeogh of the Magazine, Kaleidoscope (PVC, 1980) was a far more musical album, capable of a macabre that was more lyrical than sensationalistic and of brushing against the psychodrama of the Doors. Severin leads the music with measured evocative effects and Hawaiian-like cries that often echo in mystical organ phrases. Hypnotic and tribal Happy House, melodic and almost Indian Christine, which spirals into a driving rhythm and a “Manzarek-like” organ riff in a liturgical version. The album culminates in the epic crescendo of Israel, when a mixed a cappella polyphonic choir intertwines with intermittent echoes of the Doors.
Ju-Ju (Polydor, 1981) is an even more mature record. Siouxsie is perhaps at the peak of her grotesque vocal abilities, and her bandmates accompany her with truly satanic fervor. The threatening tribalism of Spellbound flows into the archaic melody of Arabian Knight. McGeogh’s atmospheric guitar performs small acrobatics that enrich the sound. The album sinks into the Grand Guignol apotheosis of Voodoo Dolly. Siouxsie, however, must resolve a fundamental contradiction in her music: it is precisely these excesses that make the band a unique phenomenon in the dark-punk scene, given that their songs are infinitely more conventional than those of Public Image Ltd, Joy Division or even Cure. What gives the band meaning is its stubborn perversity. At the same time, flirting with oriental litanies and African tribalism—initiated on the previous album and continued here—the band tries to enliven a sound that had long been imprisoned by the leader’s witch-like image. In doing so, it risks losing its identity. Just as it reached its musical peak, Siouxsie entered a dead end.
A Kiss In The Dreamhouse (Polydor, 1982) indeed marks a sudden drop in tone, despite the singles Slowdive and Melt.
Siouxsie’s truly essential records are Once Upon A Time (Polydor, 1981), which collects all the singles, and the double live album Nocturne (Geffen, 1983), which does justice to their legend.
On the album credited to the Creatures, Feast (Polydor, 1983), singer Siouxsie and Budgie indulge in some exotic and experimental digressions.
Meanwhile bassist Severin and guitarist Robert Smith of the Cure form the Glove.
Starting with Hyaena (Geffen, 1984), with Smith officially replacing McGeogh, and with Siouxsie actually singing rather than emitting guttural cries, the group shifts toward a much more stylized sound, of which still rough examples are the symphonic Dazzle and the piano-driven Swimming Horses.
With the elegant Tinderbox (Geffen, 1986), Siouxsie completes the transformation from witch to diva, but in fact the best track is a single from the previous year, Cities In Dust, and the rest of the album is a mere hall of mirrors.
Siouxsie then rebuilt the band around the loyal rhythm section (Budgie and Steve Severin), cellist Martin McCarrick, and guitarist Jon Klein (ex Specimen). Despite this, Peepshow (Geffen, 1988) is one of her weakest albums, sustained only by the dance novelty Peek-A-Boo and the romantic desolation of The Last Beat Of My Heart.
The Creatures recorded Boomerang (Polydor, 1989) the following year, whose cosmic pessimism (Pluto Drive) at least marks a new point of arrival, closer to postwar Parisian existentialism than to the theatricality and expressionism of dark-punk.
Superstition (Geffen, 1991), an attempt to adapt to the dance music of the time, represents yet another drop in quality, redeemed only sporadically by the usual rosaries of psychic depression (Kiss Them For Me and Drifter).
The decadent refinement of maturity mercilessly reveals how many layers of makeup separate this unsettling nocturnal creature from the sepulchral goddess Nico or from the existential anguish of Lydia Lunch. For a few years it seemed that the triviality of her music had consigned her to the museum of punk horrors. Only sporadic signs of life appeared, including the single Interlude (Parlophone, 1994), a cover recorded with Morrisey.
Instead, Siouxsie returned with Rapture (Geffen, 1995). Siouxsie did not realize it, but the album is different: while she croons about vampires and zombies, her bandmates play pop music. The contrast is comical: it is as if she were preaching hell while brandishing a poster advertising paradise. O Baby borders on Abba. The eleven minutes of the title track, complete with string quartet, show how the sound has softened, and from there the band’s career could have restarted—if not for Siouxsie as the singer. Not Forgotten is the only track that recalls the past.
The sounds of their golden age (those dense layers of bass figures, those exotic drum cavalcades, that voice suffocated in reverberation, those maniacal guitars, that demonic charge in the arrangements) were above all sonic icons, and as such they should be judged. Perhaps Siouxsie truly attempted to compose music only twice, with The Lord's Prayer and Rapture, but her own persona prevented her from turning those noble ideas into a lasting career.
(Original English text by Piero Scaruffi)
After the not-so-glorious demise of the Banshees, Siouxsie and husband Budgie
reformed the Creatures and cut the singles
Eraser Cut and Second Floor
and the album Anima Animus (Sioux, 1999).
By incorporating world-music and electronics, and emphasizing
Budgie's tribal drumfest (arguably the lasting heritage of the Banshees),
the duo virtually reinvented themselves. While flirting with
synth-pop (Prettiest Thing) and
trip-hop (Another Planet, Don't Go To Sleep),
the Creatures achieve new psychological heights with
the sophisticated ballad Say and the eerie I Was Me,
not to mention the Gregorian chant Exterminating Angel.
The unique blend of technology and
rhythm sets them apart from all mainstream genres (and particularly from their
old goth-rock).
Banshees' bassist Steven Severin, in the meantime, had converted to
electronica. Both the instrumental albums
Visions (RE, 2000), Maldoror (RE, 2000) and The Woman in the Dunes (2000) are soundtracks for dramatic works.
More soundtracks, especially for films, surfaced in the 2000s, notably
Blood of a Poet (2010) and Vampyr (2012).
The gothic EPs
Codex Astra - Circles Of Silver (2010) and
Codex Astra - Hours Of Gold (Erototox Decodings, 2010)
were inspired by esoteric science.
The Creatures' Hai (Instinct, 2004) is a collaboration with
Japanese drummer Leonard Eto.
Theoretically, Mantaray (2007) is Siouxsie's first solo album.
In practice, the music was mostly contributed by producers
Steve Evans and Charlie Jones, as well as
veteran multi-instrumentalist Noko (Norman Fisher Jones),
who opted for a larger, poppier sound that largely disposes of her legacy.
If Into a Swan is still vaguely related to Siouxsie's new-wave sound (distorted guitar riffs, tribal rhythm),
songs like Sea of Tranquillity and Here Comes That Day are
more typical of Broadway musichalls.
If It Doesn't Kill You displays real emotion instead of the old attitude.
