Human Drama was the brainchild of multi-instrumentalist Johnny Indovina (originally from New Orleans, but relocated to Los Angeles).

After a rock start with Feel (RCA, 1989), which included the original version of The Waiting Hour, and the single This Tangled Web (Triple X), one of his masterpieces of melodrama and orchestration, Indovina found his natural element in the somewhat grandiose elegance of The World Inside (Triple X, 1991).
What stands out most are the lush arrangements, layers upon layers of instruments, phantasmagorical scores, and the perfect counterpart of smooth crooning and airy melodies. Yet The World Inside immediately betrays its debts to Celtic folk-rock, even though the keyboards float the melodies into fairytale realms and classical-leaning passages propel them even further. The second part, in waltz time, even evokes the progressive rock of early Genesis. An undercurrent of archaic folk runs through the album, surfacing only occasionally (Father Sing, Fading Away). Complementing this is the classical-leaning theme, breaking through in the medieval fair-style My Skin with its triumph of violins, flutes, and drums, and in the Renaissance madrigal of The Sound Of The Rain, with guitar chimes simulating a harpsichord. A stronger pulse and more aggressive arrangement make Fascination And Fear the rockiest track, yet even here traces of raga, baroque, and who-knows-what-else peek through. Sometimes the approach is too saccharine (Tears), pompous (Look Into A Stranger's Eyes), or pathetic (Voices), but when Indovina hits the right balance, he creates tracks like A Million Years, which forge a sensationalist pop idiom.

After a tribute to Bowie and decadent rock in general, Pinups (Triple X, 1993), Indovina released a reworking of his old rock material for cello, flute, violin, and piano in the EP Human Drama (Projekt). Opening with the driving and mischievous reflection of It Is Fear, worthy of the most sublime John Cale, the album lines up classical-style ballads like Breathe and Sad I Cry, but shines in the menacing ode of White River and the extended version of The Waiting Hour, a masterpiece of dramatic tension that here becomes a small symphony.

The work of this restless, decadent, and pessimistic 1990s dandy finds its definitive form in the monumental Songs Of Betrayal (Projekt, 1995), for which he is assisted in arranging by keyboardist Mark Balderas and other friends.
The overture of E. 2nd St and the five interludes (Solitude) immediately give the work an austere tone. Yet despite the profusion of arrangements, the true protagonist is the voice. Indovina is a macabre and intense baritone, in the lineage of John Cale and David Bowie.
His songs are small symphonic poems, perfectly balanced between melody and harmony. In his tragic and dynamic staging, the tradition of progressive rock is especially alive, even extending to the use of symphonic orchestra instruments. The results are often spectacular, as in the epic anthems Another Fifty Miles and All That Cuts Today, perhaps the two masterpieces of his career. In the most complex scores, or the most unsettling scripts, a morbid passion for classical music comes to the fore: This Forgotten Love transfigures the Renaissance madrigal, and Blue transforms church music.
Yet the roots remain in folk ballads, approached with rock’s grit and emphasis: it is no coincidence that echoes of Jethro Tull are heard throughout the work, especially in aggressive tracks like Let The Darkness In.
Indovina’s hundred personalities overlap chaotically in the confusion of his paranoias, spanning a spectrum from the most bombastic Pete Hammill to the most blissful Donovan, from the chansonnier of Mr Storyteller to the storyteller of Where Our Weakness Lies, from the piano lied of Forever to the harpsichord sonata of I Wonder Why. The role that suits him best, that of the histrionic and damned, wounded and shattered, shines in all its perverse light in the melodramatic ballads The Silent Dance and Sad I Cry, where Indovina molds them borrowing steps from medieval dances.
The songs trace a progression toward ever more depressed and hallucinatory mental states, culminating in the desperate cry of This Forgotten Love and the extreme spasm of Emptiness (“for it is not death but emptiness that I face,” to a martial cello rhythm).
In the coherence and monolithic nature of Indovina’s moral Calvary, each song represents a stage in his titanic struggle for redemption. The ruins upon which his "Passion" is built shine with a dim yet intense light.

Fourteen Thousand Three Hundred Eighty Four Days Later (Triple X, 1998) is a live album.

Solemn Sun Setting (Triple X, 1999) is vastly inferior to its predecessor. My Denial, March On and Solemn Sun Setting are sung like murder ballads by Nick Cave, but without the lyrical depth or the vocal skills of the Australian bard. On the other hand, Somewhere has the catchy hooks that Cave never had, while it is arguable whether the REM-ian I Cannot Believe and The Great Pretender are clever or shameless.
It doesn't help that the arrangements are sometimes weak (the tribal drumming of The Ways And Wounds, the blues-rock syncopation of To Love Her).
However, there is a parallel album, made of the softer songs, the neoclassical elegies that dig deeper into the human psyche: the piano-and-violin lied A Single White Rose, the melodramatic Loves Way, the delicate, strings-based baroque dance of The Truth About Gina. Unfortunately, the egos that blended magically on the previous work here remain separate and conflicting.

Momentos En El Tiempo (Noise Kontrol 2002) collects live acoustic performances.

Basically a concept on Love (the universal idea) and sexual relationships (the imperfect, earthly implementation), Cause And Effect (Projekt, 2002) is a stately, at time magniloquent, recapitulation of Indovina's lyrical and musical themes, this time devoid of any gothic overtone. Both the arrangements and the execution are impeccable. The production is loud and crisp. The melodies are consistently captivating without being trivial. While Indovina is no Jim Morrison or Nick Cave, his delivery is persuasive and sympathetic.
The album includes three of his best cover songs ever: his voice injects an overdose of Leonard Cohen-ian mournful tenderness into Emmylou Harris' Bang The Drum Slowly, over martial drums and female whispers; then dips the mediterranean aria of Lonely into the smoky atmosphere of a cabaret, replete with Brech-Weill cabaret piano (but so assertive that it threatens to explode in a Beethoven sonata); and closes the album with Leonard Cohen's Dance Me To The End Of Love.
That magic is not matched by the other songs, but the rousing, anthemic, fast-paced I Am Not Here, that soars over a joyful instrumental bacchanal (sounding like a more sinister Julian Cope), the catchy vocal refrain and punchy guitar riff of Goodnight Sweetheart , the decadent aria of Madame Hate's Mad Search For Love (borrowed from the first Velvet Underground album), the majestic The Mystery (harking back to Bob Dylan's Blonde On Blonde), are as canonical as Schubert's lieder.
Indovina's exploitation of formulas of country (Look At Me Now ) and blues (Quiet Desperation ) are no less effective.
The only drawback is a number of frivolous selections towards the end, that perhaps were not necessary to fullfil this album's mission.
Carefully avoiding the tired cliches of pop music, Indovina tends to his emotional wasteland with the proud sensitivity of a priest.

Indovina abandoned Human Drama for Sound of the Blue Heart, which released Beauty? (2006) and Wind of Change (2009).

Indovina resurrected Human Drama for Broken Songs for Broken People (2017) and Blurred Images (2021).