But from a critical standpoint, it's a shame because the group's self-titled debut is far more in the realm of post-punk and early experimental electronica than that of Jordache and plastic earrings.
The album opens with "Modern Love is Automatic." A cold rushing wind blows across the speakers before a Berlin-ish synth line descends. An aggressive, but sturdy drum and bass line march forward, not dissimilar to Joy Division's early programmed-music experiments. Finally, vocalist Mike Score sings in a restrained, robotic voice, lamenting that in the modern (80s) age, emotions are as much driven by marketing and corporate interests as they are true affection. Certainly, such a sentiment is more in line with Zounds than Kajagoogoo.
Likewise, "Modern Love is Automatic" could have been slipped into a mid-period Bauhaus album and no one would have been the wiser. Score somewhat mimics the ghostly wail of Peter Murphy while gothic, intricate guitar work floats in the background. Much like Murphy, Score laments the loss of a love and vows to hold true for all time, giving the slightest of nods towards vampirism - something only a young man could sing and get away with. The song closes with multi-tracked wailing which has, in time, become the stock vocal effect of Goth albums.
The album's true masterpiece and darkest cut is "Standing in the Doorway." A Kraftwerkian pulsation starts the piece as the sounds of a machine blip and beep. Then suddenly, a thunderous snap cuts off the machinery and the song tears into what could be called a more punk Tubeway Army jam. As a sinister line creeps in the background, Score screams at an unidentified woman "Standing in the doorway, I can see you!" It's not clear if he's a stalker or a husband come home too early, but his menace seems genuine. He says little else because really, that's the only threat he needs to make.
Even "I Ran," which is often thought of as the song of the 80s, becomes a different creature when listened to in the context of its surrounding brothers. Where it has become a song used as the backdrop for cruising one's convertible along a shore line, in isolation, it is a much darker song. Opening with a minor chord synth rumble, the song then snaps forward and tells the tale of grasping for an idealized version of something and unable to grasp. Perhaps because the chorus is so catchy, rarely does the listener stick around for the end, where the guitars crumble before self-destructing in a violent din.
A Flock of Seagulls' first album isn't necessary a long lost punk classic. It's classic, of course, but not strictly punk, or even post-punk. But without question, it has elements of those genres and uses them to their greatest extent. Perhaps that's why this album is so threatening to modern music critique. Instead of giving a full chance to a multi-textured and clever combination of darker music, it's easier to focus on silly haircuts and file it away neatly in a drawer, mislabelled as it may be.