Wire - Nine Sevens [1-9 UK 7'']

Legendary post-punk act Wire kicked off a new reissue series on Record Store Day 2018 in the U.K. with the release of Nine Sevens, a box set collecting nine 7-inches spanning 1977 to 1980; seven singles, plus one that was never released, and a bonus EP that came with early pressings of 154. The box set was limited to 1,500 copies and released in the U.K. only via the band’s own label, Pink Flag. The 7-inches are “freshly remastered from the original archive analogue sources,” and come in the original picture sleeves, according to the band. The box features a cover concept by band member Bruce Gilbert. According to the Record Store Day listing, the band pulled many of these tracks from digital outlets such as Spotify until after the box set went on sale. The singles were individually released digitally at some point after Record Store Day, but will not be compiled into a single release, according to the band. 

Wire -154

Named for the number of live gigs Wire had played to that point, 154 refines and expands the innovations of Chairs Missing, with producer Mike Thorne's synthesizer effects playing an even more integral role; little of Pink Flag's rawness remains. If Chairs Missing was a transitional album between punk and post-punk, 154 is squarely in the latter camp, devoting itself to experimental soundscapes that can sound cold and forbidding at times. However, the best tracks retain their humanity thanks to the arrangements' smooth, seamless blend of electronic and guitar textures and the beauty of the group's melodies. Where previously some of Wire's hooks could find themselves buried or not properly brought out, the fully fleshed-out production of 154 lends a sweeping splendour to "The 15th," the epic "A Touching Display," "A Mutual Friend," and the gorgeous (if obscurely titled) "Map Ref. 41°N 93°W." Not every track is a gem, as the group's artier tendencies occasionally get the better of them, but 154's best moments help make it at least the equal of Chairs Missing. It's difficult to believe that a band that evolved as quickly and altered its sound as restlessly as Wire did could be out of ideas after only three years and three albums, but such was the case according to its members, and with their (temporary, as it turned out) disbandment following this album, Wire's most fertile and influential period came to a close.

Wire - Chairs Missing

Chairs Missing marks a partial retreat from Pink Flag's austere, bare-bones minimalism, although it still takes concentrated listening to dig out some of the melodies. Producer Mike Thorne's synth adds a Brian Eno-esque layer of atmospherics, and Wire itself seems more concerned with the sonic textures it can coax from its instruments; the tempos are slower, the arrangements employ more detail and sound effects, and the band allows itself to stretch out on a few songs. The results are a bit variable -- "Mercy," in particular, meanders for too long -- but compelling much more often than not. The album's clear high point is the statement of purpose "I Am the Fly," which employs an emphasis-shifting melody and guitar sounds that actually evoke the sound of the title insect. But that's not all by any means -- "Outdoor Miner" and "Used To" have a gentle lilt, while "Sand in My Joints" is a brief anthem worthy of Pink Flag, and the four-minute "Practice Makes Perfect" is the best result of the album's incorporation of odd electronic flavours. In general, the lyrics are darker than those on Pink Flag, even morbid at times; images of cold, drowning, pain, and suicide haunt the record, and the title itself is a reference to mental instability. The arty darkness of Chairs Missing, combined with the often icy-sounding synth/guitar arrangements, helps make the record a crucial landmark in the evolution of punk into post-punk and Goth, as well as a testament to Wire's rapid development and inventiveness.

Wire - Pink Flag

Perhaps this is the most original debut album to come out of the first wave of British punk, Wire's Pink Flag plays like The Ramones Go to Art School. Song after song careens past in a glorious, stripped-down rush. However, unlike the Ramones, Wire ultimately made their mark through unpredictability. Very few of the songs followed traditional verse/chorus structures, if one or two riffs sufficed, no more were added; if a musical hook or lyric didn't need to be repeated, Wire immediately stopped playing, accounting for the album's brevity (21 songs in under 36 minutes on the original version). The sometimes dissonant, minimalist arrangements allow for space and interplay between the instruments; Colin Newman isn't always the most comprehensible singer, but he displays an acerbic wit and balances the occasional lyrical abstraction with plenty of bile in his delivery. Many punk bands aimed to strip rock & roll of its excess, but Wire took the concept a step further, cutting punk itself down to its essence and achieving an even more concentrated impact. Some of the tracks may seem at first like underdeveloped sketches or fragments, but further listening demonstrates that in most cases, the music is memorable even without the repetition and structure most ears have come to expect; it simply requires a bit more concentration. And Wire are full of ideas; for such a fiercely minimalist band, they display quite a musical range, spanning slow, haunting texture exercises, warped power pop, punk anthems, and proto-hardcore rants, it's recognizable, yet simultaneously quite unlike anything that preceded it.

Pink Flag is a fractured snapshot of punk alternately collapsing in on itself and exploding into song-fragment shrapnel. It's clear you're not getting a typical 1977 punk record from the opening seconds of "Reuters", an echoing bass line that quickly comes under attack by ringing but dissonant guitar chords. The tempo is arrested, lurching along to the climactic finale when Colin Newman, as the narrating correspondent, shouts "Looting! Burning!" and then holds out the lone syllable of "rape" twice over descending chords, which grind to a halt over chanting voices. It's all the bombast, tension, and release of a side-long prog opus in just three minutes.

As if to underscore that this isn't a predictable album, the next song, "Field Day For the Sundays", rages to a close in just 28 seconds. The band acknowledges the thin line between advertising jingles and pop songs on the 49-second instrumental "The Commercial", but also write a few genuinely hummable songs, like "Three Girl Rhumba", whose guitar part is actually more of a tango, and the more identifiably punk "Ex-Lion Tamer". "Strange," meanwhile, makes the mistake of sticking around, only to be eaten by spacey amp noise and quivering ambience; a taste of things to come.

Wire were born at the dawn of punk, but they became the quintessential art band. In the three closing years of the 1970s, the English quartet had one of the greatest opening runs of any band, shifting to post-punk before punk began to go stale and forging three masterpieces in a creative furnace so hot it had burned out by the end of 1980. Those albums (Pink Flag, Chairs Missing, and 154) still sound remarkably fresh.

Wire - Dot-Dash

Through the three distinct stages of their career, Wire has never been known to give much thought to their singles. Their records from the mid-80s and early-00s should probably be heard in “best of” compilations to avoid the occasional missteps and their three flawless albums from the 70s are so densely packed and perfectly constructed that listening to individual cuts seems somewhat odd. But one single sticks out in Wire’s discography, both because it’s one of the best tracks from their first incarnation and because it’s only appeared in one or two places over their entire forty-year span.

Released in June 1978, “Dot Dash” fills the already brief gap between 1977’s minimalist punk masterpiece Pink Flag and its expansive, synthy-er follow-up Chairs Missing from later the same year. As expected, “Dot Dash” toes an interesting line between these very different albums and shows what exactly Wire was working on in the months between LPs. On one hand, its sound isn’t too far from Pink Flag’s side B tracks like “Fragile” or “Mannequin.” But picking it apart a bit more shows Wire embracing a wider sonic pallet than Pink Flag offered and edging subtly closer to the more fleshed-out Chairs Missing.

At around the 1:20 mark, the song opens up with an actual guitar solo (sort of) and these chiming pings continue until the end, adding another layer of background texture. Now that doesn’t sound like much, but considering how crushingly stark and focused Pink Flag was, “Dot Dash” drops a pretty big hint at what Wire’s sound would morph into over the next couple years. Combined with a relative lack of aggression and strong pop sensibility, perhaps it was ultimately a lesser known single that foreshadowed the unique brand of experimental post-pop Wire focused on for much of the 80s.