Gary Numan and Cliff Richard are clearly kindred spirits. One was born Gary Webb, the other Harry Webb. Both have strangely youthful appearances, though one owes it to tennis while the other looks as if he owes it to the blood of virgins. Both are deeply unfashionable yet have fiercely loyal fan bases. And a quick fact check reveals that Numan's "Cars" replaced Cliff's "We Don't Talk Any More" at Number One 32 years ago last month.
And that's where the similarities end. Dead Son Rising is a Frankenstein's monster of an album, made up of old demos with new bits grafted on. The biggest influences are industrial music as commercialised by Nine Inch Nails and, inevitably, the plane-loving popster's old hero, David Bowie. On "We Are the Lost" the infectious beat slams like a jackhammer. The Trent Reznorish sense of monochrome unease would not feel out of place on the soundtrack of a Saw movie. The lyrics speak of rebirth, as hinted in the title, and also of loss, betrayal and Numan's old faithful, alienation: "Sometimes friends are not the friends they seem", he croons in his trademark drone on "Not the Love We Dream Of".
It's the aforementioned Bowie that casts the darkest shadow over this clinical, crisp album. Numan has never shaken off the Thin White Duke comparisons and he is not going to start after three decades. The disquieting opening track "Resurrection" feels as if it is channelling Scary Monsters and Super Creeps while Low's eerie, otherworldly mood hangs over numerous atmospheric sequences.
The electropop pioneer has not been at the cutting edge of music since he toppled Cliff from the top spot in 1979. Dead Son Rising may not trouble the upper echelons of the charts, but it is Numan doing what he does best. Drawing on like minds, adding his own brand of self-conscious urban angst and delivering something gloriously haunting. "Summer Holiday" it ain't.
Watch Gary Numan perform "Cars"
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