| Pitchfork |
The introductory video on the DVD half of this reissue talks about the legacy of the Art of Noise-- mentioning Daft Punk, the Chemical Brothers, and Massive Attack. It's easy to see why the group would be proud of such lustrous descendants, but it actually sells them short. What's interesting about Art of Noise-- certainly the first phase of their project, which culminated in this debut album-- isn't so much their children but their parents. This was a pop band named after a 1913 art manifesto, deliberately aspiring to inherit the explosion of early 20th century conceptual creativity and make Futurists and Dadaists rub shoulders with b-boys and clubbers. The group's own arch-conceptualist, music writer Paul Morley, apparently planned an album that would be a grand collage of the century's sounds-- what he actually got was an acrimonious split.Morley may, in his words, have only "made the tea" in Art of Noise, but he dominates the visual half of this reissue: introducing videos, reading out essays onstage, continually playing the ideas man and provocateur even if his incessant wordplay's an acquired taste. The group's videos are proof that this apparent pretension came with a smart payoff. "Beat Box" is recast as the soundtrack to a city with lively, evocative footage of 1980s London cut to its rhythm. "Moments in Love" mixes dancers and tortoises, grace and absurdity. And most famously "Close (to the Edit)", the dream-logic realization of the group's ideals, with a creepy punker kid commanding anonymous wreckers as they smash cellos and pianos to pieces. "Close (to the Edit)" reminds you that Art of Noise were trying to be funny and sometimes scary-- neither of them standard pop ambitions in 1984 or now. In fact, what's striking about this album is the range of moods and effects it musters, while remaining an intensely playful record. It follows the savage, martial arrangement of Cold War bricolage "A Time for Fear (Who's Afraid)" with a teasing version of "Beat Box" where the track's purposeful electro keeps getting diverted by shiny new sounds. On the title track, a snooty voice asks, "Can I say something?" and the music refuses to let it even say that, gleefully slashing the sample to ribbons. The album flirts with annoyance and even boredom-- the way the stately, repetitive beauty of "Moments in Love" lulls you before unwinding itself into stranger places. But they could also be thrilling. Their immediate context was hip-hop, but their kind of funk-- best experienced on "Close (to the Edit)"-- has a brash rigor to it, calling to mind tireless pistons and marching feet....full text |
| Allmusic |
| Art of Noise's first full album, (Who's Afraid Of?) The Art of Noise!, consolidated the future shock of the earlier EPs and singles in one entertaining and often frightening and screwed-up package. Rarely has something aiming for modern pop status also sought to destroy and disturb so effectively. The most legendary song is still "Close (To the Edit)," benefiting not merely from the innovative video but from its strong funk groove and nutty sense of humor in the mostly lyric-less vocals, not to mention the "hey!" vocal hook the Prodigy would sample for "Firestarter." Its close cousin, the title track, brilliantly blends a nagging bass synth, echoed drum, and percussion fills and constantly shifting vocal cut-ups, random noises, and strange melodies. They're just two highlights on this prescient release, though. Part of the thrill of Who's Afraid is the sense of juxtaposition and playing around, something still not very common in music and even less so in the pop music genre. The blunt political protest of "A Time for Fear (Who's Afraid)" and the more abstract "How to Kill," achieved via appropriate sampling, slams right up against the rough beat sonics and serene orchestration. If such material had appeared on Rephlex or even DHR in the mid- to late '90s, few would have been surprised. Things aren't all dour and gloomy, though; "Beat Box" captures heavy grooves from said source with quirky vocal bits and soft vibes. Patented Trevor Horn orchestral stabs surface throughout, while Anne Dudley's knack for gentler shadings and dramatic arrangements also comes through clearly, something that would surface ever more strongly in her freelance production career. The full ten-minute version of "Moments in Love" is perhaps her triumph here, a seemingly pretty instrumental turned increasingly strange....full text |
| Ztt |
| Zang Tuum Tumb and Salvo Music are proud to present Who's Afraid of the Art of Noise? the Deluxe CD + DVD Edition. The fearful audio disc: features the classic 1984 album remastered and the first release ever of AoN's BBC Radio 1 live sessions. The first, for Saturday Live in November 1984, includes studio interviews with JJ Jeczalik, Gary Langan, Anne Dudley and Paul Morley and live renditions of Close (to the Edit), Moments in Love and Beat Box (which morphs, only this once, into Video Killed The Radio Star). The second, recorded for Janice Long in March 1985, includes the From Science to Silence rendition of Donna. The afraid DVD: features Anton Corbijn and Zbigniew Rybczynski's classic videos for Beat Box and Close (to the Edit), a documentary in two parts ('so what happens now?' and ‘so what happened next?’), nine TV adverts including Kenneth Williams' legendary spoken word sessions, previously-unseen live recordings including AoN 4.0 live at Coexistence, the full-length, made-for-cinemas Closer (to the Edit), and cinema trailers voiced by Patrick Allen. Who's Afraid of the Art of Noise? (Deluxe) is released on 05 September 2011. Click to the Catalogue section for the full track list, and click to to the Zang Tuum Shop to pre-order....full text |
Art of Noise lyrics
|
| |||||||

The introductory video on the DVD half of this reissue talks about the legacy of the Art of Noise-- mentioning Daft Punk, the Chemical Brothers, and Massive Attack. It's easy to see why the group would be proud of such lustrous descendants, but it actually sells them short. What's interesting about Art of Noise-- certainly the first phase of their project, which culminated in this debut album-- isn't so much their children but their parents. This was a pop band named after a 1913 art manifesto, deliberately aspiring to inherit the explosion of early 20th century conceptual creativity and make Futurists and Dadaists rub shoulders with b-boys and clubbers. The group's own arch-conceptualist, music writer Paul Morley, apparently planned an album that would be a grand collage of the century's sounds-- what he actually got was an acrimonious split.