In Euclidean geometry, any straight-line section can be extended ad infinitum. But putting the math where the rock is proves difficult with ’80s dub/post-punk quartet The Lines. They were the musical equivalent of Einstein’s disproof of Euclid’s line theory in 1919; bending genre like gravity bent light rays. The disheartening fact remains: Rico Conning (vocals/trombone), Joe Forty (bass), Nick Cash (drums), and Mick Lineham (guitar) barely left a dimple in England’s music scene. Self-regulating themselves to the doldrums of the perpetual second act, the avant-punk-funkers remained in the cerebral shadows. It’s a typical post-punk story if you’re not The Fall or Mission of Burma, and Acute Records’ compilation proves that this apparent non-success was wholly The Lines’ fault. They just weren’t very good spokesmen for their dubby (“The Landing,” “Bucket Brigade”) and Can-esque freak-outs (“Flood Bank”).
The highly informational 16-page booklet enclosed with Acute’s second foray into The Line’s truncated oeuvre reveals a band always on the brink of financial collapse. Two unearthed (and highly rare) press interviews reveal a forthcoming Conning. The Syd Barrett-esque frontman detested synthesizers just about as much as he hated the press comparing his band to XTC. His thoughts in the August ’81 issue of Zig Zag are very telling: “[Our] music takes time. The songs demand you to get involved. People don’t take time, that’s why they don’t get into the records. They don’t grab you at first. But they’re long lasting. We’re happy we’re making something that won’t be fashionable. The last thing we want to do is affiliate ourselves to any cult though. That’s an albatross.” The slightly snarky author of the piece put it best with a curt aperçu during his introduction: “The Lines would never have a backlash when there hasn’t been a frontlash.”
The fundamental shackle for The Lines, and invariably Flood Bank, is that we only got to see the group on the verge of something larger than themselves. They groped in the shadows of their new environs (Blackwing studios) with the New Wave producing/engineering team of Eric Radcliffe (Depeche Mode, Erasure, Yazoo) and John Fryer (Cocteau Twins, Depeche Mode, Nine Inch Nails). At the end of their first album, 1981's Therapy, The Lines were “at the end of a stage,” and not merely metaphorically; it was where they flourished. Naturally, the cover of this new compilation is a photograph of the band playing live.
Therapy took them seven days to make, but their followup, Ultramarine, didn’t go for broke as much as it could have. It’s a brick to the face of synth-pop, sheathed with bubble wrap. Regardless, both LPs -- shuffled for Acute's “pulp fiction mix” -- garner some of your attention. The strange tracklisting is initially jarring but makes sense in light of the original material; every Lines album is a compilation if you think about it. These two early works catch Furty and Conning raging against the conservative establishment elected in South London circa 1979 and welcoming infants into their households. That poignant equilibrium becomes audible when the bottomless bass and skittering drum groove of “Stripe” turns into a high-spirited whistle and piano street shuffle. “Tunnel Party”’s ramshackle drumming is readily outfitted for Bacchanalian anarchy, while Lineham’s propulsive rhythm guitar gives the party some legroom.
Therapy and Ultramarine swing between imagist krautrock interloping and grisly street machinations. These shifts are only subtle because of Conning’s improvisational vocal performance, and he nails the dichotomous relationship on the shimmering “Fury.” Of course, the downright experimental tone bursts on the buzzing “Disenchanted” tend to get on your nerves. Despite this, Conning’s stentorian trombone on “Ursa Major” and “Airlift” are other emotive highlights. Both albums focus on the slowly unfolding rhythms of the street over an academic/commercial melodic structure.
There’s a mathematical exactitude to The Lines, thanks in no small part to Forty’s beats, but also an overall jazzy mood. Flood Bank is a rare find overflowing with post-punk for the street and the bedroom. If you own this and Acute’s excellent singles compilation Memory Span, you pretty much have The Lines’ whole discography. The Londoners were definitely the clichéd “so underrated it hurts” stories of the ’80s but managed to carve their emotions into the pavement. Between 1978 and 1983, they released five singles, one EP, and two LPs to mixed reviews and little sales. Time invariably concealed their trajectory, as these few records have become rare and expensive collector's items, never released on CD until now. Let’s hope gravity rewrites history again just like it did with geometry.
1. Come Home
2. Stripe
3. Airlift
4. Blow a Kiss
5. Indistincticide
6. Bucket Brigade
7. Tunnel Party
8. Ursa Major
9. The Landing
10. The Gate
11. Have a Heart
12. No Hiding
13. Flood Bank
14. Fury
15. Ultramarine
16. Disenchanted
