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**Devo - Q: Are We Not Men? A: We Are Devo!**
★★★★☆

In 1978, five art school misfits from Akron, Ohio unleashed one of the most bizarre and brilliant debut albums in rock history, forever changing the musical landscape with their robotic rhythms, dystopian philosophy, and those unforgettable red plastic hats. "Q: Are We Not Men? A: We Are Devo!" didn't just announce the arrival of a new band—it declared war on rock and roll convention itself.

The seeds of Devo's revolution were planted in the industrial wasteland of 1970s Ohio, where Kent State art students Mark Mothersbaugh and Gerald Casale witnessed the infamous campus shootings in 1970. This traumatic experience, combined with their shared fascination with B-movies, corporate culture, and societal decay, birthed their theory of "de-evolution"—the idea that humanity was regressing rather than progressing. By the mid-70s, they were performing in yellow hazmat suits, deconstructing classic songs, and preaching their gospel of controlled chaos to bewildered audiences.

Enter Brian Eno, the experimental mastermind who recognized Devo's genius and agreed to produce their debut. Eno's cosmic touch perfectly complemented the band's mechanized madness, creating a sound that was simultaneously futuristic and primitive. The album's 11 tracks pulse with a nervous energy that feels like a computer having an anxiety attack, all angular guitars, metronomic drums, and Mothersbaugh's pinched, alien vocals delivering cryptic proclamations about modern life's absurdities.

The opening salvo, "Uncontrollable Urge," remains one of their finest moments—a twitchy, compulsive anthem that sounds like Gary Numan jamming with The Ramones in a factory. Its stop-start dynamics and robotic precision set the template for everything that follows. But it's their demented cover of The Rolling Stones' "(I Can't Get No) Satisfaction" that truly announces their subversive intentions. Stripping away all the song's swagger and sexuality, Devo transforms Jagger's lustful plea into the mechanical complaints of a malfunctioning android, complete with staccato guitars that sound like industrial machinery.

"Jocko Homo," the album's philosophical centerpiece, poses the titular question with deadpan urgency while building to an almost tribal crescendo. Meanwhile, "Mongoloid" tackles disability and societal conformity with a sensitivity that's both touching and unsettling, proving these weren't just art school pranksters but genuine social commentators. "Praying Hands" showcases their softer side without abandoning their clinical approach, while "Space Junk" and "Sloppy (I Saw My Baby Gettin')" demonstrate their ability to craft genuinely catchy hooks within their rigid framework.

This debut established the blueprint that would define Devo's career across their three essential albums. While "Q: Are We Not Men?" introduced their concepts with raw, nervous energy, 1980's "Freedom of Choice" would refine their sound into something more accessible without sacrificing their edge. That album's "Whip It" became their unlikely MTV hit, proving that even the most experimental artists could find mainstream success in the right cultural moment. Their third crucial release, 1982's "Oh, No! It's Devo," pushed their synthesizer obsessions even further, creating their most cohesive statement about technology's relationship with humanity.

The influence of this debut cannot be overstated. Without Devo's mechanical rhythms and conceptual audacity, there would be no Kraftwerk crossover success, no Talking Heads art-funk, no Nine Inch Nails industrial rock. They predicted our current digital dystopia decades before smartphones and social media, understanding that technology would simultaneously liberate and enslave us. Their visual aesthetic—those energy dome hats, matching jumpsuits, and robotic choreography—became as influential as their music, inspiring everyone from The White Stripes to OK Go.

Nearly five decades later, "Q: Are We Not Men? A: We Are Devo!" sounds less like a historical curiosity and more like a prophetic warning. In an era of algorithmic playlists and artificial intelligence, their questions about human agency and technological dependence feel urgently relevant. The album's 37-minute runtime flies by in a blur of controlled chaos, leaving listeners both energized an