ABC
Biography
ABC emerged from the industrial grime of Sheffield in 1980, transforming from earnest post-punk purists into the most glamorous contradiction in British pop. What began as a fanzine called Modern Drugs, penned by music obsessive Martin Fry, evolved into one of the decade's most sophisticated acts when Fry convinced local band Vice Versa to let him front their outfit. The chemistry was immediate and intoxicating.
Fry's transformation from scruffy music journalist to gold-lamé-clad frontman remains one of pop's most audacious reinventions. Alongside Mark White on guitar and Stephen Singleton on saxophone, ABC crafted a sound that married the intellectual rigour of post-punk with the hedonistic swagger of disco, all wrapped in production so lush it practically dripped velvet. They weren't just making music; they were constructing a parallel universe where sophistication and silliness could coexist in perfect harmony.
Their 1982 debut, "The Lexicon of Love," stands as a monument to pop perfection. Produced by Trevor Horn at the peak of his powers, the album transformed heartbreak into high art. Every track sparkled with orchestral arrangements courtesy of Anne Dudley, while Fry's vocals swooped between crooning vulnerability and theatrical grandeur. "Poison Arrow" announced their arrival with a fanfare of brass and attitude, but it was "The Look of Love" that truly captured their essence – a song so impossibly romantic yet knowing that it seemed to wink at its own melodrama.
The album's success was staggering, reaching number one in the UK and spawning four top twenty singles. Here was a band that understood pop music's dual nature: the need to seduce and the desire to subvert. They wore their influences – from Roxy Music to Chic – like designer suits, never hiding their artifice but celebrating it as art itself. In an era of earnest new wave bands, ABC dared to be fabulous.
"Beauty Stab" followed in 1983, a deliberate attempt to shed their pretty-boy image for something grittier. The gambit partially misfired commercially, though tracks like "That Was Then But This Is Now" showed their songwriting hadn't dulled. The band's lineup began shifting, with Singleton departing, leaving Fry and White as the core partnership. They rebounded spectacularly with 1985's "How to Be a Zillionaire," which spawned the irresistible "Be Near Me" – a slice of blue-eyed soul so perfectly crafted it could have been beamed in from an alternate timeline where Motown never left Detroit.
ABC's influence extended far beyond their chart positions. They proved that intelligence and accessibility weren't mutually exclusive, that pop music could be both critically acclaimed and commercially successful without compromise. Their visual aesthetic – those gold suits, the art deco imagery, Fry's perfectly coiffed hair – helped define the MTV generation's understanding of pop stardom as total performance art.
The late eighties brought diminishing commercial returns but no loss of artistic ambition. Albums like "Alphabet City" and "Up" showcased a band unafraid to evolve, incorporating elements of house music and contemporary R&B while maintaining their essential sophistication. Fry's battle with Hodgkin's lymphoma in the early nineties temporarily derailed the band, but his recovery coincided with a creative renaissance.
The new millennium found ABC embracing their legacy while refusing to become museum pieces. Albums like "Skyscraping" and "Traffic" proved they could still craft immaculate pop songs, even if the charts no longer beckoned. Their live performances became celebrations of an era when pop music reached for the stars and occasionally grasped them.
Martin Fry continues to tour and record as ABC, now essentially a solo project backed by rotating musicians. The gold suits may have given way to more subdued attire, but the voice remains unmistakable – that distinctive croon that can make even the most cynical listener believe in love's transformative power. Recent albums like "The Lexicon of Love II" have seen Fry revisiting his greatest triumph with wisdom earned through decades of experience.
ABC's legacy rests not just in their undeniable classics but in their proof that pop music could be simultaneously smart and stupid, sophisticated and silly. In a world increasingly divided between high and low culture, they remain gloriously, defiantly both. They didn't just make great pop music; they made the case for why great pop music matters.
