When Suicide released their self-titled debut in 1977, the world didn’t know what to make of it. Nearly half a century later, some people hearing it for the first time still don’t.
Suicide became the first band to join Marty Thau’s newly launched label, Red Star Records. Thau, who had previously held roles at Paramount and Buddah Records, sold off his stake to Richard Gottehrer in order to start Red Star. After listening to a demo tape from Suicide, Thau was intrigued enough to request a live performance, and from then on he was convinced, bringing them on board and tapping Craig Leon to help co-produce their debut.
By the time Suicide entered the studio, years of live performance had honed their material and most of the songs were already fully realized. The entire album was recorded in just four days.
Alan Vega on vocals and Martin Rev on minimalist electronics crafted the most aberrant form of punk rock the world had encountered. No guitars, no live drums, no trace of conventional band setting. Rev’s skeletal synth lines throbbed like an arrhythmic pulse, while Vega’s unhinged delivery swung between crooning and deranged ranting.
Ghost Rider sets the formula; a relentless, repetitive track that feels claustrophobic and liberating. It draws from the timeless pulse of the blues, only to warp it beyond recognition, trapping the listener in a tight, hypnotic loop. Rocket U.S.A. carries the album’s skeletal sound into a more dystopian register, celebrating decadence and madness. Cheree offers a tender shift, spotlighting Vega’s croon, and paired with Johnny, forms a duplet that anchors Suicide’s rockabilly roots. Girl erupts with psychosis, paving the way for Frankie Teardrop, a ten-minute descent into horror. It tells the story of Frankie, a desperate factory worker driven to murder and suicide, his screams slicing through the monotonous beat like a nightmare bleeding into reality. It’s uncomfortable listening and that’s the point of it. The track dares to confront the alienation, violence, and despair that polite society prefers to ignore, and it doesn't hold back. Che, the cryptic closer named after Che Guevara, offers the abstract ending the album needed after Frankie’s deathly hullabaloo.
Frankie Teardrop was inspired by a newspaper story Alan Vega read about a factory worker who, after losing his job, murdered his wife and child before taking his own life. Vega improvised the lyrics, attempting to inhabit the psyche of both the worker and his family. Though it stands as the album’s imposing centerpiece, it’s also a piece of a larger puzzle, one designed to disturb and provoke. On that front, Suicide went on to shatter expectations.
The UK embraced the album upon release, while the US largely rejected it. But Suicide didn’t slow down. They followed their debut with another explosive record and continued on a bold, creative path, both as a duo and in their solo ventures.
In retrospect, Suicide’s debut stands as one of the most radical statements in modern music, underground or not. It's a record that obviously defied categorization, alienated many, and quietly seeded the blueprint for entire groups of artists, scenes and genres to follow.
ZR