In a pre-release interview with DJ Nicky Horne, Peter Gabriel did himself an injustice by describing the theme of his third solo effort as “the history of a decaying mind.” I will correct his inaccurate, self-deprecatory explanation in the form of a research paper abstract:

“Peter Gabriel Melt: Evidence of the Prevalence of Collective Brain Decay in the Human Race Manifested in the Yearning to Evoke Fear in Others, Poor Self-Control, Unhealthy Competition, Neurotic Self-Diagnoses, Prejudice, The Use of Torture Against Political Prisoners and How Family Dysfunction Leads Abused and Neglected Children to Seek Recognition by Attempting to Assassinate Public Figures.”

Contemporary and retrospective reviews of Melt focus primarily on the gated drums, the unusual rhythms, the diverse moods, the sonic variety, and the presence of famous musicians who joined the party. I’ll get to the drums and rhythms in a minute, pronounce Melt a “headphoner’s delight,” congratulate Peter for his mood-setting skills, and mention the players if and when they do something interesting. None of the reviews I read cited the factor that I believe sealed the deal and led the public to embrace the album, giving Peter his commercial breakthrough as a solo artist.

Melt is the first Peter Gabriel album (including those with Genesis) where I fully understand what the fuck he’s going on about in the lyrics.

During most of their existence, Genesis was a “music first” band, working out compositions together before proceeding to the lyrics, with mixed results. That approach changed during the creation of The Lamb Lies Down on Broadway, when Gabriel attempted to write all the lyrics himself and reached out to the others only when he hit a bump in the road or found himself running out of time. Gabriel was nearly always late with the lyrics, due in part to bouts of writer’s block and the simple truth that writing lyrics did not come naturally to him. Peter’s effort on his final album with Genesis can be politely described as “difficult to decode.”

I’ve always imagined that Peter Gabriel’s brain is unusually wired, with a network of complex neuron pathways devoted to creative activity. Sometimes it appeared that the pathways in his frontal lobe handling language (Broca’s area) reached the point of overload, resulting in garbled lyrics. Fortunately, there are many available methods for calming the brain, and all of them involve some form of grounding.

This is pure speculation, but on Melt there was one major change to his usual composition process that may have helped him find grounding: “rhythm first.” Instead of sitting down at the piano or strumming a guitar to come up with suitable chord patterns and melodic lines, Gabriel first worked out the rhythms on a programmable drum set recommended by synth master Larry Fast, then added various layers of sound (synthetic and natural) to create a musical template that resulted in a clear picture of a song’s bones, making it easier for the musicians to come up with a compatible approach for their contributions. In addition to establishing greater discipline and sharper focus, the “rhythm first” approach also provided Gabriel with a stronger foundation on which to build his lyrics. Instead of writing on a wobbly table with a broken leg, he allowed the rhythm to be his guide—and the rhythms on Melt are universally compelling and inspiring. During the recording process, much of Gabriel’s energy was devoted to rhythmic issues—the use of gated drums, his refusal to let his two drummers use cymbals, and the introduction of African-influenced beats. As Ed O’Brien observed regarding the basis of Radiohead’s aptly titled album, “rhythm is the king of limbs,” and that rhythm “dictates the record”— and the same is true of Melt.

Then again, it might have finally dawned on Gabriel that song lyrics are essentially poems and poems contain various metric forms. Whatever the reason, Melt represented a huge leap forward in his lyrical abilities. He was always able to add drama to his music and his performances, and integrating meaningful lyrics served to give purpose to the drama.

I should note that despite his breakthrough, Peter was late with the lyrics once again. A psychic in San Francisco told me that artistic types (which she called “artisans”) have difficulty grounding themselves in reality because unlike the rest of us with only one or two channels of information, artisans have five channels through which they receive all matters of stimuli in two channels while designing new artistic projects in the other three (or something like that).

I think Peter Gabriel is proof that not all psychics are full of shit.

*****

Side One

“Intruder”: Except for the super stupid ones that earn a send-up from the MST3K crew, I loathe horror movies. I’ve never understood why people would want to be frightened, especially since there are more pleasant ways to release endorphins, adrenaline and dopamine. I watched one horror movie when I was in my pre-teens and swore to never watch another one. I checked the list of the thirty top-grossing horror flicks and I’m happy to say that I have never seen any of them—not Psycho, not Silence of the Lambs, not Night of the Living Dead, not The Shining—nada.

But I love “Intruder” because it makes me laugh.

What triggers my laughter is the sheer ingenuity of the arrangement, a wondrous creation of dissonance, skipped beats, weird noises, horror-film soundtrack clichés, tension-building techniques and ominous, pounding drums supporting an Oscar-worthy performance by Peter Gabriel as “The Creep.”

The lengthy intro opens with Collins pounding a six-beats-to-the-bar of two tom whacks-snare-two tom whacks-snare. On the first snare hit, guitarist David Rhodes creates the classic creaking sound by scraping the bottom string on an Ovation acoustic and continues to creak until shifting to a straight Bb power chord. Gabriel enters with a dissonant piano picking out the notes of a flatted Ab fifth chord, then disappears, leading to an interminable repetition of Collins’ drum pattern and that goddamned power chord and omigod! I’m going mad! I feel a split second of relief in the initial presentation of the main motif, but when I hear the processed sound of women wailing (actually men who sound like women), followed by men shouting in unison, I know that something wicked this way comes. Aaargh! It’s The Creep!

I know something about opening windows and doors
I know how to move quietly to creep across creaky wooden floors
I know where to find precious things in all your cupboards and drawers

Peter’s delivery of those lines in a hushed voice tells us that The Creep is in the house, savoring the moment of entry. The chord pattern here involves a descending pattern of Bbm/F#/F with a truncated bar at the end. When a rough flatted fifth chord supplants the soft acoustic guitar of the first verse, The Creep clips the telephone wires in the next verse, explaining that “a sense of isolation inspires me.” A reprise of the motif-wails-shouting pattern is followed by a segment where Collins keeps banging away while a synth enters with a chimey pattern that makes me feel like my body is covered with creepy-crawlies. Someone’s in here! Where is that mother fucker?

I like to feel the suspense when I’m certain you know I am there
I like you lying awake, your baited breath charging the air
I like the touch and the smell of all the pretty dresses you wear

Oh, yeah? You lay one finger on my stuff and your nuts will be crushed like onions in a food processor!

But he never comes . . . well, he very well might have had an orgasm or two, the sick prick:

Intruders happy in the dark
Intruder come
Intruder come and leave, leave his mark, leave his mark

Talk about weird brain wiring . . .

Since Peter Gabriel has a long record as an advocate of human rights, his portrayal of a guy suffering from acute mental illness was likely an act of holding the mirror up to society and its inability to accept and deal with the problem. We have a wealth of data on the causes of mental illness, but lack the will to eradicate it because the sanctity of family and the protection of parental rights are embedded in the laws of many nations, shielding couples who should have never become parents. Those protections failed to protect twenty children at Sandy Hook, killed by a sick fuck whose mother thought it would be good for him to learn how to use firearms.

Before we move on, I feel the need to bitch.

Wikipedia claims that “Intruder” was “the first song to use gated drums,” a claim that any XTC fan will dismiss as absolute nonsense (as did Peter Gabriel). Steve Lillywhite and Hugh Padgham began tinkering with the concept two years earlier on Siouxsie and the Banshees’ The Scream, and continued the developmental process on XTC’s Drums and Wires. It is fair to say that Steve Lillywhite and Phil Collins perfected the technique on Melt, which unfortunately led to the overuse of gated drums in the 80s. I say “overuse” because gated reverb does not make one a better drummer, and few bands had a drummer with the elite skills of Phil Collins or Jerry Marrotta. The “sound of the ’80s” eventually became little more than a gimmick, substituting for true musicianship.

Okay! Done bitching!

“No Self Control”: Gabriel credited minimalist composer Steve Reich’s Music for 18 Musicians as the inspiration for the song, and you can hear that influence in the use of human voices as instrumentation, the introduction of the marimba and the African-influenced beats, but I have to dock him a few points for his use of a bass, which Reich avoided like the plague because he felt that its role as a tonal center limited his musical options. In contrast to the Reich composition, which features long, repetitive passages stuck on a single tone, Gabriel uses familiar pop-rock chords in the verses and a raft of sus4 chords in the bridge.

The introduction featuring Robert Fripp’s growling “burst” guitar in a back-and-forth with Larry Fast’s synth is backed by jazzy figures from Dick Morrisey’s sax in a passage that would have made for a great theme song for a 1950s TV detective show. One might even say that the storyline involves a “case,” but the speedy arrival of Morris Pert’s marimba changes the mood from noir to “busy-busy-busy.”

The case involves a guy suffering from anxiety overload regarding his alleged inability to stop certain behaviors, namely eating too much and hurting his partner. His anxiety leads to sleep deprivation, taking long walks in the rain and experiencing paranoia regarding “hidden silences,” which I interpret as “things out to get him.” To his credit, he claims, “I will call any number, I will talk to anyone,” but to his discredit, he never follows up. Peter’s frantic vocal with just the right amount of echo perfectly captures the guy’s state of mind, which I would describe as “self-induced paralysis.”

But I would not describe him as helpless. Here’s a bit of wisdom from Ivayalo Durmonski from his article “I Have No Self-Control—What Should I Do?”

People often think of self-control as something you either have or you don’t. But the reality is that self-discipline is not a unique object you find somewhere in the arena of life and keep forever by your side.

It’s more of a decision – you either choose to exert self-discipline in the present moment, or you choose to give in to temptation.

Translation: grow up, dickhead.

I believe that Peter shared that assessment in the bridge and “chorus,” when the music becomes doubly assertive with maximum volume, rough guitars and Jerry Marrotta’s unfettered performance on the cymbal-less kit. The bridge finds our hero whining about phantoms that he uses as an excuse for a complete lack of self-responsibility; in the chorus, the verdict is delivered by an ensemble of male judges who sternly repeat the line “No self-control.” Unsurprisingly, the little wimp resumes his whining in the closing verse.

The arrangement you hear is an inventive patch job cooked up by Lillywhite and Padgham:

Lillywhite: That song originally had drums and everything—every sound you hear at any point—on the multi-track all the way through. When we mixed it, we sculpted it. It was like, “Let’s take as much out as we can to make it sound good at the beginning.” So we took everything out and left just the marimba and Phil Collins’ live bass drum, which we gated so you couldn’t hear the rest of the drum kit. [Laughs.] We did about 20 or 30 seconds of the song at a time, with Hugh Padgham at the back of the control room with his headphones on, editing it to the bit before. But we never listened to it—we just trusted him that he did the edit right. I sat at the mixing desk getting the next bit, going, “OK, what should we do now? Let’s do this. Let’s bring in that.” I remember we spent the whole night doing the mix. For the big playback at the end, we brought people in from outside because we knew we had something great. It was like a sculpture. The whole time we recorded it, it had been this big, solid rock. It absolutely came to its beauty in the mix. It was fantastic. Everyone who listened to it was like, “Oh, my god.” That was the song everyone loved, loved, loved at the time.

Many of the song’s interesting effects were created using the “$9.95” speaker, dubbed as such by the band because Fast purchased it for that price at Radio Shack.

Amazing things can happen when people love their work and are given the support to do it.

“Start”: After two songs that come close to exploding the intensity meter, along comes this perfectly lovely intermission with Gabriel and Fast on “string section” synth and Morissey sailing high above with a superb sax solo. In addition to providing a welcome break, the piece features an interesting contrast in the melodic lines, with the sax taking a blues-jazz approach, while the synths take the complementary role with a melody that might be described as pastoral. I love this little break in the action, but this is Melt, and Peter had to get those drums pounding. 

“I Don’t Remember”: Melt comes pretty close to earning the label of “concept album,” as all the songs on side one are about “lost souls,” and side two deals mainly with the state of the world.

The lost soul in this number is apparently the victim of disassociated amnesia. From Healthline: “When you have dissociative amnesia, you have difficulty remembering important information about yourself, such as your name, personal history, or family and friends. Dissociative amnesia may be caused by a traumatic or stressful event, such as being in combat or being the victim of a crime. It usually occurs suddenly and may last for minutes, hours, or days. In rare cases, it may last for months or years.”

Or so he claims. The shrink assigned to him seems to be skeptical, a stance that arouses defensive fury in the “victim”:

Strange is your language and I have no decoder
Why don’t you make your intention clear
With eyes to the sun and your mouth to the soda
Saying, “Tell me the truth, you got nothing to fear”
Stop staring at me like a bird of prey
I’m all mixed up, I got nothing to say

Then again, his outburst may have been triggered by psychobabble or the tendency of some therapists to ask a question and stare at you until you give them some kind of answer.  As is true of many songs on Melt, Peter leaves it to the listener to draw their own conclusions.

Whatever your take, there’s no doubt that “I Don’t Remember” is one kick-ass rock tune with a strong backbeat supplied by Marotta and not one . . . not two . . . but three electric guitars! All three gentlemen (Dave Gregory, Robert Fripp and David Rhodes) contribute on rhythm guitar and Gregory and Fripp get a few solos and counterpoint opportunities. And how about that bass . . . that isn’t a bass! That sound comes from longtime Gabriel collaborator Tony Levin on the Chapman Stick, whose bends, wobbles and straight out punch are a bass whore’s delight.

“Family Snapshot”: After slogging my way through “Supper’s Ready,” I had given up all hope that Peter Gabriel could piece together a coherent narrative, but I guess after reading Arthur Bremers’ An Assasin’s Diary, he thought, “Well, if a guy with a fried brain can tell a halfway decent story, I can do him one better!”

Peter certainly had the advantage here, not only because he could relate the tale through lyrics and music, but his thespian skills gave him a keen appreciation for drama and the ability to portray different facets of a character. That skill was put to good use in this song, for in taking on the role of Arthur Brenner, Gabriel dealt with a mix internal monologues, “you are there” narratives and a flashback, each requiring a shift in tone, perception and mood.

To strengthen the narrative while providing insight into the character, Gabriel essentially created a mini-play in six acts:

Act 1: Motive (voice and piano): The assassin visualizes previous footage from George Wallace rallies where “The streets are lined with camera crews,” noting “Everywhere he goes is news.” In self-response, he tells himself “Today is different” and that he will “make the action/Take snapshot into the light,” savoring the expected news coverage. Gabriel’s voice has been quiet and reflective up to this point, but on the last line, he raises his voice and cries, “I’m shooting into the light,” which I interpret as “shooting into the spotlight,” which is all Bremer truly wanted.

Act 2: Surveillance: (synth, piano, voice, and late sax entry) Armed with transitor radio and watch, Bremer follows the progress of the cavalcade beginning at the four-minute mark. To steel his nerves, Bremer reminds himself of his thorough preparation (“If I worked it out right/They won’t see me or the gun”). At the two-mile mark “they’re clearing the road/and the cheering has really begun.” (Note, I doubt that George Wallace would have drawn a crowd stretching out for two miles, but Peter explained that he introduced imagery from JFK’s assassination to add to the drama).

Act 3: Anticipation (same as above with drums): With the killer’s moment in the sun approaching, the music becomes a touch louder, while deep in the background, rumbling drums mimic an approaching earthquake, indicating Bremer is hoping for a world-changing moment to launch him into the spotlight. He uses the waiting period to further clarify his motive and express his anger at everyone who has ever ignored him, which likely includes all the people on the planet, because who on earth would want to hang out with a self-pitying loser?

I’ve been waiting for this
I have been waiting for this
All you people in TV land
I will wake up your empty shells
Peak-time viewing blown in a flash
As I burn into your memory cells

His rant ends with the words, “I’m alive!” Gabriel’s delivery of that line does not convey triumph, but seething anger and the desire for revenge.

Act 4: The Moment Fast Approaches (rhythm guitar, bass, drums, vocal): Dave Gregory’s staccato power chords backed by Collins on snare and John Giblin on bass convey the imminent arrival of the cavalcade in music that sounds like a heart ready to explode, further heightened by David Rhodes’ crashing guitar swooping in from the left channel. Bremer has some trouble controlling himself, but gives himself a little pep talk since no one else will. 

They’re coming ’round the corner with the bikers at the front
I’m wiping the sweat from my eyes
It’s a matter of time
It’s a matter of will

And “there he is/The man of the hour/Standing in the limousine.”

Act 5: The Moment Arrives (same as above): The music slows a tad to give Arthur the opportunity to spew more nonsense in a “message-in-his-head” directed at Governor Wallace:

I don’t really hate you
I don’t care what you do
We were made for each other, me and you
I want to be somebody
You were like that, too
If you don’t get given, you learn to take
And I will take you

Gee, George sorry to have to do this, but we’re a match made in heaven and I’m sure you won’t mind if I pump a few bullets into your body . . . now smile for the cameras!

Holding my breath
Release the catch
And I let the bullet fly

Act 6: Flashback (synth, voice, piano): As he was immediately captured at the scene, we can assume that this is Bremer awaiting sentencing and reflecting on what drove him to attempted murder:

All turned quiet
I have been here before
A lonely boy hiding behind the front door
Friends have all gone home
There’s my toy gun on the floor

Come back, Mom and Dad
You’re growing apart
You know that I’m growing up sad
I need some attention
I shoot into the light

I have deep ambivalence about this song and Arthur Bremer. I fully support adding several exceptions to the laws that protect parents and I’m sorry that Bremer had a difficult, abusive childhood, but violence is only valid when used in self-defense. Several of the friends I grew up with had shitty and abusive parents, but they figured out that their parents were incapable of helping them, so they had to help themselves and find other mentors to guide them.

From a musical and theatrical perspective, “Family Snapshot” is a masterpiece.

“And Through The Wire”: During my research, I learned that this often-ignored track is a favorite with several bloggers—the album’s hidden gem, if you will. Most devote their assessment to Paul Weller’s no-bullshit guitar and pay scant attention to the lyrics, labeling the piece a “love song” and moving on.

My hyperactive mind thought otherwise. There’s no question that the song deals with a long-distance relationship, but the distance in question could be measured in meters, not miles. The line that first hinted at something more is in the second verse: “Caught in the struggle tight on the rod.” I sensed that the struggle was something more than physical distance or a lousy phone connection, so I searched for related clues and found more than a few. Verse four:

Driving ’round the city rings
Staring at the shape of things
I talk in pictures not in words
Overloaded with everything we said
Be careful where you tread
Watch the wire

And the clincher in the three closing lines:

And through the wire we push out tailor-made speeches
And through the wire we get so strange across the border
We get so strange across the border

Conclusions:

1. The narrator lives in a city with a ring road.
2. The lovers have to be careful about what they say, because someone might be listening in.
3. They live in close proximity to a heavily protected border.
4. He urges her to be careful where she treads and to “watch the wire,” indicating barbed wire or an electrified fence.
5. The “struggle” is the Cold War, the location is Berlin, and part of The Wall was the Signalzaun, “around 500 to 1,000 meters from the actual border, and lined with low-voltage electrified barbed wire which activated alarms when touched or cut.” (Wikipedia) It was possible to talk with someone on the other side via telephone, but the lines were often overloaded, and the calls were consistently monitored by the Stasi. At certain spots, separated couples could catch a glimpse of each other, but conversing or even waving was verboten. The possibility that they could have talked through the electric barbed wire is infinitesimally small, but from a metaphoric standpoint, it emphasizes the pain of separation and the strength of the barriers between them.

So, if you believe the song is about a long-distance relationship carried on over the telephone, you’re right! Just think of the distance as something not measured in miles but in the even more challenging barriers imposed by governments.

Wait! I hear a voice . . . what’s that, John? Oh, yeah. “Imagine there’s no countries.” I’m with you, bro.

Which makes for a perfect segue into the more worldly songs on side two.

Side Two

“Games Without Frontiers”: I have a vague memory of watching Jeux Sans Frontières during one of our visits to Nice when I was a kid, and left thinking, “I will never understand European humor.” I was reminded of the unpleasant experience when binge-watching the fifth season of Endeavour, where in one episode, Morse investigates the murder of one of the participants in the British version of the show, It’s a Knockout. I thought it had to be humiliating for the athletes to engage in competition wearing ridiculous costumes, and couldn’t believe they agreed to participate in the name of international relations.

Back home in the USA, I remember a night when I couldn’t come up with anything better to do, so I sat down with my Dad to watch the Atlanta Summer Olympics. There was a moment when an American won the gold for something or another, and the crowd shouted “USA, USA” ad infinitum. I thought, “How does rubbing it in improve international relations? This is silly!” I will give the Americans credit for one thing: that experience was one of several aha moments that led me to seek a degree in International Relations.

A couple of days later, I shared my thoughts with my mother and she immediately headed for the living room and put “Games Without Frontiers” on the turntable. I was so relieved to learn I wasn’t the only one who thought international competitions were simply “wars without tears,” but there was one line I didn’t understand. Maman couldn’t explain it, so we consulted with my father. “Oh, yeah, I remember that—it’s in a scene from the novel Dispatches about the lives of soldiers in Nam. One of the soldiers pisses on a dead Viet Cong.” My father’s explanation didn’t quite make sense, so I pushed back. “The line is ‘We piss on the goons in the jungle.’ I thought they called them gooks.” My mother stepped in and said, “I doubt Peter Gabriel would have used such an offensive term.” I was okay with that explanation, but I turned to Dad and said, “But this is fiction, right?” “Maybe so, sunshine, but ugly things happen in war, and given what we know about the My Lai massacre, anything’s possible.”

War has always unleashed the worst in the human race and most wars are ignited by competition—trade disputes, territorial disputes, my-religion-is-better-than-your-religion, my-race-is-better-than-your-race, and the ludicrous defense of a country’s “honor.” Gabriel correctly exposed “games without frontiers” as anything but a method of bringing nations closer together, for the very notion validates competitive spirit while rejecting the more healthy orientation of collaboration.

The arrangement is quite compelling, mixing the absurd with simmering tension. Following a countdown set to a synthesized drum pattern and maracas, David Rhodes launches back-to-back upward guitar swoops in each channel. After a brief declining figure from the synth, Gabriel and Fast double down on the synth bass to give Kate Bush a baseline bottom for her four ethereal and perfectly executed repetitions of “jeux sans frontières.” Gabriel enters to introduces the players in the silly game, names that stand for a good chunk of the countries in the EEC. In a brilliant bit of foreshadowing, the next sound we hear is four men whistling a sprightly tune, leading to the lines, “Whistling tunes we hide in the dunes by the seaside.” That moment is close to pure genius, because whistling has a double connotation: it can express “what a beautiful day” but is frequently used in martial music to pump up confidence. Gabriel reminds us that despite the impressive achievements of the human race, we still retain a whole lot of ape-ness in our souls: “We’re kissing baboons in the jungle.” In the chorus, he points out that even the tiniest gesture can lead to a fight:

If looks could kill, they probably will
In games without frontiers, war without tears
If looks could kill, they probably will
In games without frontiers, war without tears
Games without frontiers, war without tears

I learned that there are still people out there who believe the song only dealt with “silly games,” which tells me they never watched the official video. The intended meaning becomes crystal clear in the film.

Hey, John! You still there? What comes after “Imagine there’s no countries?” Oh yes, of course—“nothin’ to kill or die for.” Thanks!

“Not One of Us”: Well, it turns out that even with our irresolvable disagreements, the people of the EU have one thing in common with the people in the USA. We both have the same national pastime! Scapegoating Immigrants!

The arrangement for this piece is pretty straightforward rock ‘n’ roll without too many bells and whistles, so the focus here is on the singer and the lyrics. Please note that the words could apply to all forms of exclusivity, whether it’s race, color, wealth, gender, class, religion, sexual orientation . . . I could probably fill up a whole page with examples of human squeamishness in regards to differences. As Quark told Odo in the DS9 episode, “Chimera,” fear of “different” is wired in our DNA:

We humanoids are the product of millions of years of evolution. Our ancestors learned the hard way, that what you don’t know might kill you. They wouldn’t have survived if they hadn’t jumped back when they encountered a snake coiled in the muck. And now millions of years later, that instinct is still there.

True, but it’s equally true that we can overcome base instincts by developing an orientation towards learning about differences instead of cowering in fear. I think Peter, who sings the lyrics with passionate urgency, would agree with me:

It’s only water
In a stranger’s tear
Looks are deceptive
But distinctions are clear
A foreign body
And a foreign mind
Never welcome
In the land of the blind
You may look like we do
Talk like we do
But you know how it is

You’re not one of us
Not one of us
No you’re not one of us

I see the fundamental problem as poor change management on the part of our leaders, both political and business leaders. Sudden change never works. Even lottery winners often wind up in therapy because the change in the way they are perceived by others is too much to take. Since our leaders generally have their heads up their assesses, I suggest that people take a tip from Otis Redding and try a little tenderness when encountering an immigrant, for they’re experiencing the same difficulty with change that you are struggling with.

“Lead a Normal Life”: In an interview with Mojo mentioned on Songfacts, Gabriel described his motivations in creating this piece:

This song about mental illness led to questions asking if Gabriel was suffering from the condition himself. He told Mojo magazine in September 2013: “I think the assumption was, you couldn’t write about something like that unless you had experience of it.” Gabriel added: “I later discovered I had depression around the time of my marriage breaking up. But maybe there was something more there (long pause). Like actors in films, they say there is always something in a role that they need to work out. But mental illness was interesting to me.”

Instead of expressing himself in words (the six lines of lyrics portray a friend or family member visiting the patient in a psychiatric hospital), he uses music to convey what he imagined to be the experience of someone suffering from mental illness. The music consists of two primary moods. The dominant pattern consists of a flurry of notes from Morris Pert’s malimba mixed with a slower, melancholy tune from Gabriel’s piano. This pattern is occasionally interrupted by two plunges into darkness employing the power of the synthesizer. This combination evokes feelings of anxiety, sadness and dissociation, resulting in a very effective mood piece. The visitor’s words reek of condescension, likely due to discomfort with something they don’t understand (or wish to understand):

It’s nice here with a view of the trees
Eating with a spoon?
They don’t give you knives?
‘Spect you watch those trees
Blowing in the breeze
We want to see you lead a normal life

Whatever that is.

“Biko”: When Peter sent the mix tapes to Atlantic Records, the brass rejected the album as a non-commercial piece of crap. They bitched about Robert Fripp’s lead solos and wondered if Peter had lost his mind. The head of A&R even went so far as to recommend dropping Gabriel from the label. Worst of all, Turkish immigrant Ahmet Ertegun questioned “Biko” in particular: “What do people in America care about this guy in South Africa?” Initially shocked by their reaction, Gabriel recovered from the slam and signed an agreement with Mercury Records to release the album in the USA.

Ertegun was probably right: not many Americans give a shit about what’s happening outside America’s borders. He failed to appreciate that Gabriel was attempting to make people aware of the grim situation in apartheid South Africa to ignite interest in an ongoing crime against humanity. Alas, Americans were more worried about stagflation and gas shortages to give a shit and were about to send pro-South-Africa Ronald Reagan to the White House. The single failed to chart (and didn’t do all that well in the U.K., topping out at #3), but Gabriel’s intent had nothing to do with commercial success (he donated all the earnings to the Black Consciousness Movement in South Africa). He simply wanted to expose a wrong that desperately needed to be righted.

Fortunately, the album sold well just about everywhere, so Peter did manage to get his message across. Later he would refer to the song as “a calling card announcing I was interested and prepared to get involved.” After the album’s release, he explained his perspective:

“It’s a white, middle-class, ex-public schoolboy, domesticated, English person observing his own reactions from afar. It seemed impossible to me that the South Africans had let him be killed when there had been so much international publicity about his imprisonment. He was very intelligent, well reasoned and not full of hate. His writings seemed very solid in a way that polarized politics often doesn’t.”

The piece opens with a clip from the anti-apartheid song “Ngomhla sibuyayo,” which translates to “On the day we return” (meaning the return to full membership in society). The music is appropriately funereal, dominated by a mournful bagpipe and the gently relentless beat from a Brazilian surdo drum played by Phil Collins. The first verse sets the scene in journalistic form:

September ’77
Port Elizabeth, weather fine
It was business as usual
In police room 619

Oh Biko, Biko, because Biko
Oh Biko, Biko, because Biko
Yihla Moja, Yihla Moja (come spirit)
The man is dead, the man is dead

Gabriel avoided mention of the sheer gruesomeness of Steve Biko’s death, but I refuse to do so. Psychopaths need to be exposed as such.

Exactly what happened has never been ascertained, but during the interrogation, he was severely beaten by at least one of the ten security police officers. He suffered three brain lesions that resulted in a massive brain haemorrhage on 6 September. Following this incident, Biko’s captors forced him to remain standing and shackled to the wall. The police later said that Biko had attacked one of them with a chair, forcing them to subdue him and place him in handcuffs and leg irons. (Wikipedia).

Peter did warn the South African government that they would have to pay the price for their sick hatred and use of violence:

You can blow out a candle
But you can’t blow out a fire
Once the flames begin to catch
The wind will blow it higher . . .

And the eyes of the world are watching now
Watching now
Watching now
Hey, hey, hey!
For all those suffering in South Africa
Hey, hey, hey!
For Nelson Mandela
Hey, hey, hey!
For all prisoners of conscience

The piece ends with another anti-apartheid song that became the “We Shall Overcome” equivalent in the movement. Here is an English translation:

What have we done?
Our sin is that we are black?
Our sin is the truth
They are killing us
Let Africa return

People have accused Peter Gabriel of becoming too “political,” which is total bullshit. Humanitarianism is not political, nor should it ever become political. It is about recognizing that all human beings have the right to live a decent life free from fear, violence, hunger and disease—and that we all have a shared responsibility for securing those rights for everyone. I applaud Peter for having the courage and the willpower to use his fame to remind people of those responsibilities.

“Biko” was the perfect closing piece for an album devoted to raising consciousness regarding the many challenges we face in creating a world free of war, hate and misery. Though we’re in a helluva mess today, listening to Melt confirmed my decision to do whatever I can to achieve those goals, and I hope it inspires you as well.