Gary Numan – A People’s History

Author:Richard Bowes

I enjoy an oral history, but this is something different: a people’s history, drawn from the contributions of some 500 “Numanoids” whom Bowes asked to submit stories, recollections and photographs. Even though I was reading an advance PDF, it is clearly a beautiful book, with 250 excellent pictures and a crisp, uncluttered layout. There are no chapters, just a chronological sequence of anecdotes, reflections and stories, drawing on TV appearances, gigs, record releases and personal interactions with the man himself.

Naturally, virtually all the contributors regard Numan as a visionary and musical genius. The only dissenting voice is from Numan himself. On a recent Word in Your Ear podcast about the book, he described himself as “essentially a guy who wears make-up for a living”, and spoke of the challenge of coming to terms with such adulation. Numan remains amusingly self-deprecating but respectful, if disbelieving, about what he represents to his fans—in a way that clearly has not even nibbled at the edges of, say, David Lee Roth’s consciousness. In the introduction, Numan writes: “I will never think I’m special … Same goes for any suggestion of being talented … Nonetheless, reading this book has reminded me that, in my own small way, I have contributed to the lives of many people, and that makes me very happy.”

There are wonderful stories across nearly 500 pages. It starts with OMD’s Andy McCluskey calling Numan “an incredibly lovely human being” and describing Numan’s role in helping OMD when they were an unknown support act, as well as in recording their first album.

There is research suggesting that musical preferences are often formed around the age of 14—the work of Adrian North and David Hargreaves, seeing as you ask. It is borne out strongly here, with story after story showing how an early discovery became a lifetime affiliation or obsession. For some, it begins with “Are ‘Friends’ Electric?” breaking through; for others, it comes much later. The common thread is their age at the point of discovery.

The timeline kicks off with fans recounting early encounters in 1977 at youth clubs, confusion about how Tubeway Army differed from The Tubes, and testimony from a few people involved with Beggars Banquet, TA’s first label and clearly a very different proposition from label mates The Lurkers. Numan’s performance of “Are ‘Friends’ Electric?”—first on Top of the Pops, then on The Old Grey Whistle Test—is described repeatedly as rejecting not just rock ’n’ roll, but punk, anything guitar-related and most of the reference points that had come before. Accounts follow of how Numan usurped the Sensational Alex Harvey Band and Judas Priest, among others, in fans’ affections, and of the lifelong connections that followed.

The stories span the world. A common theme is the pre-internet challenge of finding record releases, tour dates or even band members’ names. Numan’s android-like stage persona and synth-dominated sound proved very effective at alienating parents and the music press alike. Yet his early adoption—possibly pioneering use—of recorded messages on a fan-club phone line, occasionally answered in person, faxed Q&As and personal responses to letters suggested someone who was anything but android-like in real life.

Throughout the book there are references to Numan’s warmth at meet-and-greets, despite finding routine social interactions difficult. Even more frequent are mentions of the kindnesses shown to fans by Gary’s mother, Beryl, and his wife, Gemma. Letters sent to Gary with gifts or healthy-eating advice would elicit a reply, and often an invitation to an event or a pre-gig chat. There is even an account of how his mother stood with fans outside Uxbridge Magistrates’ Court when Gary faced a charge—later dismissed—of carrying an offensive weapon: a rounders bat. When Gary announced he would retire from touring, the profound sense of loss some fans felt was quickly forgiven when he changed his mind.

One consequence of this being a fan history rather than an oral history is the lack of counterpoint, or indeed of insights from Gary or his band members. Bowes has included a wide variety of contributors, which includes producers and engineers, each with a perspective unique to them, but ultimately their accounts can feel quite similar when collected together like this. As someone only tangentially acquainted with Numan’s work, I missed a cast list or discography to help orient me—a sign, perhaps, of whom the book is really aimed at.

One theme that recurs throughout is the abuse Numan received from music journalists. It inevitably still rankles deeply with the contributors, and my instinct was initially to discount some of the angst, given the nature of the book. Then I reread the Hibbert “Who the Hell” piece from 1991 and marveled at how pleasant Numan was to Hepworth and, by association, Ellen, on their podcast, given they commissioned a total hack job: one that took every opportunity to insult and mock. An online trawl revealed little better from rent-a-quote and Bowie obsessive Paul Morley, who has since changed his tune, and others at the NME. Paula Yates called him “a fat white grub”. The contrast with Rolling Stone and other US writers and outlets is stark: they could be equally pompous, but were less inclined to judge you according to which art school you attended.

I digress. The book got me streaming Numan’s work to discover what lies beyond “Cars” and “Are ‘Friends’ Electric?”, and left me with week-long earworms from “I Die: You Die” and “Films”. I am not sure the book will hold much appeal for those only casually acquainted with Gary’s work, but I imagine it will be catnip to fellow Numanoids.

Length of Read:Long

Might appeal to people who enjoyed…

Not so much enjoyed but who identify as a Numanoid

One thing you’ve learned

Why hearing “On You Feet Or On Your Knees” at age 14 marked me for life

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