28th February 2025
Christopher Nosnibor
It seems quite remarkable that Pink Turns Blue are still going a full forty years on from their formation in Berlin in 1985. Starting out as a duo consisting of Thomas Elbern (vocals and guitars), Mic Jogwer (vocals, bass and keyboards) and a drum machine, they’re considered a part of Germany’s first wave of gothic rock.
The history of goth is certainly a divergent one: the hotbed of dark post-punk that was Leeds in the early 80s spawned a host of bands approximately simultaneous with the emergence of The Cure and Siouxsie and the Banshees, and Germany latched on to them and The Sisters of Mercy early on – so in relative terms 1985 feels like being late to the party. But at the same time, this was a peak year for goth across the continent.
As a personal aside, despite being deep into my goth once I discovered The Sisters and The Mission in 87/88 (late? I was 12/13 and simply too young to be into anything other than Duran Duran and Madness in 84-85) my introduction to Pink Turns Blue was 1994’s Sonic Dust, which was floating around at the second-hand record shop I worked at on weekends. It very much sounded like the indie stuff of the time, but perhaps with a dark edge, but gave no hint of the band’s history.
Since then, they’ve returned to their roots somewhat, and Tainted (2021) was a dark, brooding masterpiece which largely went under the radar, largely like the band’s output as a whole. But while latter-day acts like Editors and Interpol draw the media and commercial attention, Pink Turns Blue just keep on. And Black Swan is a classic addition to their catalogue.
The chiming, picked guitar of ‘Follow Me’, brings an instant pang of melancholy. The rippling synths and crisp drums make everything tight and the sadness begins to permeate. It’s a wistful, reflective sensation: this is where Pink Turns Blue excel. Their songs are drenched with an aching weight.
Jogwer’s clipped vocal delivery sits perfectly with the rolling bass and insistent rhythms, which underpin guitars which wash and chug in neatly-orchestrated duels. And so it is that Pink Turns Blue make music that’s dynamic, exciting, and sad, at the same time.
Single cut ‘Can’t Do Without You’ is simultaneously perfect pop and melancholy indie, and ‘Dancing Wirth Ghosts’, another single, brings the jangle of The Sisters’ First and Last and Always in a style that’s reminiscent of ‘Walk Away’ and ‘No Time to Cry’. Because it’s still possible to be pop and intense and claustrophobic. ‘Fighting for the Right Side’ steps things up and punches hard.
‘Why Can’t We Just Move On’ reminds me more of Slow Readers Club, dark-inflected indie / alternative, with a vibe that balances mellowness and melancholy with a certain tension, and this is really where Pink Turns Blue excel. The title track – by far the album’s longest song, clocking in at nearly six minutes – really taps into emotional undercurrents with its downtempo, reflective styling. There’s no one thing that one can identify as the thing – it’s all about the mood, the delivery. It goes beneath the surface, resonates on a level that’s beyond the articulation of cause and effect: it’s simply achingly sad, but at the same time, utterly beautiful.
Pink Turns Blue have a quite unique take on mid-80s post-punk / goth, and unlike many of the bands which emerged from the class of ‘85-’87, they don’t conform to the clichés to the tropes, the template which became predictable and tedious so quickly, and yet has endured, with every other band doing doomy baritone, aping Craig Adams’ bass pinned to a thumping drum machine. And this is integral to their enduring appeal. They don’t carbon copy The Sisters of Mercy, they’re not another Rose of Avalanche. Yes, they do incorporate certain elements, as ‘Please Don’t Ask Me Why’, with its thumping bass groove and chorus-heavy guitars evidences, but at the same time, they do something different and sound uniquely Pink Turns Blue, and it’s not only the German inflection. Again, it’s not easy to pinpoint the difference: the simple fact is that it’s tangible. Black Swan is a great album: it’s consistent, it’s got mood and feeling, and has something that’s just beyond reach, and that is magic.
AA
Aural Aggravation 