“We were fuelled by white-hot anger and a burning desire for revenge” – Martyn Ware on new memoir ‘Electronically Yours’

Ahead of an upcoming hometown appearance at Off the Shelf Festival, Human League and Heaven 17 founding member Martyn Ware discusses his recently released memoir ‘Electronically Yours: Vol. 1’ with Exposed.  

Interview: Joseph Food

What inspired you to pen your memoirs?
Covid and lockdowns, really. I’d been thinking about it for a couple of years, but finding the time to do it properly was difficult. I didn’t want to use a ghost writer. I was stuck in the house and I’ve always tried to run my life in a way that when adversity comes along, I’ll try to make an advantage out of it. On and off, it took about a year and a half.

The book begins with your childhood, a largely happy one though not without its challenges, and you speak warmly of your parents throughout. Was it emotional revisiting those times?
It was only as I got older, and met many more people, that I realised I had a special upbringing in that my family loved each other and really enjoyed each other’s company. There were the usual arguments that parents have, which were always about money, and that was tricky because there was no other way my dad, the breadwinner, could earn any more money. He was working every hour that God sent anyway. So, it was tough in one sense; but in terms of the emotional elements of family, we were quite rich.

That grounding and upbringing has remained with you and informed your politics today. Something that shines through in the book is how principles are quite important to you, whether that’s politics, the type of music you want to create or support for a childhood football team. Once a root has taken hold, it’s quite difficult to pull out?
Yes, I’m not a big fan of equivocation. I’ve been living in London for 40 years now, in the belly of the beast; it’s often a place of politicking and ambivalence. It’s the very opposite of a place like Sheffield, where honesty is largely a given. It’s safe to assume that if you walked into your average shop that A: people would be friendly to you, and B: that you’ll be able to take what they say to you at face value. It’s helped to inform my sense of right versus wrong, which I’ve hopefully imparted to my children, and even in business there’s one rule: no arseholes. I was cancelling arseholes before the term was popular. [Laughs]

As a socialist moving to London with a successful band in the 80s, throw in the boom of Thatcherism and a rising yuppie culture, did you feel like you stood out like a sore thumb at times?
Not really, because people of our age in London in that time were largely left-wing. The clubbing, music and arts scene was largely based around a healthy disregard for the incoming government. Of course, you had to deal with the sort of people who ran large record labels at times, but I’ve never had to have them as friends.

How do you view the Labour Party today?
Oh, it’s fucked. I was excluded from the party for some spurious reason. During the Corbyn era, I was an activist for the party, knocking on doors around Camden, going to a lot of boring meetings, going through the whole process. I was even considering standing as an MP at one point. Ironically, Keir Starmer was my MP in Camden. I didn’t trust him because he was one the MPs who tried to make Corbyn stand down. He was roasted at the CLP meeting after this but only 20 minutes was allowed for criticism. Things went on, I met him, and I thought there was a chance he might have reformed; he was saying the right things and looking at ways to unite the party. Then as soon as he got in, he reneged on everything. I can’t support the party as it is. There’s need to be a socialist party in Britain, and Labour isn’t it.

School-wise, you went from Pye Bank to King Ted’s, which you describe in the book as a bit of a culture shock, none more so than when you bumped into Phil Oakey for the first time. You write about disliking school and finding it all a bit restrictive.
I’d never really mixed in those types of circles, and what occurred to me in the first and second form at King Ted’s was how many people at a young age were already fixed on becoming a dentist or an accountant or a lawyer, as that’s what their parents wanted. That just struck me as a depressing prospect, having your life mapped out for you in that way, and I almost had an allergic reaction to that predetermination of fate. I didn’t know I was going to be a musician, but I was motivated by anything creative and learning new things. And ironically, the place to learn wasn’t school.

It was a case of taking it upon yourself, and you started expanding your horizons in a creative and cultural sense through your friendship with Phil.
Yes, Phil was more worldly than me. He’d grown up in a more middle-class environment and had access to a lot of books and materials that I didn’t have. It meant l learned a lot from Phil, who was not only my best friend but, in a sense, a type of mentor even though we were the same age. Together we learned a lot about various experiences: growing up, girls, drugs and the broader world out there. Then another big influence was the Meatwhistle, a council-funded youth drama venue which changed my life. I met a lot of kindred spirits there – Glenn Gregory, Ian Marsh, Ian Reddington, Paul Bower – and it provided a safe space for creativity. That’s where we started off forming daft bands like Underpants, VDK and the Studs, Dick Velcro and the Astronettes. The metaphor I’d use for those early bands is like seasoning the wok before it’s ready to cook. Another epiphany was reading Brian Eno in the NME saying that rock’n’roll was dead, how all you needed was a tape recorder, a microphone and a synthesiser.

It makes you think of the importance of those publicly-funded spaces in inspiring the next generation of bands and creatives.
Absolutely. Safe spaces for young people to be creative, to be able to develop their craft and ideas are vital. It’s the opposite of what those in power want to see: people being able to develop original thinking outside the box. It’s seen as a threat. The destruction of provision for the arts in education is a terrible thing and it needs to change.

There’s a bit of a ‘Power of Grayskull’ moment when you describe getting your first synth, followed by creating ‘Being Boiled’ and later auditioning Phil as lead singer. That’s when things started moving up a notch.
Yeah, it was Paul Bower who encouraged us to send a demo off to Bob Last who was running the Fast Product label. To my surprise, he said he wanted to put it out, which led to a Jon Peel session and a few early gigs in Sheffield.

I believe there’s still a blue plaque at Psalter Lane Art College commemorating that first gig. What do you recall about it?
Well, I can tell you now, people weren’t coming because they’d heard that we were great live. We had no idea what we were doing live. That gig we did with a backing tape, me and Ian stuck behind these synthesisers and Phil with no stagecraft at all. To jazz it up a bit, we got some televisions showing static in the background because that looked arty. But yeah, it was hardly an electrifying performance.

Another early gig was at The Limit with none other than Def Leppard on the bill. Was that a more memorable performance?
Another interesting one. I recall we’d recently seen Devo at City Hall, so we copied the white boiler suits on stage (Phil didn’t do it). I’d say that was our first proper gig and we were well received. I remember Def Leppard coming on, lead singer stripped to the waist with a black wooden cross around his neck, and I’m thinking, ‘Fucking hell. This is why we’re fighting the synth wars, to get rid of this stuff.’

Were you a Limit regular back in the day?
Yeah, I distinctly remember seeing the Cabs [Cabaret Voltaire} play there are few times. To be honest, I was a bit intimidated of the place; it was a bit of a too cool for school hangout. I think I had a bit of imposter syndrome in there.

When the success came, did you ever struggle with imposter syndrome as a musician?
Not really. As soon as we put a record out, I thought that we should start taking ourselves seriously. Then when record labels started sniffing around, it felt like we were the captains of our own ship.

I suppose when David Bowie comes to a gig and afterwards says that you’re the future of music, it can be difficult to keep your feet on the ground.
[Laughs] I like to think we were always quite good at being down to earth. We were at the time, anyway. I think it was a bit later on, when Phil was being fed the narrative that he should be a massive popstar, that it began to change a bit. I think, with the benefit of hindsight, he thought he could be a massive popstar – and I suppose time showed he was right!

Another epiphany was reading Brian Eno in the NME saying that rock’n’roll was dead, how all you needed was a tape recorder, a microphone and a synthesiser.

Of course, the book goes into the break-up of The Human League. Was it cathartic to get it down in detail?
Well, I’ve spoken about it a lot, but this is the most detail I’ve gone into. Of course, the book had to go through the lawyers, and during the editing process I was asked if I wanted to go into so much detail about the day of the split. But I was resolute about how I was there, knew precisely what happened and have witnesses to back it up. So, if anyone out there wants to discuss or dispute it, come at me.

That, of course, eventually led towards the iconic Monumental Studios face-off. Where in a small former vets off West Bar Human League recorded Dare during the day and Heaven 17 were recording Penthouse and Pavement during the night shift.
That needs a blue plaque! I think it’s just a bit of derelict land at the moment. They were doing 10am to 10pm, and we were doing 10pm to 10am. We were fuelled by white-hot anger and a burning desire for revenge. It was a powerful thing – we wrote ‘(We Don’t Need This) Fascist Groove Thang’ within a week of being together!

Ironically, after being forced out of your original band, you formed Heaven 17 with Glenn Gregory and seemed to be in a much happier place. When you look back on your journey since, is there anything that you’re particularly proud of?
Absolutely. I mean, I wasn’t unhappy in The Human League, but Heaven 17 gave us a lot more freedom to explore stuff. Glenn is one of my oldest friends – this year it’ll be 50 years since we met – and we’ve achieved some great things: Temptation, Let Me Go, Penthouse and Pavement as an album. I always wanted to do something with longevity and we’re still selling just as many tickets now as were decades ago. Long may it continue!

Martyn Ware will be speaking about his memoir, ‘Electronically Yours: Vol. 1’, at Off the Shelf Festival on 26 October at Sheffield Theatres. Tickets and more info on the event available here.

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