In December 1978, David Bowie stood in a Sheffield audience watching a trio of art-school synth obsessives called The Human League and told the NME afterward that he had "seen the future of pop music." He was two years early. Formed in 1977 around synthesizer players Martyn Ware and Ian Craig Marsh and singer Philip Oakey, with slide-projectionist Adrian Wright directing the visuals, the group spent two albums making deliberately alien, synthesizers-only records before a 1980 split sent Ware and Marsh off to form Heaven 17. Oakey rebuilt around two teenage singers, Joanne Catherall and Susan Ann Sulley, and producer Martin Rushent, who knew how to make those same cold machines sound like pop. The result, 1981's Dare and its chart-topping "Don't You Want Me," proved Bowie's prophecy could also be a hit single.
Before The Human League owned a synthesizer between them, Ware described the epiphany that pushed the trio toward electronic music: an NME interview where Brian Eno argued rock and roll was dead and all you needed was "a synth, a mic and a tape machine" — "we all believed him," Ware said. The band that resulted modeled itself on one act above all others. "Who were the important group of the 20th century?" Oakey has asked. "It's Kraftwerk, the first ones to get hold of the new technology and do something fantastic of their own with it."
listen forKraftwerk's "The Model" moves in perfect, unhurried lockstep — a synthesizer pulse with no swing in it, and a vocal that reports rather than performs. Play "The Black Hit of Space," from the period Ware admits the trio "tried to avoid anything that sounded similar to us apart from Kraftwerk," and listen for that same refusal to rush: the sequencer holds its line even as the track distorts and screeches around it, discipline surviving inside deliberate chaos.
Phil Oakey names one night, around 1972, as the hinge of his life: seeing Roxy Music live. "I saw Roxy Music one night... it completely changed my life," he has said, and the debt runs deeper than admiration — when the group wanted to release music outside the confines of an album, they copied Roxy Music's own move directly. "Our favourite bands like Roxy Music did singles that were not part of an album, like 'Pyjamarama'... that was the rationale behind 'I Don't Depend On You,'" Ware explained.
listen forRoxy Music's "Pyjamarama," a 1973 non-album single, is arch and stylized, Bryan Ferry crooning over a track that sounds aware of its own artifice. "I Don't Depend on You," released the same way under the alias The Men in 1979, borrows that same posture: a deadpan vocal riding a deliberately synthetic backing, a band announcing it can be a pop group and a piece of conceptual art at once.
Martyn Ware has said the group "were obsessed with disco music," Giorgio Moroder above all, and Oakey told Record Mirror in 1981 the band wanted to sound "like ABBA or Donna Summer" — code, at the time, for Moroder's pulsing productions. The influence stopped being secondhand in 1984, when Moroder produced and co-wrote Oakey's solo hit "Together in Electric Dreams": the disco producer and the synth-pop singer he had shaped from a distance, finally in a studio together.
listen forMoroder and Donna Summer's "I Feel Love" runs on one relentless synthesizer pulse under a voice that floats above it, barely touching the beat. "Together in Electric Dreams," the song Moroder built for Oakey a few years later, keeps that same throbbing four-on-the-floor foundation but hands the melody to a colder, more detached baritone — the producer's sound, finally paired with the voice it had shaped from a distance.