SOUNDS
Album of the week!
This long-awaited full-length debut by Leeds electro warriors WMTID (Well Martin This Is Different) is a primitive but tune-packed treat. Oozing from the twisted mind of Richard Rouska, tracks like Tin Man and Zombie Girl weirdly fuse euphoric techno thrills with an ominous low-end rumble and vocals that bark like loudhailer warnings, while the hammering hardcore of Old Friend scares the life out of you, even as it compels you to throw mutant-acid dancefloor shapes. Big beats, thumping hooks, dizzy tunes and defiance, Fuck Fear! is the terror-pop record The Horrors threatened to make but never did.

While the WMTID biography reads like a who’s who of the gothic underground of 1980’s Leeds, this third album proper – their first in 30 years – is the brainchild of Richard Rouska alone. Standout ‘The Prince Is Dead!’ comes in like a Moroder/Wolfgang Press juggernaut, and elsewhere ‘Fuck Fear’ is primarily rooted in contaminated punk disco, veering from the twisted industrial nostalgia of ‘Tin Man’ and ‘Zombie Girl’ to the yearning choral anger of ‘Fists’. Electrifying stuff.
MJ, Electronic Sound Magazine.


In the beginning WMTID (aka Well Martin This Is Different) was a joke…and I’m still laughing. The Old Grey Whistle Test called WMTID: “…the worse band in the Universe”. Ranting poet Seething Wells added that WMTID were all the Smiths fault. Attempts to redeem myself from such salacious and quite accurate slurs included: sacking the band (except myself), casting a benign offering (‘Blood Like Water’) onto the otherwise memorable Rouska compilation ‘Raging Sun’, abbreviating the name to WMTID (which means less than nothing) and calling on favours from those with a track record e.g. members of The Cassandra Complex, Utah Saints, Son of Sam et al.
The next few years brought moments of madness, friction and pleasure. However, something was amiss … but I paid no heed to the advice on toilet walls. Whilst I didn’t control, let alone understand the means of production, there were few opportunities to realise music that I would be satisfied with. And so it came to pass: numerous offers of greatness were snatched away by the hands of passing strangers (I didn’t believe in fairy tales) and collaboration was for the faint-hearted. I’d quite Frank Worthington had enough of muddy compromises and woolly indecision; and don’t get me started on Dave Goodman! WMTID fast became a waste of my finite time and energy. Let the record show two WMTID albums (‘The Electric Church’ and ‘Pale Saint’; and NO this was NOT Christian rock let the record in Discogs show!), two singles, contributions to compilations, a little light scandal; and there comes a point when you actually have to stop wanking your ego and put bread on the table. One day I promised I would return but on that one day in 1990 I knew that pledge to be a waste of breath.
Flash forward several lifetimes and enter COVID stage left, right and centre. I dusted down my old SWOT analysis card and under total recall spat out: “threats become opportunities and your weaknesses can be a real source of strength!” For sure I was at a stage in my life when I was at long last free of domestic and career hindrance to entertain such wild thoughts. Thanks to COVID I had all the Louis Armstrong time in the world – providing I could stay alive... and three of the Bee Gees couldn’t manage that! There was no long planned trips abroad for me. No toasting my laurels under a hot sticky sun. Like everyone else I was fucked!
So, with time to think in abundance I reconsidered all I’d held dear. (Now it’s starting to sound like a sermon). It’s not fun watching others record, mix or have control producing music born of your ideas and paid for by your money. Don’t get me wrong, quite often, help has been welcomed. Sometimes it has been used by others to take control and take credit. After a while you get sick of it…see the diminishing creative returns and throw in the towel. Over the years I’ve tried to grapple with new music tech as it's come along. For me to have complete control over my music I needed to get to grips with the production side of things. This had always evaded me despite my best attempts. In addition the lack of money and confidence in my own ability have always been issues. My singing is OK but crooner average…I’ve flailed at guitar for as long as I can remember although feedback is an art I’ve mastered but that’s where it ends. I can’t play piano, bass, harp or the drums! Prince is on one end of the spectrum and I…
Another attempt to record ten years ago was dashed when a riot of domesticity got in the way. Five years ago one track (‘Tin Man’) was salvaged from months of labouring under the delusion I was partnered with someone of a like mind. However, life knows exactly where to kick you and a whole album was lost due to my overreliance on Mr. Unreliable of York. Still, this disturbing experience gave me back my confidence and self-worth. I realised I can do this…there’s no need for me to be in awe of or rely on others.
The time spent in isolation proved too good an opportunity not to look again. Still, I had to get to grips with the tech…which obviously I have and with time and due to the experience of reducing 100+ ideas to nine I’ve for the first time in my life mixed my own tracks with help from no-one. Pro Tools has given me complete control over my ideas.
So, I had an album ready to move. All I needed was a title. So, given the state of the world at the time of recording ‘Eschaton’ was the preferred and I felt very apt choice. Someone had already snaffled ‘The Plague’ but the state of things was not just about one thing…it was the whole damn shooting match. Add to all the current shit in the world the ever present reality for me that death is a done deal. It wasn’t a matter of if but when! Such thoughts pressed hard and J.C.’s ‘Hurt’ album was ever on the turntable; that and Kate’s ‘Moments of Pleasure’. ‘Eschaton’ proved nothing more than a working title and tame when what I really wanted to say had been plastered over an advertising hoarding en-route to Leeds city centre many years previous. FUCK FEAR. Nothing more or less just FUCK FEAR. For me that pretty much sums it all up. It’s the one thing that thwarts our every positive ambitious step forward. Fear is the one thing that’ holds us all back.
Fuck is the ultimate sign of frustration but is also hope. Fuck Fear. Be You.
And so it was in the big end as it will be up the rear end. Blow back!
Richard Rouska