Light and Shadow in Bauhaus past

I desperately wanted to be like Peter Murphy. In high school, I started the day off in black and ended the night under white light. I grew my bangs out in Peter Murphy goth punk fashion — reserved but ready for my close up at any time. In a small town, I stood out. Some people believed that I was the undead. I was okay with that. Vintage horror was in my blood. 

I remember my first experience seeing the video for “Bela Lugosi’s Dead” at the Vic Theatre. I studied his demeanor, his personality. I never could quite get his penchant for theater, but I tried. Burning From the Inside was etched into every cassette player in my house at some point; David J’s rastafarian basslines echoing out into eternity. That was my first real experience with Bauhaus. Then, I worked backwards, eventually finding an original copy of Mask and Press the Eject and Give Me The Tape on vinyl. Within this obsession came a random find of Shadow of Light on VHS. It was the only format at the time. Unless you had a copy of The Hunger or caught a rare performance on an episode of Night Flight (which was just Bauhaus’s performance in the film), reality was left to the imagination. The first time I watched Peter Murphy stare into light, he became immortal. . . defiant. This was the essence of punk. And just like that, Bauhaus became synonymous with my lifestyle. The music was creative, it was dangerous. All the way to 2022’s Cruel World performance and Murphy larger than life on a big screen TV looking like a biker taunting the audience, “I dare you!”

I remember how Bauhaus made me feel, somewhere between Greek tragedy and hallucinatory ecstasy. I loved how much Peter Murphy loved David Bowie. Their version of “Ziggy Stardust” just made sense. And the video of Murphy in a cage and performing a punked-up version of “Telegram Sam” feels like it always belonged in this dimension. 

I watched Shadow of Light religiously. It was a UK release, and I had to shell out some cash to own a copy. It also symbolized the end of the band, so these promos became even more important to documenting everything Bauhaus was. Although Nik Fiend’s persona was brazen in the gothic scene, the video for “Mask” always frightened me and still is unnerving in my mind. The video work that was taken back then still holds up today. As the collection ends with the video for “She’s In Parties,” it’s the icing on the cake. The finesse of the video and the band acting uncomfortable in their own skin gives it that art school finesse. 

I never got to see “Archive” until the DVD release of both on one disc. Not only do you get the Burning From the Inside bonus track, “Lagartija NIck” but you get a lot of early songs from In the Flat Field. “Dark Entries,” “Kick in the Eye” and more, the collection feels like a b-sides release when it really is not. Having that additional Vic Theatre material stretched out the experience that I did not get in high school. It’s all worth the watch.