Judging from a 90s perspective, the limited output of Gary Numan's mild neo-punk outfit suggests a somewhat detached, cursory homage to Garageland circa 1977. In Tubeway Army, Numan had already affected and perfected his signature faux-robot vox-- his campy nasal monotone perfectly embodied the prevailing nerd-punk notion of the mass de-evolvement of humankind. More implacable and otherworldly than say, Duran Duran or legions of other 80s haircut bands, Numan's only kindred American spirits seemed to be Devo (Numan, of course, lacking Devo's science-geek wit and crackpot innovation).

Numan's songwriting in Tubeway Army was slightly morbid, playfully nihilistic and often concerned with men being at the mercy of the machines they create. Oh, and he also explores the melancholic side of jerking off ("Everyday I Die"), the cruelty of life-support systems ("The Life Machine"), and the futility of human anonymity ("Zero Bars"); the swirling Moog lines on the latter could have easily (de)evolved into the undeniably catchy synth swells that arise on his later mega-hit "Cars."

Musically, the reasons for Numan's sudden leap from psuedo-punk to solo pop star seemed obvious: lose the nasty distorted guitars, buy more synthesizers, and sing about mundane subjects that more earthlings can relate to. In many ways, Numan was probably a better early-Bowie imitator than Peter Schilling (or Jarvis Cocker, for that matter). He took the martian Ziggy persona and augmented it: instead of the man who fell to earth, he fashioned himself as one of the automations we'll all eventually replace ourselves with. And on guitar, Numan gives us a pretty impressive Mick Ronson impression, too.

As we all know by now, rock-n-roll's current identity crisis has the vox populi demanding a prompt, Christ-like resurrection of the even the most ersatz of New Wave icons: Dale Bozzio, Flock of Seagulls, and Culture Club. So the reissuing of Tubeway Army and return of Gary Numan may as well be seen as the Second Coming itself.

-Michael Sandlin