A few years later, while majoring in computers and comparative literature at Hamilton’s McMaster University, Greenspan met Johnny Dark, a friend of a friend with an equally fervent passion for recording. Using some old keyboards and the latest sequencing software, they co-wrote some dance tunes and posted their efforts to MP3.com, an early music-sharing site — with little public uptake. At this point, the only thing Greenspan and Dark seemed satisfied with was their moniker: Junior Boys.
The ten greatest Canadian synth-pop songs of all time
“Synthesis” by Paul Kim
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The tunes Greenspan and Dark produced showed their love of cutting-edge dance music and the warm, resonant textures created by vintage synthesizers. Greenspan emerged, somewhat reluctantly, as the group’s singer; he didn’t have a powerful voice, but his breathy tone suited the nocturnal qualities of the music. In 2002, however, Dark decided to quit the project. When the head of the British label Kin Records approached Greenspan to deliver a full album, Greenspan called on another friend, Matt Didemus, to produce it. Greenspan had co-written five songs with Dark, and composed four on his own and one with Didemus, who was now officially the other member of Junior Boys.
By 2003, the anticipation for Junior Boys was palpable; in Canadian music circles, their name was intoned like the promise of a revelation. Under the banner of a proper record label, Kin, the duo posted a series of songs online and released them as twelve-inch singles. With their aching vocals, chiming keyboards, and surgically precise beats, tracks like “Birthday” and “Under the Sun” electrified music bloggers and stoked anticipation for a full-length record. Last Exit appeared in September 2004 to near universal acclaim. It also begat something of a renaissance in Canadian synth-pop.
The genre conjures all sorts of associations. Having dominated the pop charts in the ’80s, it left us with a number of lasting images: the sculptural coifs of A Flock of Seagulls; the android chic of Kraftwerk and Gary Numan; and the singular appearance of Duran Duran’s Nick Rhodes, standing behind his synthesizer, sneering into the camera like some new wave Nosferatu. Born in England in the late ’70s, synth-pop emerged not so much as a counterweight to punk but as a repudiation of rock in general. Spurning the machismo of guitar-based music, groups like Ultravox and Japan featured quasi-operatic voices, homoerotic imagery, and emotionally vulnerable lyrics. David Bowie was an obvious touchstone. But behind all the posturing, there was also some scintillating music. Acts like New Order, Depeche Mode, and Yazoo picked up on disco’s dance floor pulse while exploring the sensual possibilities of synthesized sound. Like the fizz of a freshly poured soda, synth-pop had a bracing effect. With its lush electronic timbres, mechanistic beats, and haughty vocals, the music was commanding and sexy; it could also be poignant and expressive, as evidenced by tracks like Bronski Beat’s “Smalltown Boy,” the keening lament of a gay kid shunned by his family.
While the Brits largely owned synth-pop from the late ’70s to the mid-’80s, Canadians made some indelible contributions during that time, including Trans-X’s single “Living on Video,” which sold two million copies and hit the top 10 in Europe; the Spoons album Arias and Symphonies; and Men Without Hats’ “The Safety Dance” and the damnably catchy “Pop Goes the World.” But with the ascendance in the ’90s of hip hop, grunge, and indie rock — genres that emphasized grit, authenticity, and a disarming sloppiness — synth-pop fell out of vogue, surfacing mainly in a cartoonlike form (hello, Aqua).
In the past decade, however, Canada has produced a number of artists who have collectively reclaimed synth-pop’s respectability. Junior Boys, along with acts like Crystal Castles, Diamond Rings, Handsome Furs, and Chromeo, have taken that original sound and pushed it in thrilling new directions.
Junior boys are students of musical history as well as master craftsmen. Their last album, Begone Dull Care (2009), took its name from a buoyant 1949 NFB short by animator Norman McLaren, who was also behind the 1971 composition “Synchromy,” an early example of synthesizer music. As it turns out, Canadians were innovating in this field long before the synthesizer became a one-syllable prefix — in fact, we had a hand in inventing the device. Back in 1948, Hugh Le Caine, a nuclear physicist with the National Research Council in Ottawa, completed work on the Electronic Sackbut, an early keyboard that enabled the user to modulate volume, pitch, and timbre. Then there was Bruce Haack, an Alberta musician and inventor who back in the ’60s made several appearances on The Tonight Show with Johnny Carson to demonstrate contraptions like the Dermatron, a heat- and touch-sensitive synthesizer he would affix to some hapless guest’s forehead to play. Haack also recorded several gently deranged albums, including The Electronic Record for Children in 1969 and, nearly a decade later, his magnum opus, Haackula.