Hardformat

A skeletal narrative unfolds over the four images that each span the outer and inner sleeves from edge to edge. Read chronologically, the viewer begins by approaching the scene, draws alongside the vehicle, waits for the window to open and finally meets the gaze of the figure inside the car. The subject remains remote, his gaze downcast until the final frame in which he engages the viewer with a direct stare that reveals his otherness. Are those cogs or flowers that illuminate his eyes? His expression is blank, unapologetic. He leans toward the viewer a little.

The car is almost unidentifiable, it’s an any car, a stand-in for all cars. Similarly, although the subject is Gabriel himself, there’s little to distinguish him, he’s an everyman, removed, unreadable. Even his posture is unclear: has he slumped forward, is he asleep or catatonic? He’s a passenger, seated in the passenger seat, another clue to his lack of agency. The desaturated grey of the windows and the barely-spied interior suggests the colourlessness of despair. The car is a prison that has drained all life from its inhabitant. It’s the antithesis of Gary Numan’s “Here in my car, I feel safest of all”. Nothing of nature is visible except the stormy sky reflected in the windscreen. Rain has gathered in tiny puddles on the vehicle’s metal body. The rain’s lack of absorption conveys a sense of the inorganic, unyielding nature of the scene. The framing of each image is close and claustrophobic.

I’ve only seen the inner sleeve for the first time recently and much as I like its development, I find myself a little disappointed by the final image. It seems superfluous: the trope of the pop star as alien was most famously explored by David Bowie on Space Oddity and then in Nic Roeg’s film The Man Who Fell To Earth released a year before this album. There’s something chilling and fascinatingly static about the other three images that is (self-) sufficient, more powerful without the narrative. They’re frames of an unmade film scripted by J.G. Ballard. As with the vast majority of Hipgnosis covers, there’s a strong sense of art direction over design, the textual elements ultimately incidental to the strength of the images.

The design and visual imagery for Peter Gabriel’s first three solo albums has been attributed to Peter Christopherson during his tenure with Hipgnosis, although no reference is made to this on Storm Thorgerson’s website. This post is dedicated to Christopherson, the designer, artist and musician who died last week.

See also:

– Hipgnosis