Make It New: Marianne Faithfull – “Broken English” (1979)

Over the course of 50 entries for this column, it will be doubtful if any story matches that of Marianne Faithfull. Whereas most bands rose to prominence in their youth, this journey took a windier path, full of heartbreak that informs the tragic sensibilities of “Broken English.” Whereas most artists were inspired by the garage rock movement of the 1960s,  Faithfull was a core member, or at least in the sense of knowing the right people. To know her story is to find something more akin to triumph rising from despair, where the struggle to overcome prior reputations proved difficult and, even at the point of her 1979 peak, wasn’t fully overcome. This is easily the most lived-in album so far, and I’d also argue the most dubiously labeled “new wave.” That isn’t to say it’s lacking talent and nonstop emotional walloping, but it’s the culmination of a career far richer than the names previously mentioned. It’s not the start, but one of unexpected revival after it was long considered dead. 

Faithfull was born in 1946 in Hampstead, England. Her family was full of academics and artists. Her great-great uncle was the author who penned the term “masochist.” Everything was in place for a young woman to pursue her dreams. Around 1964, it could be said that her style was closer to the folk singer tradition that produced more upbeat and happy melodies. Her career began when she attended a party featuring members of The Rolling Stones, including her future partner, Mick Jagger. Together, they would launch her career with Jagger co-writing a song with Keith Richards and their producer Andrew Loog Oldham. The success was immediate and gave her an association with the band that was impossible to ignore.

Between 1965 and 1967, Faithfull released six albums (two of which on the day her debut premiered). Her prolific output made her inescapable even as she was overshadowed by her more famous partner. They became one of the hot young couples in the Swinging London movement. Her vocals would appear on The Beatles’ “Yellow Submarine.” She was in movies directed by French New Wave icon Jean-Luc Godard. Everything was setting her up for a cozy life that would allow her to pursue music without concern.

For as much as Jagger enhanced her career, it also resulted in some unfortunate press. At one point, she found herself being ostracized when she was found naked at a Rolling Stones party, with many labeling her a whore. She claims to have lost movie deals from this press, though it also didn’t help that she experienced drug addiction during this time, which made her erratic and difficult to work with. Long story short, Jagger would break up with her and take custody of their son. There were attempts to get her clean, though the struggles remained.

It’s important to note that while most new wave bands have cycled through prior iterations, it’s doubtful that they’ve taken a journey like Faithfull, or at least one as highly scrutinized. At the time of her downward spiral, she hadn’t released a record since 1967. Outside of one shelved project and a more traditional country pop album called “Dreamin’ My Dreams,” there wasn’t much of a demand for her. She was a has-been who wasn’t expected for a bigger career. While it’s hard to envision what that meant in 1979, discovering that a new Faithfull record wasn’t only released but actually Grammy-nominated, the gap between these two moments makes for one of the greatest comeback stories in music history.

Following Faithfull’s split with Jagger, her life took a turn for the worse. With failed rehab stints, she would eventually lose most of her music career. In its place were years of being homeless, along with an addiction that had gone so awry that it permanently altered her vocal cords. She had lost the innocent mystique that defined her early work, and the added pressure brought on by anorexia made it unclear if she would be alive much longer. “Dreamin’ My Dreams” wasn’t a poorly received album, but there wasn’t anything to provide hope for a creative future.

If there’s one tool that could be argued as fitting the new wave canon, it's her liberal use of synthesizers. At times, it feels more in line with the expressive tones of Gary Numan than the bombast of Devo. It was designed to add atmosphere to music that wasn’t straying far from the garage rock sensibilities she grew up around. Bands like The Knack wish they could’ve had the type of exposure to The Rolling Stones that she did. Even so, her sound was aiming for something more somber in an effort to reflect her battered lifestyle. This may not qualify as a blues record in the traditional sense, but the level of pain and scorn that runs throughout comes across like those tortured poets playing the classic A-A-B-A pattern. Her rawness lacks concept and mostly exists in the same angst of a Joni Mitchell or Carole King from that time, albeit with a more frank form of expression.

There’s also something commendable about how concise the record is at only eight songs. Each may carry lengthy musical passages, but there’s no meandering to be found. In its place are moments to breathe that allow the lyrics to dig into the listener’s mind and determine their deeper meaning. Nothing about this record is celebratory. The title was inspired by a terrorist named Ulrike Meinhoff who used the expression “Broken English, spoken English” in a documentary that Faithfull had seen. Despite the controversial roots, it was a perfect way to describe her mental state coming into 1979. Whereas most of her friends were riding high, she was at a loss for words, wounded and unsure if she could speak for herself.

Looking at the track list, that description was as astute as it was ironic. From the songs credited, she is only listed as a songwriter on three. There are covers from artists like John Lennon as well as Dr. Hook and the Medicine Show. She was taking everything and making a vision that could easily be interpreted as her own. Despite any questions around original intent, a listener can press play on “Broken English” and feel like every moment is describing her life story. Even something like Lennon’s “Working Class Hero” becomes a stand-in for her 60s rock peers and their efforts to speak to the common man. 

Most of all, there’s urgency from the jump. The titular track opens the record with the moodier use of synth on the record. Throughout, she contemplates the importance of war while believing that the deaths of innocent civilians are not worth it. Along with a reference to “it’s not a cold war,” she alludes to two of the 20th century’s most notorious countries of conflict when she asks not to be spoken to in German or Russian, but in broken English. She cries, “What are you fighting for?” as her voice becomes weary, barely holding on as the upbeat melody underneath gives way to something more melancholic. 

This may be the closest the album comes to feeling like a new wave classification for one reason. The genre was designed to subvert the trends of the 1970s. Most of the time, it was in terms of lyrics over kitschy hooks, where concept bands like Buggles created their own atmosphere. When listening to this, there are no traces of the optimistic Faithfull on display. The naivety doesn’t poke through and is instead overwhelmed by a confidence and frustration that demands answers. The sparseness of the synth also makes it at times feel closer to anti-pop, at times melding with genres she’s more in tune with. She has an anger that wouldn’t be out of place on a Fiona Apple record decades later. There is a purpose that keeps this from being a comfortable dance song. If anything, it’s encouraging immense grief.

The diversity of topics expands from there on “Witches’ Song,” which takes the simple act of a coven meeting up and develops it into a jaunty number about the actions they’ll perform. She sings of how “Danger is a great joy” while building to a note of consent for her mother to allow the ritual to begin. Judged as a song, it’s one of the stronger standouts, even if it’s thematically among the most eccentric. It could be that where the opener insisted on being direct, Faithfull was designing her own fictional view of herself. She was used to being a witch, a female outcast from society because of her actions. There’s the playful sense of revenge and desire to explore deviance. 

Once again, things take a tonal detour with “Brain Drain” as Faithfull recounts her heroin addiction in the form of a conversation. The drug is discussed in second person in such lines as, “I can’t buy you roses ‘cause the money’s all spent.” Along with the sludgy beat that is the most aggressive on the album, the tale cleverly depicts Faithfull’s efforts to romanticize her addiction as if she’s a lover trying to pay for its satisfaction. No matter what she does, something is holding her back, often financially related. The insistence that it’s never-ending plays over the chorus in a familiar punk-like simplicity as if to suggest how monotonous and repetitive the state is, ultimately encapsulating how miserable the experience is. While it’s far from my favorite song on the record, it’s among the most cleverly designed. In a moment of tragic irony, co-writer Tim Hardin would die from a heroin overdose shortly after, leading to the controversial decision from others to leave his name off the credits. 

The next song, “Guilt,” might be my favorite because of how well it embodies the interiority of Faithfull on this project. Every song comes from some depth of her soul, and yet “Guilt” is one of those blues-laden tracks that never feels novel and instead uses the grittiness to enhance her confessional lyrics. This is a frustrated woman and, as the title suggests, feels a lot of difficult emotions, declaring, “I feel so bad though I ain’t done nothing wrong.” It’s a song driven as much by repressed impulses as by the contradictions of being something she’s not. There’s this powerful woe throughout that is shattering. She comes across as threatening. Her seriousness makes even the most thinly veiled of threats feel sincere. It’s also here that she feels the most removed from any innocence or kindness that once exuberated her work. 

Despite not being her own written track, “The Ballad of Lucy Jordan” is one of those covers that makes you want to reclaim ownership. I’m sure that Dr. Hook and the Medicine Show do a fine enough job, but in the context of “Broken English,” the titular Lucy Jordan comes across as something more bittersweet. This track also feels more reminiscent of the poppier side of 60s garage rock bands, managing to find the jaunty tempo to detail how her life hadn’t worked out quite how she wanted. The chorus captures this profound sense of wonder as she hypothesizes about traveling in a sports car through Paris. It’s a vanity image the likes of Audrey Hepburn would bedazzle the screen with.

The only catch is that Faithfull has designed the song in a more tragic lens. Despite the happy connotation, this is ultimately a misdirect. Lucy Jordan is incapable of traveling overseas because of her poor decisions. She is stuck in a mental asylum and is experiencing a fantasy. Conceptually, this is the most new wave track thanks to its happy overtones but tragic implications. Even so, it’s the closest example of Faithfull capturing the perils of womanhood in her position on the entire record… and it’s not even her song! I’m unsure how Dr. Hook could’ve made it hold such empathy and poetic truth, but Faithfull elevates it into something distinctive.

If there was a filler track, it’s “What’s the Hurry.” There’s nothing wrong with it, nor does it significantly weigh down the album. However, when there are so many soul-crushing numbers around it, the simple ideas of generic disagreements feel reminiscent of every other new wave band. Even if it leans more toward a blues sensibility, she’s capturing something recognizable and straightforward. It’s not bad, but there’s no way it’s the best or most autobiographical song during this entire listen.

Another home run cover is found on “Working Class Hero,” where she pulls a surprise turn from her prior songs. Given how much life there is throughout the record, it’s strange to hear the entire musicianship reduced to a sparse beat that forces the listener to become more entranced by Faithfull’s singing. There’s an emptiness, a somber progression through the lyrics as she details the beaten-down nature of the working class. The design works solely to capture the hollowed-out nature of her essence as well as that feeling of having to please other people over oneself. Unlike “Lucy Jordan,” it’s not quite as essential a switch-up, but it fits nicely with this theme of the singer capturing her own humanity in a very dark time.

The closer, “Why’d Ya Do It,” is another track that hits like a wrecking ball. It’s the most directly blues-oriented, spanning over six minutes and digging into some of the most explicit lyrics on “Broken English.” There are references to sexual behaviors along with this vulnerable breakdown of various figures. She sings with that raspy pain and frustration that wallows through the changing structure, posing the titular question over and over as she attempts to make sense of her backstabbing partner. It’s the most painful-sounding moment, as if embodying those 12 years since her last major record and when her love life fell apart. One can be totally convinced that her anger is directed at Jagger, which only makes the sting hurt more.

The profane lyrics caused some censorship issues in different markets, with some refusing to release the album with “Why’d Ya Do It” attached. Even so, the album marked a significant comeback for Faithfull. It was raw and captured some of the most genuine emotions on a record. Given that one of her last noteworthy “achievements” prior was allegedly inspiring The Rolling Stones' song, “You Can’t Always Get What You Want,” there was a need to reclaim agency. Even if she theoretically never garnered the level of fame that her ex did, it established her career as being back. 

Some important things to note about Faithfull are that “Broken English” didn’t necessarily equate to a fully cured lifestyle behind the scenes. Many complained that her Saturday Night Live performance in 1980 was bad in part because of her addiction issues. She would also suffer serious bouts throughout the next decade, resulting in long-term health consequences. Even so, she would return to acting in films along with various roles on stage, including in the Tom Waits musical Black Rider. As time went on, she regained appreciation among the masses and became something greater than “Jagger’s girlfriend.” If anything, that was now a footnote.

She would pass away at the age of 78 in 2025 in London, England. For someone whose life was once considered a chaotic trainwreck, it’s a miracle that she not only managed to keep making music but arguably found greater success in light of her tragedies. She became more confident and assured, taking more risks and challenging herself to not just be the simple folk singer she started out as. While it’s far from the conventional new wave story, I’d argue it’s because she doesn’t really fit in that genre. At best, she incorporated ideas from it and made them her own. That’s what makes “Broken English” such a timeless listen, and a perfect example of how artistic expression can be cathartic even at the worst of times.

Coming Up Next: Crowded House – “Crowded House” (1986)