A Certain Ratio - 1982 (LP) - Clear Grey Marble Vinyl

A Certain Ratio’s 1982 landed on Mute Records on 31 March 2023, and the title isn’t a bait-and-switch. It nods to the year they pushed their post‑punk skeleton into full‑bodied, percussive funk on records like Sextet, but the music here isn’t museum glass. It’s the sound of a band that remembers the spark and still knows how to make the floor move.

That tightrope is their specialty. Jez Kerr’s bass still has that wiry, rubbery throb, the thing that made early Factory peers sound pale by comparison. Donald Johnson’s drumming is crisp and physical, full of little hi‑hat feints and clipped snare accents that leave dance music producers green. Then there’s Martin Moscrop, whose guitar chanks and trumpet figures sketch the edges like neon. Put together, it’s the old ACR chemistry: bone-dry, precise, yet loose enough to sweat.

What makes 1982 sing is how they fold new voices into that legacy. Ellen Beth Abdi has been riding with them on recent releases, and her presence here gives the band a bright counterpoint to Kerr’s husky deadpan. When she steps forward, the songs tilt toward disco and boogie, the kind of late‑night glide you used to hear wafting from small clubs where the DJ knew every drummer’s first name. It’s not nostalgia. It’s continuity.

The writing pulls from the same crate as the title. You hear the band’s love of No Wave skronk, Latin patterns, and New York street art lore in a cut like SAMO, a sharp wink at Basquiat’s early tag that doubles as a mission statement. The rhythm section locks into a clipped stride while the horns and keys scribble in the margins. Afro Dizzy does what the name promises, trading in polyrhythms and a rolling bassline that circles back on itself. It’s one of those songs that makes you picture the band onstage, Johnson working the kit and percussion at once while Kerr and Moscrop ride the pocket. That live, in‑the‑room feel is a big part of the album’s charm. You can almost see the eye contact.

The sequencing helps. 1982 moves like a set, not just a file folder of tracks. Early momentum, a reflective mid‑section to let the shoulders drop, then a final run that snaps you back to attention. No bloat. No “look what we can still do” ballad. Just ideas stacked smartly, each one tied to a groove. It’s easy to imagine how well this plays between old favorites onstage, and it makes the album a pleasure on repeat at home. On a decent setup, the low end sits right where you want it, and the percussion has room to breathe, which makes the 1982 vinyl pressing the version to chase if you care about what the drums are doing.

There’s also a gentle sense of reckoning here. Not a midlife crisis record, more a veteran band checking the map and pointing back to a year when the boundaries melted. A Certain Ratio were early to the party when punk kids started sneaking into funk, disco, and jazz. Their Brazilian inflections, the percussive toys, the dry production, it’s all part of a long conversation they’ve been having with dance floors and art rooms since the late ’70s. 1982 keeps that conversation going with a clear voice.

For anyone flipping through A Certain Ratio vinyl looking for a place to start after the Factory era, this sits nicely beside To Each… and Sextet as a modern companion piece. And if you collect A Certain Ratio albums on vinyl, it’s an easy add. It has the tactile, minimalist sleeve appeal and the kind of soundstage that rewards a clean stylus. I’ve already seen copies tucked behind the counter at my local Melbourne record store, the kind of spot that quietly curates the good stuff, and I’ve pointed more than one customer toward it when they ask where to go after Joy Division and ESG. If you’re looking to buy A Certain Ratio records online, keep an eye on reputable shops that care about shipping and condition, whether you’re in the UK, the States, or digging through vinyl records Australia‑wide.

The best part is how current it feels. Trends bend around them and they just keep finding the pocket. 1982 is a late‑career high that doesn’t ask for special pleading. It moves, it glints, it grins. Put it on and let the rhythm section decide what happens next.