Marillion - Fugazi (LP) - 2021 Stereo Remix Vinyl

Marillion’s second album, Fugazi, arrived in March 1984 with the sort of stormy confidence you only get from a band fighting its way into shape. It sits between the promise of Script for a Jester’s Tear and the chart-conquering sweep of Misplaced Childhood, and you can hear that hinge creak in every bar. Nick Tauber is back in the producer’s chair, but the lineup has shifted. Ian Mosley, fresh from stints with Steve Hackett, steps in on drums and immediately tightens the screws. His playing anchors these songs with a crisp, musical precision that lets Steve Rothery’s lyrical guitar and Mark Kelly’s keys bloom without the whole thing floating away. Pete Trewavas glues it together with those melodic basslines fans still hum on the tram. And Fish? He’s at his theatrical peak here, but sharper, more focused, and more furious.

Open with Punch and Judy and you get the gist. It’s brisk, bitter and oddly catchy, a snapshot of domestic drift delivered with a snarl. They took it to Top of the Pops early in the year and it cracked the UK Top 40, which still feels a bit cheeky for a song that bleak. Assassing hit soon after, all churning rhythms and knife-edge vocal cadences. Its chant-like swagger is pure theatre, but the band plays it lean, so it never tips into pantomime. Both singles brought new ears to the fold, but the deep cuts are where Fugazi earns its keep.

Jigsaw is the emotional pivot. A slow unfurl, built on airy keys and one of Rothery’s most singing solos, it gives Fish room to swap rants for regret. It’s the track that makes you forgive the band’s occasional proggy indulgences, because when the chorus lands it feels honest. On the flip side, She Chameleon is all slow-burn menace, Kelly leaning into eerie organ tones while Fish sinks into a vocal that sounds summoned rather than sung. Then there’s Incubus, which stretches out with cinematic ambition. The interplay here still turns heads on good hi-fi. Mosley feathers the toms, the guitars shimmer and bite, and the dynamics keep shifting just when you think you’ve got the map. The title track closes the album as a kind of cracked mirror. It’s restless, sardonic and oddly tender, a tour of the chaos that gave the record its name.

Tauber’s production isn’t glossy in the mid-80s pop sense, but it is purposeful. The band tracked across a patchwork of British studios and you can feel the seams, though that ends up part of its character. Fugazi reached the UK Top 5, which is impressive for such a thorny record. Critics at the time were divided on its density, yet many later came back around, pointing to its muscular playing and the way it welded narrative bite to big, memorable themes. Fans quietly canonised Cinderella Search too, a non-album song from the period that turned up as a single B-side and later on reissues. It’s not on the original LP, but it lives in the same world.

If you’re collecting Marillion vinyl, this is a keystone. The original UK sleeve by Mark Wilkinson doubles as a treasure hunt. The jester lounges in a bed-sit cluttered with lyrical clues, from Punch and Judy figures to a chameleon lurking in plain sight. On a 12-inch sleeve the little details snap into focus, and that’s half the charm. Sonically, a well-kept early pressing still gives real depth, with the low end on She Chameleon rolling like storm clouds and the cymbals on Assassing slicing through cleanly. Later reissues have kept the record in circulation, so it’s not a white whale, but a tidy copy still brings a grin across the counter.

For listeners who came in via Misplaced Childhood’s chart run, Fugazi is the darker sibling you learn to love. It shows a band hardening, sharpening, learning how to punch and when to hold back. Rothery’s tone remains one of the great 80s guitar voices. Kelly colours rather than crowds. Mosley’s arrival is the hinge on which the whole thing swings. And Fish writes like he’s got a deadline and a demon on each shoulder.

If you’re crate digging at a Melbourne record store, keep an eye on the M row. A clean Fugazi vinyl doesn’t sit still for long. Prefer to shop from the sofa? It’s easy to buy Marillion records online now, and most decent sites will bundle this with other Marillion albums on vinyl. That’s handy if you’re building the collection and you’re in Australia, where the appetite for classic prog is alive and well in the vinyl records Australia scene. However you find it, put the needle down on Jigsaw, let the room go quiet, and you’ll hear why this album still matters.