(Liberation Hall Records)
By Eleni P. Austin
Back in the late ‘70s and early ‘80s, three female vocalists crashed through the glass ceiling of Punk/New Wave: Chrissie Hynde from The Pretenders, Exene Cervenka from X and Debora Iyall from Romeo Void. None of these women were content to be the “girl singer” in a band. All three were in full command.
I first heard Romeo Void on KROQ (yes, The Rock Of The ‘80s), when I was driving from the desert to my Hollywood hometown to see (my spiritual boyfriend) Elvis Costello, at the tail end of 1981. From the corrosive opening guitar riffs of “Never Say Never,” I was hooked. A few months later I bought their first cassette and was completely captivated with their sound: a potent combo-platter of jagged New Wave and Jazz-inflected accents.
The Pretenders came together in London. X practically pioneered the thriving Los Angeles Punk scene. But Romeo Void connected in the more bohemian enclave of San Francisco. Debora (pronounced DeBORa) who is part of the Cowlitz Tribe, was born in rural Washington state and grew up in Fresno, California. She moved to the Bay Area in the mid ‘70s, to study at the San Francisco Art Institute. It was there that she first became acquainted with fellow students Peter Woods and Jay Derrah.
The trio began performing as a tongue-in-cheek ‘60s revival band, The Mummers And The Poppers. Debora was out in front. Rather quickly, she started incorporating music and her own poetry. Around this time, she enlisted Frank Zincavage (a sculptor, photographer and graphic artist) to play bass in their primitive band.
Influenced by nascent Punk bands like The Avengers and Pearl Harbour & The Explosions, Debora, Peter, Jay and Frank officially became Romeo Void on Valentine’s Day, 1979. Inspired by a headline on the cover of a local magazine that read “Why Single Women Can’t Get Laid In San Francisco,” the name Romeo Void
was meant to signify a lack of romance. When sax man Benjamin Bossi joined their line-up, all the puzzle pieces fell into place.
They self-released a couple of singles and then signed with local indie label 415 Records. Right before they headed into the recording studio, Jay left the band and John “Stench” Haines took his place behind the drum kit, (Larry Carter and then Aaron Smith assumed drum duties on subsequent albums and tours).
Their debut, It’s A Condition, arrived in early 1981 and was dubbed a Post-Punk masterpiece. Their sound wasn’t easily pigeonholed. Jazzy, brittle, subterranean, sly and Noir-ish, barely begins to cover it. Debora’s erudite lyrics tackled taboo topics with a measure of intelligence and acumen that belied her years. The album came to the attention of Cars front-man Ric Ocasek and he invited Romeo Void to his Boston studio where he produced their four-song EP, Never Say Never. Released in early 1982 (the cassette I purchased at Record Alley contained all of It’s A Condition and the EP). The EP featured their explosive signature song, “Never Say Never.” A jaggy meditation on romance and the lack thereof, it became a dance floor smash, reaching #17 on the Billboard Dance chart.
It also went into heavy rotation on alternative radio stations like KROQ, 91.X and WLIR 92.7. Even MTV, then in its infancy, got in on the act. They began airing the video, which parodied the French New Wave film, Breathless.Their new found popularity motivated Columbia Records to sign on as distributor for the 415 label, which included other San Francisco bands like Translator and Wire Train.
Romeo Void’s sophomore effort, Benefactor was released in late 1982. It contained an edited version of “Never Say Never” that inexplicably truncated Benjamin Bossi’s wailing, Albert Ayler-esque solo. The record was intriguing but didn’t feel as essential as It’s A Condition.
Two years later, they bounced back with Instincts, which featured sleek production from David Kahane (best known for excising every Punk/Garage/Psych impulse from The Bangles’ later records). This one split the difference between the sparse danger of It’s A Condition and the densely intricate Benefactor. They even scored a Top 40 hit with “A Girl In Trouble (Is A Temporary Thing).” despite the sweet smell of success, the band had run its course and quietly called it quits in 1985.
Debora recorded a critically lauded solo album before returning to her original career path as an artist, poet and teacher. The band briefly reconvened in 2004 for the VH-1 series, Bands Reunited. Separately, Debora, Peter and Frank continue to play music. Sadly, Benjamin Bossi died from complications from Alzheimer’s Disease in 2022. A year earlier, Larry Carter died from heart issues. Thankfully, the cool kids at Liberation Hall Records have kept the Romeo Void torch burning. In 2023, for Record Store Day, they released the first official live Romeo Void album, Live From Mabuhay Gardens. Now, just in time for Record Store Day 2026, the label has returned with another limited edition release, Romeo Void Live ’81-85.
A yowling saxophone announces the arrival of “In The Dark” from the Never Say Never EP. Thrumming bass collides with zig-zag guitar and a jackhammer beat. The vespertine allure of the arrangement takes a backseat to Debora’s emotional ennui as she verbally eviscerates a stagnant romance: “You be the surfaces in amusement parks, and stare at the animals, tap their vital source, wine turns sour in the stomach’s recesses, sit down in the dark and confess your successes.” Spiky guitar riffs ping-pong between verses as the sax acts as a Greek chorus. The final lyrical salvo cuts to the quick: “This is not my idea of a good time, this is not my idea of a good time, this is not my idea of a good time, this is not my idea, idea.”
Only a couple of songs crop up from their debut long-player. “White Sweater, death and hope, sex and dreams clash and crash in symbiotic disharmony. Prowling bass lines loiter with intent across chopped and channeled guitar as dissonant sax howls with defiance. Debora sketches out a spooky subconscious scenario with a spine-tingling specificity: “In my dream I always test myself, I race through the swamps snakes wrapped around my legs, a hot towel of muscle in my dream/I watch my sister fall down an elevator shaft, she was even wearing her new Shag haircut and a limp white sweater that I, I, I, I, gave her.” Suddenly, time-signatures shift, accelerating as frenetic sax fills hopscotch a razor-sharp guitar, knotty bass and a break-neck beat and the narrative shifts. What read in the ‘80s as a necessary act self-defense is now easily recognized as a foiled sexual assault: “I went on a blind date, we sat in the back seat, he thought he could free me, didn’t know I could be mean, till he shoved my face down, I gave him my knee, I knew he was stupid, but I needed a replacement, I’m not going to call you when I’m lonely.” Shards of guitar intertwine with roaring sax on the break and an extended jittery outro ushers the song to a close.
“I Mean It feels broody and nocturnal. A see-saw bass line is anchored by tingly hi-hat action and reverb-drenched guitar. The erotic frisson is palpable as Debora teases out this lovelorn confession: “I wanted you to love me once, I was already willing when you drove out of sight, limping, I played invalid to win you back, I would’ve loved so much more, you should’ve loved me again, do you think I don’t mean it, do you think I don’t mean it? I do.” Punctuating each verse, keening sax notes add a call-and-response refrain. On the break Bossi’s sax shivers and sways, symphonic one-minute skronky the next.
Aside from “in The Dark,” the Never Say Never EP is represented with two more tracks. On “Not Safe” Larry Carter pounds out an ooga-chaka beat and Bossi answers with a rippling saxophone as a driving bass line and tensile guitars fall into line. Debora’s mien is blasé as she chronicles the banality of her day-to-day: “Waiting in line now, it’s after two, the air is stale I need new shoes, it’s hard when you’re needs aren’t met to do what you like and give your best…we’re not safe, or sorry.” Scabrous saxophone on the break mirrors her dissatisfaction and her final harangue implodes with precision: “The price is the same for a loaf of bread, the same dirt will cover you when you’re dead, enjoy the privilege of earning twice as much, someday that phone will ring, you’ll be out of luck.”
There’s an unquenchable ferocity to the band’s calling card. Slashing power chords are answered by a pummeling drum salvo and kinetic bass lines, as “Never Say Never” locks into a locomotive groove. Debora raises the stakes, wrapping her nonchalant contralto around finely honed lyrics like “Slumped by the courthouse with wind-burnt skin, that man could give a fuck about the grin on your face as you walk by randy as a goat, he’s sleepin’ on papers, but he’d be warm in your coat/I might like you better if we slept together, I might like you better if we slept together, I might like you better if we slept together, but there’s something in your eyes that says maybe…that’s never, say never.” A strident sax solo swirls on the break, echoing the eternal disconnect.
A few Benefactor songs make the cut. “Flashflood” is awash in regret and recrimination, as a relationship circles the drain. Shimmery guitars, mournful saxophone, agile bass lines and a chugging beat cocoon this revelation: “You used to smile when I walked in the door, you used to smile, not anymore.”
Then there’s “Shake The Hands Of Time,” written by Debora after clueless record label execs asked if she “had any more sex lyrics?” Spatial guitar riffs, rubbery bass lines and a pogo-riffic beat frame darting sax fills. The opening couplet offers a withering snapshot of domestic violence: “He left a hole in the wall, you ask ‘did he call?’” Co-dependency wasn’t even part of the lexicon then, but lyrics like “Your wild hair against the wall, ‘did anyone call, tonight, tonight?’ honestly, honestly, there’s no money in boyfriends, look ahead, don’t look back, you gotta shake him off your back,” presciently anticipate that diagnosis.
Meanwhile, “Undercover Kept” feels like a manifesto of sexual attraction, illicit assignations and late ‘70s club life. Oriental guitar riffs sidle between scattershot sax, fluid bass lines and a pile-driving beat. The double-entendres stack up: “The bounce is big, the bouncer is bigger, the drinks aren’t stiff, I know what is.” Debora is dismissive as her diatribe flows, only to be interrupted by a piercing saxophone and a percussive explosion that crackles like Chinese firecrackers.
The record reserves the most bandwidth for their final album, Instincts. The anti-social “Billy’s Birthday” is powered by a kinetic pulse, slithery guitars, rumbling bass and scorching sax. Debora’s dilemma is writ large with a few sharp observations: “Buses are crowded in the middle of the day, I’d rather go alone to a matinee, but it’s Billy’s birthday, tomorrow night, Billy’s birthday, Billy’s birthday tomorrow night, it would not be right to miss it, it would not be right to miss it, it would not be right to miss it.”
Domestic discord is the leitmotif on “Just Too Easy.” Range-y guitar chords connect with swirly sax, brittle bass lines and a beat that snaps, crackles and pops. Life on the road is hell on a long-distance romance: “How fair can I be, how big’s this mistake, you have a cigarette and I have a headache, nothing makes me lonelier than a phone to you, you’re waiting for nothing to be nowhere soon.” As the arrangement gathers speed, bleating sax and pulsating drums ratchet up the emotional friction. The break-up is swift and relatively painless, a thundering drum salvo on the outro signals the beginning of a new chapter.
“Say No” finds Debora on the flip side of romantic rejection. Angular guitar, boomerang bass lines and a whipcrack beat provide ballast for Bossi’s bossy flights of fancy. Exasperation and ennui are uneasy companions on this emotional rollercoaster: “I’m sick of this heat and I’m sick of the flack, and I’m sick that nothing can be planned, cause I miss my life like I miss your eyes, I’m right by your side, a fire burning so bright, it happened so fast at the speed of light, we looked, we leaped, we weren’t waiting to see what wishes would last when light would leave.” Her cynical demeanor nearly succeeds in camouflaging the wistful intent.
Both “Instincts” and “Out On My Own” chart just how much this scrappy San Francisco band had evolved in just four short years. The former skirts the edges of a full-fledged Torch song. From the sultry guitar, thready bass, thwocking beat and plaintive sax notes. Debora sheds her emotional armor, confessing “I trust your instincts, I get what you say, I trust your instincts, I’m goin’ your way, I’m goin’ with you, I’m goin’ with you.” A willowy sax solo magnifies the melancholy.
Band intros precede the feral intensity of the latter. Guttural guitars merge with sinister bass, menacing sax and a Jack-Rabbit beat. Debora defiantly declares her independence: “As the years went by, I learned not to cry, I walked away with my head held high, I can remember when I thought it was good, and I remember when they left me it was for good, out on my own…I was the one who had to run free, had to run wild, nobody running with me, out on my own.” Tenacious guitar and stuttery sax execute an expansive pas de deux that splits the difference between twitchy New Wave and Free-form Jazz.
The four-piece offers up a surprisingly muscular version of their Top 40 hit, “A Girl In Trouble (Is A Temporary Thing).” Prickly guitar licks lock in with barbed bass lines and a rat-a-tat beat. The lean and unfussy arrangement allows Debora’s vocals to take center-stage. She spins a familiar yarn: “There’s a time when every girl learns to use her head, tears will be saved ‘til they’re better spent, there’s no time for her to be afraid, so instead she takes care of business. Swiveling sax notes hug the melody’s hairpin turns ahead of a fusillade of sprightly synths.
The penultimate track is the album’s magnum opus. For “Six Days And One,” twangy guitars, flinty bass lines, shimmery synths and modal saxophone notes are bookended by an insistent tribal tattoo. Debora attempts to parse the contradictory impulse of attraction: “Feelings inside us, facts and figures, two hearts divided by irrational states/The best of our moments obscured by the clouds, as the heat of our love meets the rain of our hate, I found out not a moment too late, the times when you said what you meant, if forsaken, abandoned to fate. Underscoring the lyrical mood swings, Bossi’s sax is by turns blowsy, bellicose and bloviating, before locking into a sinuous snake-charmer groove. There’s an urgency to the arrangement that feels nocturnal and dangerous. The final verse unfurls like an epiphany of sorts: “Up another staircase, up another flight, reach for the railing, angle toward the door, escalator, stairway, board another flight, one last realization, I love you still more/It’s hard to adhere to the changes in distance, ‘tween our hearts and the start of the line, and I find as I add up these days without you, distance equals loss, plus time.”
The set closes with a frenetic rendition of “Chinatown” as rapid-fire guitar riff-age and liquid bass lines are wed to a brutish backbeat and spiraling sax. Debora is in full command as she slyly asserts her heritage: “Spending time with family friends, pleasure in unknown weather, associates on the landscape, sovereign from their rulers, I braid arrows in my hair and ambush your radio.” (The vinyl edition includes a rollicking encore of “Myself To Myself”). A thrilling finish to a transcendent live set.
Although the record unspools like one seamless set, the songs were gleaned from four separate shows recorded at 2nd Chance in Ann Arbor, Michigan, the 688 Club in Albany, New York, The Loft in Berlin Germany and The Marquee in London England between 1981 and 1985.
If all you have ever known about this revolutionary band is the provocative line, “I might like you better if we slept together,” that Debora casually detonates like a verbal hand grenade on “Never Say Never,” then you missed the point. Fear not, my darlings. You still have time to attain your cool cred. There are three studio albums and one EP to explore, along with this stellar live ’81-’85 set. You can thank the kids at Liberation Hall Records for making all our lives just a little bit more bitter and sweet.
