🎹 The Machine Behind the Magic
I was saddened to read of the passing of Soft Cell’s keyboard genius, Dave Ball, yesterday.
When I was a kid growing up in Thatcher’s capitalist 80s Britain, the synth-pop sounds of bands like Soft Cell captured my heart. That fusion of Marc Almond’s sleazy, emotional lyrics and Dave Ball’s weird and wonderful machine mayhem went far deeper than the big hits like Tainted Love.
I aspired to be like Dave Ball — standing motionless behind a synth, not smiling, looking forlorn. Not just Dave, though. I wanted to be Ron Mael from Sparks, or one of the serious-looking blokes in Depeche Mode or The Human League. I loved those synth bands.
I even lived the dream for a bit in the early noughties as keyboard player for Real Shocks. As far as I know, no footage exists (probably for the best). Ah, the good old days!
Ball’s passing was a real heart-in-the-mouth moment — you know that instant when your pulse skips. I knew he’d been unwell, but even so… when a hero goes, you feel a proper stab.
I had that same feeling when George Michael, Rick Parfitt, Prince and David Bowie all died in that annus horribilis of 2016.
So, I did what we all do when a musician dies: I listened. Intensely.
I’d forgotten how much I loved those first three Soft Cell studio albums before their split in 1984 — and the singles, of course, including that mini remix album before remix albums were even a thing. I bought them all. And loved them all.
Once upon a time, I even knew the chart positions of every single Soft Cell release.
As the sales dwindled, the music grew darker and more intense. This Last Night in Sodom remains an underrated stroke of genius — abrasive, theatrical, and defiantly noncommercial.
The reformation albums were good too, though they never quite captured the same spirit as the early work. Still, I was genuinely pleased to read that one final album was completed, and that Dave got to hear it before he died.
What’s often overlooked is that much of the music was Dave Ball’s creation. Soft Cell occasionally used outside players, but at heart they were a tight-knit duo.
Dave didn’t just help make pop music — he remade it. Raised in Blackpool’s whirl of fairgrounds and seaside oddities, he took that show-biz spectacle and wired it into rooms everywhere with synthesizers, soldering, and sheer irreverent joy.
With Marc Almond at his side, he gave the world Tainted Love — that lightning bolt of a track that sounds like dancing in a dark club somewhere between glamour and desperation. It went global, and it still sounds immense today. In fact, I was dancing to it at an indie disco for old people just the other week.
What I always admired (and still do) is how Ball’s sound never felt safe. He could craft a killer pop hook one minute and then toss you into cosmic electronic weirdness the next (just listen to his work with The Grid).
He influenced me personally. The first time I realised synths could do more than simply backdrop guitars — that was down to Dave Ball.
He passed away peacefully in his sleep at his London home on 22 October 2025. No headline drama, no fuss. That’s fitting — a man who let his machines do the talking.
So, what do we have left? A legacy of songs that still make you move, think, and feel. A reminder that pop can be sharp, strange and utterly essential.
And for me, a personal shorthand: whenever I fire up a synth plug-in or hear a bassline that shouldn’t work but absolutely does, I’ll hear Ball’s footsteps.
Rest in wires and wonder, Dave. You’ll be missed.
Written for The Listening Log — Talking Music section.
The Listening Log 
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