Andy Bell explains what it means to ‘dance for mercy’

It wasn’t meant to portend a full-length record.

Andy Bell hadn’t made one of those in a decade and a half, electing instead to release some 17 singles between 2013 and 2023. Three — “Aftermath (Here We Go),” “True Original” and “Runaway” — came in creative union with producer Dave Audé.

A fourth arrived this past February. In truth, however, it predates its predecessors, crafted in that initial burst 12 years ago after Bell’s partner and husband, Stephen Moss, co-owner of the since-shuttered Honey Pot nightclub in Tampa, Fla., introduced him to Audé, then a frequent DJ at the spot.

Audé was a fan, not just of Bell’s solo output but, like any American of discerning taste, of his seminal work with the untouchable Vince Clarke as Erasure. (Clarke previously mined gold as a founder of Depeche Mode and Yazoo, his pioneer credentials peerless.) Since forever, these English synth-pop juggernauts, on Bell’s gorgeously soulful octaves, have amassed a catalog responsible for multiple generations’ heart-in-throat memories. Any sentient being sans a copy of 1988’s “The Innocents,” where lived “Ship of Fools” and the ebulliently contagious No. 12 “Chains of Love,” was otherwise lost, bereft. Audé, in his depth, suffered no such affliction, embracing cuts as diverse as “Blue Savannah,” from the duo’s 1989 album, “Wild!”

Potentially, this made an effective match, too. “I think,” Moss suggested, “it’d be a good idea if you did some writing together.” 

So, the duo worked up a song, Audé fabricating what his collaborator described as a “bit euphoric, a bit Euro” melody as Bell belted fresh words into a live Shure microphone: “Climbing my own mountain/ Reveals a strange attraction.” The result was “Don’t Cha Know.”

Then the floodgates — and club doors — flew open.

“We left it to one side, and we completely forgot about it,” Bell recalled in a recent interview. “We then started writing other stuff. After each song, we’d get more excited. We experimented as well, writing off and on; there’s even a song called ‘Off and On.’ There were bummers, too. One weekend, we went over to Amsterdam, and two not-very-good songs came out of that. One was called ‘Last Chance Saloon,’ which had a ‘yahoo!’ in the middle. So we took the best ones that we had, really, from the collection.”

For a mixture of seemingly unrelated tracks — “Don’t Cha Know” among them — “Ten Crowns” works as a sublimely cohesive whole, rife with anthemic dance, stomp, spirit, soul and gospel. Not exactly the sonic portrait one usually paints from Nashville, Tenn., where Audé now lives (Bell and Moss bounce between London and Atlanta), but it’s a pumped fist of devoutly defiant love nevertheless nourished by its environs.

“That changed the dynamic slightly,” Bell admitted. “It reminded me of the grammar school I attended in Peterborough, where I’m from. Once a term, you had to go to the cathedral for a communion-type event. I loved going there for the hymns and the smells and the pomp.”

All reverberate through “Crowns.” The tarot-referencing disc launches on the literal high of “Breaking Thru the Interstellar,” as Bell ascends to newer dimensions (“Way beyond the sonic boom/we will be stars forever”), and culminates in the thoughtfully soft landing of “Thank You,” which plays as a state of current self if not — Heaven forbid — a ruminative farewell. However, Bell assured, “If there ever was a stage musical, I’d like for that to be the first song instead of a finale.”

In between lie eight arresting stops, including Debbie Harry and Sarah Potenza volleys (“Heart’s a Liar” and “Lies So Deep”), otherworldly contemplations (“Dawn of Heaven’s Gate”), power-lung pleas (“For Today,” “Dance for Mercy”) and righteous anger (“Godspell,” “Put Your Empathy on Ice”). 

Bell’s bolstered “Ten Crowns” with a 39-city U.S. tour, leading a full band through his first expansive solo sojourn stateside. It began two months ago in the album’s Nashville birthplace before slowly spreading west. He lands Tuesday, Dec. 9, at Phoenix’s The Van Buren for an 8 p.m. performance.

Meanwhile, he’s reconvened with Clarke, whom he calls his “chief commander,” to plot Erasure’s next studio album, the duo’s 20th since its 1986 formation. This means that next year marks an anniversary and all its attendant pageantry.

“Ten Crowns” itself has since grown to a four-disc set, aptly christened “Crown Jewels,” due Dec. 12. The release at last brings his version of Olivia Newton-John’s “Xanadu” to stereo-bound masses and debuts “The Chance Won’t Come Again” with Keane’s Tim Rice-Oxley. When it rains, it pours.

Before embarking in early October, Bell graciously indulged a Phoenix New Times contributor who, despite 30 years in journalism, sat tongue-tied in his Zoom presence, anyway.

Phoenix New Times: “Ten Crowns” is only your third solo album; you didn’t release your first, “Electric Blue,” until 2005. How did you first embark on that path?
Andy Bell: Vince had a career before me, with Depeche (Mode) and Yazoo, and then he had this project called The Assembly. People then didn’t really get the notion of an album with multiple singers, and it didn’t really work out for him. Despite its grand plan, The Assembly issued but one single, “Never Never” (The Undertones’ Feargal Sharkey on fluttery trills) with an instrumental called “Stop/Start” on the flip, in 1983. So, he decided to get a full-time singer. That became Erasure.

When I joined, I was a huge Vince fan, so it took me a while. My fandom got in the way a bit. I was so enamored that I couldn’t perform properly. (laughs) We slowly built this relationship of trust, then became songwriting partners. After our 10th album (2003’s “Other People’s Songs”), I thought, “I wonder if I can write with others.” I tried it, and it worked.

The first 10 years of Erasure were a merry-go-round. As things dropped off, I was afforded more time to work elsewhere. But we’ve been prolific, Erasure, so it’s always tricky squeezing in other things: albums, theater projects (Barney Ashton Bullock and Christopher Frost’s “Torsten” series) and the like. I enjoy being busy.

You recorded “Ten Crowns” at Dave’s Nashville studio. How do your surroundings affect your writing and your music?
Erasure’s played Nashville, I think, two or three times now. One of the highlights for me was playing the Grand Ole Opry (May 2006), which was unheard of for an electro band. But I was brought up on country music. My mum liked Elvis Presley, dad liked Buddy Holly. They had very eclectic tastes. I listened to Slim Whitman, Charley Pride — loads of old-style country. So when you’re visiting Nashville, you’re walking on sacred ground. At the same time, you realize, “If I lived here, I’m not sure how well I’d get on.” 

But, then again, it’s all about spirituality, anyway. There’s got to be some kind of magic in the air for all these people to have been here. When you’re creating music in a place, it’s giving this lovely ambience. It’s like going to Glastonbury or somewhere things align. You’re in a sacred space.

You’re a longtime fan and friend of Debbie Harry. You met her in 1990 during the Cole Porter “Red, Hot and Blue” tribute and have subsequently gone on the road with her. In 2010, you recorded a song called “DHDQ” in her honor. How’d you land her for “Heart’s a Liar”?
We gave her the choice of two songs, and she went with “Heart’s a Liar.” I thought she’d pick that one because it was cooler, in some way. It also makes a really good two-way conversation.

The timing was divine. There were all these signs. As we waited for her vocals, every time we’d travel in a taxi, Blondie’s “Heart of Glass” would come on. (laughs) And then we were in New York last year celebrating Gay Pride. She sent the vocals that day, and I said, “Oh, my God, we’ve got it. We’ve actually got it.” It’s like getting Marilyn Monroe to star in your film. (laughs)

Speaking of lies, what did Sarah Potenza add to “Lies So Deep”?
Dave knew her and suggested her. When we wrote the song, it was like Whitney Houston crossed with Fleetwood Mac, and she just ramped up that energy. Sarah’s that club diva you don’t see anymore, a gutsy, bluesy fireball. She added the disco ball, the color and the bollocks. (laughs)

There’s a lot of spiritual iconography on the album. I was curious about the track “Godspell,” where you call out the sycophants, charlatans and false prophets.
Those proselytizers of our times. If you’re so fulfilled by the spirits or whatever, why do you have to go around trying to make other people’s lives miserable? Why would you do that? It’s the hypocrisy, really.

What does it mean to “Dance for Mercy”?
It’s a shame now because there aren’t many clubs and bars to go to. I loved the time when you could lose yourself on a dance floor. We once went regularly to a (London) nightclub called Heaven. A laser beam would hit the disco ball and split to form a green tunnel, and you’d dance inside to Frankie Goes to Hollywood’s “Relax.” Grace Jones appeared there, Divine. So, for me, “Dance for Mercy” is literally us dancing to save our spaces. It’s dancing for your life, and we’ve done it many times.

Next year, you celebrate 40 years of Erasure. I’ve read numerous stories of its origins, primarily that you auditioned for a band in a building where Vince Clarke was rehearsing. You didn’t get that gig but were more successful a year or so later when you responded to an ad he’d placed.
The band I auditioned for was a spinoff of Bow Wow Wow (1982’s “I Want Candy” cover), so I was probably lucky I didn’t get that one. They were in with the Sex Pistols, Sigue Sigue Sputnik. Anyway, I didn’t know how to hold the mic properly then. I was in a band, though, just before I met Vince.

They were having rehearsals at his studio where he was working with Eric Radcliffe, who was Yazoo’s producer (1982’s “Upstairs at Eric’s”; he’d also been part of The Assembly and engineered Depeche Mode’s “Speak & Spell,” Clarke’s last record with the group, in 1981). Vince was on a “Space Invaders” machine, a fringe of hair hanging down, and I said, “Oh, my God, that’s Vince Clarke.” It wasn’t because he was the first famous person I saw in London, but because he’d always been in my mind. So who conjured up who, I do not know.

When you look back, how do you regard that 17-year-old Peterborough kid who ventured 100 miles south to London?
I wonder, “Where did he get that from?” He had the cheek and self-belief of a warrior.

But I’ve always loved my voice. I don’t know why. When I was a kid, I used to sing in bed. I now give this advice to other singers: “If you sing in bed, your whole skeleton resonates, and you’re giving peace to yourself.” And I’ve always truly believed that singing is an instrument of healing.

Andy Bell’s Ten Crowns solo tour starts at 8 p.m. on Tuesday, December 9, at The Van Buren.