The only constant in the band was East Londoner Matt Johnson, an intense figure who wasn't afraid to marry dance-pop with caustic comment. His aura was that of a brooding intellectual who could see the world was going to hell in a handcart but felt as trapped and frustrated as the rest of us.
Which is pretty much what 1986 album Infected is all about. It marks Johnson's move toward open and calculated criticism of capitalism and globalisation while also speaking of the desensitising effect of inner city life on a young man. Its steamy subtext suggests impotence and inner rage, exactly the stuff The The's arty audience could take to their hearts.
The album's most unlikely characteristic is its relevance and resonance today, despite the heavily dated production and instrumentation.
This was the era of brash, synthetic sounds, programmed drums and stabbing horns, and as such Infected is The The's most glaringly '80s-style release.
But it is precisely that jagged, inorganic edge that creates the inhospitable jungle of which Johnson sings, the place of broken down dreams (Twilight Of A Champion) where hearts are being cut from the welfare state and where the UK has become the 51st state of the US (Heartland).
In Sweet Bird Of Truth a pilot sees all the planet's little wars start joining hands in a prophetic sweep over the Middle East, while in Slow Train To Dawn our man is just another Western guy with desires he can't satisfy.
Yet, somewhere in this gritty mix there is danceworthy soul music. Very British, very urban, and very compelling.
