by Raine Petrie, Staff Writer

Within the first few minutes of Edgar Wright’s 2021 documentary The Sparks Brothers, a barrage of talking heads describe the band and the men behind it, Ron and Russell Mael, as being many things: “An anomaly,” “an enigma,” “strange,” “insane,” and “otherworldly,” to name a few. Perhaps best summarized by their former bassist Leslie Bohem, Sparks as a group is “very special, but odd.” This sentiment also reflects their careers as artists, as their five-decade long run with 26 albums and hundreds of songs has led Sparks to simultaneously be considered one of the most legendarily influential acts of their era and one of the most criminally underrated ones. Inspiring and imitated by the likes of New Order, Depeche Mode, Paul McCartney, Duran Duran, and Bjork (among countless others), yet seemingly unheard of by your average person on the street. This puzzling dichotomy is at the core of The Sparks Brothers, serving to show what a “very special but odd” place the Mael brothers exist in in music history. Ostracized by the mainstream but cherished by other outsiders like myself, precisely for their difference. 

In my previous work examining new wave musicians, I argued that neurodiversity played a big role in crafting the image of the genre, based on how many of new wave’s most prominent figures, including David Byrne and Gary Numan, have openly discussed being autistic. Even outside of these known instances of neurodivergent artistry however, the genre itself is often characterized for its strange, neurotic, and even robotic personas of their frontmen, at times practically a performance of neurodivergence. While it is not my place nor intention to armchair diagnose the Maels, I would argue that by them predating the genre, Sparks deeply influenced new wave’s neurodivergent charm, and that their story told in Wright’s documentary exemplifies why the band appeals to many neuroatypical fans. Thematically, The Sparks Brothers explores obsession, aloofness, rejection from mainstream society, and the need to be understood and taken seriously. As an autistic fan, all of these themes resonate with me deeply, especially when combined with Sparks’ eccentric yet socially awkward lyricism, the Mael’s devotion to routine, and Ron Mael’s iconic anti-social persona. 

Throughout the course of the documentary, the brothers are shown time and time again to be at the cusp of mainstream success but never quite breaching it, always deemed too “novelty” or ”weird” for mainstream audiences. This is to the frustration of their devoted following, who largely feel as though their talent, passion, and sincerity is misunderstood due to their quirky sense of humor and presentation. This paired with how the Maels are constantly described as being mysterious perfectly parallels the autistic experience, in my opinion. We are constantly treated as aloof and alien by others even if our main special interests and hyperfixations are obvious, and are an intrinsic part of understanding us. Sparks’ entire world is their music. We see them working in their studio everyday, churning out albums left and right, and are always completely focused, never once distracted by the common pitfalls of the sex, drugs, and rock ’n’ roll lifestyle. Yes Sparks’ music is eccentric, but that doesn’t make them dishonest, or entirely an act, either. Flea, one of the most entertaining guests of the documentary by far, argues this sentiment himself, saying, “Yeah it’s schtick and it’s showbiz, but it’s also emblematic and symbolic of what their true essence of who they are is.”

Sparks’ chief songwriter and keyboardist Ron Mael is especially fascinating to me as an autistic person. Compared to his flamboyant and hyperactive brother who fits more into the traditional pretty-boy frontman role (though still being somewhat off himself), Ron Mael is from another planet entirely. Originally scaring British children during the broadcast of Sparks’ first appearance on Top of the Pops, Ron is known for his intensely silent and stoic stage persona, only occasionally breaking for bizarre outbursts such as his famous dance solos or for the most non-sexual strip tease you’ll ever see. In many ways, Ron Mael feels like one of the early prototypes of the stereotypical 80s new wave frontman: Quiet, awkward, and cartoonish, all while dawning formal wear. Especially when contrasted with his upbeat brother, Ron’s stage persona practically embodies the flat affect to me, a trait common in autistic people relating to a lack of emotional expressiveness that often evokes a strong reaction from others. A clip utilized in The Sparks Brothers epitomizes this concept perfectly, as a French presenter desperately urges the sterner Mael to crack a smile, with Ron begrudgingly complying with an obviously forced grin. 

Of course Ron exaggerates his character to better fit Sparks’ artistic vision, and comes off as a kind and genuine (and hilarious) person in his interview segments, however the documentary does an excellent job at displaying how even offstage Ron still has a detached quality about him. As one of Sparks’ former managers John Hewlett notes, “Ron’s like a writing machine. He wasn’t one for drinking in the bar with the guys, and in some ways was quite aloof, but that’s what Ronnie would be doing.” Ron himself makes reference to his own anxiety while commenting on the security he feels while working with his brother at the end of the film. “If I were to work with myself I’d feel really really nervous”, stutters the older Mael, “It would put me in a position where I just wouldn’t be able to take it.” The film highlights the fact that besides nonsensical narratives, alienation and insecurity are consistent themes in Sparks’ lyricism, and this perhaps is the reason why. Faith No More’s Roddy Bottum elaborates, “All of the songs come from the perspective of Ron, and you know, he’s socially awkward and runs into issues.”

To me, no song better encapsulates this than their most commercially successful hit “When I’m With You”, as its lyrics come from the perspective of a nervous man telling his lover that they make him feel more social, “well-adjusted”, and “almost feel normal”. If Talking Heads’ “This Must Be The Place” is the best autistic love song of all time, I’d argue that “When I’m With You” takes a solid second place. In the segment of the documentary that discusses the self-conscious motif of Sparks, many fans and collaborators express finding that aspect of their work to be especially powerful for them on a personal level. Record producer John Congleton makes a special note of Ron Mael’s songwriting, saying, “He’s celebrating all the things that awkward kids feel. Ultimately at the end of the day, he’s making you feel less alone.”

Away from the spotlight, the brotherly duo are seen being obsessive creatures of habit. Ron tells us that he’s been taking the same walk in the same park everyday for twenty years, while Russell tells us about how he goes to the same coffee shop every single morning “religiously.” The Maels live very structured lives, always with an intense focus on their main interest, their music. As an autistic person who lives and dies by my routine, I couldn’t relate more to this portion of the documentary. Columnist Katie Puckrik emphasizes Ron and Russell’s love for ritual and repetition in their private lives and that it can even be heard throughout Sparks’ discography (Think “My Baby’s Taking Me Home, where, outside of a brief spoken interlude, the song’s title is repeated over one hundred times, almost like a vocal stim). There is a reason why neurodivergent audiences resonate with Sparks: On stage or off, through their music or through their personalities as outsiders, they feel like one of us.

By the end of Wright’s documentary, Sparks finally begin to receive the long overdue recognition and validation they had always been yearning for as artists. The longtime fans get to gloat about having understood their brilliance all along, while cheerfully welcoming new fans aboard as the duo not only experiences a resurgence of popularity, but a critical reexamination as geniuses who were ahead of their time. Making an electronic album before the boom of 1980s synthpop, a song about computers before Kraftwerk entered the scene, and for bringing an album as highly influential as Kimono My House into the world, the Maels never seem to stop their innovation and reinvention, and we as fans love them for it. Sparks own their strangeness, and for a band that’s always wanted to feel seen and accepted, they unknowingly provide this to their neurodivergent fanbase.

This July, I had the pleasure of seeing Sparks on their 2023 tour for their latest album The Girl Is Crying In Her Latte, and it was everything I could’ve hoped for. Five decades later, both Ron and Russell Mael have the same talent, passion, and energy on stage as they did when they were still known as Halfnelson, and being amongst a crowd of other proud weirdos, as corny as it is to say, made me feel right at home. What’s truly special about this tour is how full-circle it has been. At the beginning of The Sparks Brothers, Ron and Russell discuss being avid Beatles fans growing up, their mother even taking them to see them in concert twice, including once at the Hollywood Bowl. Later on when the siblings finally receive their first record deal, Russell reminisces about how real everything suddenly felt, that “It just seemed like we were soon going to be at the Hollywood Bowl ourselves.” Now on their current tour, the Maels have played the Hollywood Bowl themselves. Sparks have more than earned their time in the limelight, and I eagerly await to see how the Sparks brothers reinvent themselves next. One thing that will always remain the same about Sparks besides the brothers behind it is their no-nonsense about nonsense.