Synth Pop Art rewinds to the brief, bright flare of The Toy Shop, a project that began as the minimal/synthpop‑based solo outlet of Leeds‑born vocalist, keyboardist and guitarist Paul Klein. Working alone at first, Klein released the scarce 7" single “The Maze/Live Wires Kill” in 1981, a lean, hook‑laden slice of UK minimal synth that would quietly acquire cult status among collectors. In 1982 he moved to Sheffield and teamed up with Oldham‑born keyboardist Philip Walsh, expanding The Toy Shop from bedroom experiment to live concern. Their first appearance together came at the Star/Webster’s inaugural Battle of the Bands competition in May that year; they won the event, briefly drawing attention from major labels and earning support slots with bands as varied as Dead Or Alive, A Flock Of Seagulls, Nico and Dr Feelgood.
That early momentum led to a deal with Towerbell Records. In 1983–84 Klein and Walsh recorded four songs for the label, though only two were eventually released: “Attack Decade” and “Never Trust A Stranger,” issued as a single in 1984 (some sources list 1983). The other tracks, slated for an EP, remained in the vault when Towerbell chose not to exercise its options. The band’s major‑label flirtation fizzled; Paul and Phil drifted apart, and Klein returned to working solo. He issued the single “Give Me Lip‑Lock I Love You” in 1986 before moving on to other projects. Decades later, he would settle in Melbourne, Australia, continuing to record as Psykik Volts and, eventually, dusting off The Toy Shop’s unreleased material for a new life on record, while Walsh, reportedly based in Sofia, Bulgaria, slipped out of view, his musical activities unknown.
Synth Pop Art assembles this fragmented history into a coherent statement. Centred on the songs tracked for Towerbell in 1983 but never fully issued, it also connects back to “The Maze/Live Wires Kill” and forward to what The Toy Shop might have become had circumstances aligned. Klein’s writing sits at the juncture where minimal synth’s austerity meets chart‑aimed ambition: drum‑machine patterns and arpeggiated bass lines underpin bright, minor‑key melodies, with his vocals delivering sharp, slightly theatrical hooks that would not have been out of place on early‑MTV playlists. Walsh’s keyboards thicken and colour that framework, supplying bold lead lines, icy pads and little harmonic feints that keep the songs from collapsing into formula. The production is clean but not overblown, preserving the sense of small‑studio resourcefulness even as the arrangements reach for radio scale.
What gives the record its grip is the interplay between immediacy and almost‑ness. The tracks chosen for Synth Pop Art sound like they were built for a future the band never quite reached: choruses aimed squarely at the charts, lyrics that flirt with dystopian imagery and romantic angst in equal measure, and a sonic profile that sits comfortably alongside contemporary synthpop while retaining a spikier, DIY edge. In retrospect, the story reads like a familiar near‑miss narrative - battle‑of‑the‑bands win, support slots with rising names, a brief major‑label window, then silence. Yet heard now, removed from that pressure, the songs feel oddly timeless: compact, hooky, and suffused with a slightly melancholic awareness that big breaks can evaporate overnight.
Vinyl‑On‑Demand’s edition, pairing the Synth Pop Art LP with related single material, reframes The Toy Shop not as a footnote but as a fully formed node in the early‑80s minimal‑synth constellation. It restores tracks that once existed only on test pressings, demos or memory, giving Klein and Walsh’s brief partnership the album it never had in its own time. For listeners, it offers both a document of a particular moment - Leeds and Sheffield after post‑punk, chasing neon futures on limited gear - and a reminder of how much pop history resides in projects that almost, but not quite, slipped into the mainstream.
