When life gets a little bit rough, hunker down and keep going with the help of Martin Gore's sweet tenor. Growing up at the tail-end of the 90s', Depeche Mode had already become that weird old band on MTV, one of their last singles (It's No Good) on repeat five times an hour as I slumped half-asleep in front of the TV. I liked their shiny, dark aesthetic but found them a little monotonous, being a shallow 14-year-old.
The next time I noticed them, I was working as a relief teacher in my former secondary school and caught my old Literature teacher - who must have been in her late 20s then - twirling down the carpeted corridor in the deserted teachers' room, lustily belting "I want somebody to share, share the rest of my life..." She was unfazed by her unexpected audience, but I fled in embarrassment (mine, not second-hand). It was a bit like catching your parents making out.
While I've always gravitated to the harder-sounding Depeche Mode singles (sorry, not cool enough for the B-sides), I find Home very soothing late at night, almost hypnotic. It's both depressing and uplifting at the same time, as Martin Gore delicately mourns: "Finally I've found/That I belong here". You have to be a little bit older, a little beaten by life to appreciate that.