Hidden Treasures, Unearthed Truths: Steve Hovington on 45 Years of B‑Movie

Hidden Treasures, Unearthed Truths: Steve Hovington on 45 Years of B‑Movie

Four decades after B‑Movie first emerged from the post‑punk shadows of Mansfield, Steve Hovington remains one of the genre’s most quietly enduring voices. With the long‑awaited Hidden Treasures compilation finally bringing lost recordings, forgotten sessions, and early classics into the light, Steve reflects with rare honesty on the band’s turbulent history, unexpected longevity, and the strange afterlife of songs like “Nowhere Girl,” which continue to echo across generations and continents.

In this conversation—spanning early triumphs, painful detours, abandoned albums, and new creative sparks—Steve opens up about the past with clarity, humor, and a sense of unfinished business. Whether discussing the Some Bizarre years, the ill‑fated Forever Running era, or his later project One, he speaks like an artist who has survived the machinery of the music industry and come out the other side still making noise.

This is B‑Movie at 45: wiser, leaner, and finally in control of their own story.

We’re here with Steve Hovington from B-Movie. First of all, how did the Hidden Treasures compilation come about?
Wow, where do we start? It had always been a dream for us to release our classic singles and other material from that early ’80s period. But it was an elusive and often frustrating project. We had to track down where the recordings were, who owned them, and find people willing to talk to us and give us the go‑ahead. It’s literally been a 30‑ or 40‑year process.

We knew there were unreleased songs sitting in a vault somewhere, but the first challenge was figuring out who actually owned them. Andy Woods—who started out as a fan of the band back in the ’80s—has practically made it his life’s work to sort all this out. Eventually we found someone who could finally give us clarity on where the recordings were, what they were, and what condition they were in.

When we finally got the tapes back, they were in pretty rough shape. So we brought in Roger Lyons, who’s worked with New Order and many others. He essentially salvaged the tapes. There was hum, background noise, buzzing—everything you can imagine. He restored them, remixed them, and remastered them. Hearing them again was quite a shock, because I’d honestly forgotten we’d even recorded some of those songs. They just came out of the blue. As you can see, it’s been a very long journey.

“Moles,” from the Some Bizarre compilation, is included here. What’s the story behind that song, and how did it end up on that compilation—and now as the last track on this release?
We regained the rights to all the songs from that era. “Moles” didn’t appear on the vinyl version of Hidden Treasures—it’s an extra track on the CD and digital versions. It wasn’t part of the original ten‑track album structure.

“Moles” was recorded for the Some Bizarre Album at the end of 1980. That compilation featured then‑unknown bands like Depeche Mode, Soft Cell, The The, and Blancmange. At that point we’d only been together about a year. We were on an independent label in the north of England, gigging constantly, and we eventually came to the attention of Steve‑O. He was DJing, putting futurist charts in the music magazines, and promoting gigs in London. He became our manager, and that’s how the track came about.

It’s still a live favorite today. We still play it, and audiences always respond to it.

Let’s talk about “Marilyn Dreams.” What’s the background and inspiration behind that one?
“Marilyn Dreams” has a bittersweet story. It came out on Some Bizarre/Phonogram and actually did better than we expected. At the time, the band was eager to make an album. We wanted to write new material. We’d already released EPs on independent labels, and the record company wanted us to follow up “Remembrance Day” with “Nowhere Girl,” which had appeared on a six‑track EP we’d done.

But we felt we had enough momentum from “Remembrance Day” to release something new rather than go backwards. We’d been gigging with Duran Duran, coming out of the post‑punk period, and synth‑pop hadn’t fully taken over yet. So we pushed for “Marilyn Dreams,” even though the label wasn’t enthusiastic about it.

Because they weren’t behind it, the song didn’t get the push it needed and didn’t chart. It was a setback. In hindsight, maybe we should have released “Nowhere Girl” next—it would have sounded very different from the version people know now, but who knows how things might have gone.

We recorded “Marilyn Dreams” with Mike Thorne, who also did “Remembrance Day.” I think it was at Advision Studios, though I might be wrong. The most interesting part of that session was that Soft Cell—also managed by Steve‑O—were given some studio time, possibly at our expense. They went in after our session and recorded “Tainted Love,” which became the biggest‑selling single of 1981. That’s the irony of the music business. Our career paths diverged right there. But that was a long time ago, so no point dwelling on it now.

“Nowhere Girl”—I remember hearing it on KROQ, and Richard Blade still plays it today on SiriusXM. Did you ever imagine it would have such a lasting impact?
It’s obviously a song that has really endured. It’s become an anthem. At its core, it came from the frustrations of being a shy teenage boy—trying to find a girlfriend, getting rejected, feeling like a misfit. I was trying to articulate that sense of not quite fitting in, and I think that feeling has resonated with people over the years.

It’s become especially popular within the dark‑wave scene in Europe and in the States, and even within the goth scene. We’ve played Wave‑Gotik‑Treffen twice now in Germany, and it always goes down well. It’s also been particularly big in Spain.

The 12-inch version was where we tried to fuse dance rhythms with real instruments. Our keyboard player was a great pianist, and we wanted to showcase that. We were still using synths and technology, but we were also more traditional in some ways—melodic and danceable. That was the aim.

It wasn’t a hit when it came out in the UK in ’82. If it had been released six months earlier, it might have been a different story. It probably would have sounded different too—maybe a synth lead instead of piano. But the song has sustained itself over the years, which is amazing. It’s been name‑checked by lots of musicians—Peter Hook is a big fan, and even Little Louie Vega. It’s influenced people across very different genres. I’m very proud of it.

The first and only time I saw you play in the States was on the Forever Running tour at the Palace in Hollywood. What do you remember about that show and that period of B‑Movie’s career?
Since we reformed in 2004, we’ve been very clear about what B‑Movie is—and what it isn’t. The original lineup was where we had our success and where the true B‑Movie sound came together. Back in the day, we were very young—19 or 20—and tensions arose. Rick, our keyboard player, left, then Graham. We got pulled toward a more pop‑oriented direction instead of staying true to our neo‑psychedelic, post‑punk roots.

Looking back at the 1985 tour, yes, we were signed to Sire and Seymour Stein believed in us, but it was a difficult period. We’d spent two years trying to make an album and still hadn’t released one. And honestly, the band we toured with in ’85 wasn’t really B‑Movie. It was a group of session musicians, and I wasn’t enjoying it. It didn’t last long after we got back.

We toured the States in ’83, and that was much better. We played The Roxy on Sunset, and the West Coast shows were great. We’d also been over in ’82 on the East Coast. But by ’85, I think the band had lost its way. I’m sorry that was the show you saw, but that’s how I felt. We weren’t really a saxophone band, even though it ended up on Forever Running. That album has become a period piece now. I was extremely disappointed with it at the time, and it took me a long while to make peace with it. I think it stands as a flawed album with some good moments.

It’s a shame—we haven’t played in the States since ’85. That Palace show was nearly 40 years ago. We’d love to come back and give the people of L.A. the real B‑Movie, not the traveling show version.

Well, I hope that happens soon. I’ll honestly say I was thrilled to see you in 1985.
Thank you. I suppose I’m an artist—or close to one—so I can be a bit precious about these things. But if fans enjoyed it, that’s what matters most. I’m glad you did.

I interviewed you for your band One in the first year of the magazine (circa 1990-1991). I think it was probably via mail—I sent questions, and you mailed the answers back. I wish I could find that issue. Looking back now, what do you think of the One project in retrospect?
We still have a copy of it.

That’s amazing!
As for the One album, I think it was a wasted opportunity. I’m sorry to sound negative, but it wasn’t really our fault. We had high expectations, but the record label just didn’t get it. Sometimes you find someone—an A&R person—who understands what you’re doing, and then they leave, and suddenly no one else at the label gets it.

There was something there, though. Initially, I moved away from the melodic synth‑rock style of B‑Movie and into something a bit more folksy, a strange amalgam of influences. One had a few different incarnations. The original version was just me and a guitarist named Seven. We had big ideas, and honestly, not much was happening musically in the late ’80s. It was the Joshua Tree era—lots of Americana‑influenced rock—and we were leaning in that direction.

There were definitely some good songs from that period. Then One became The One, I think. We shifted into more of a rock band with an early B‑Movie feel. Rick Holliday, B‑Movie’s original keyboard player, even joined. We were creating heavier rhythms with synths—this was around ’91 or ’92.

So the project stretched from late ’86 to ’91, about five years. I still think it promised more than what we ultimately delivered. The album eventually came out after a long process, but I always felt a pull to regain the energy and style of early B‑Movie—me singing and playing bass, tight rhythms, driving bass lines, jangly guitars. My baritone voice suited that style more than the upfront rock approach I was trying in One.

But I can’t be too critical. It was what it was.

“Love Is Dead” is a B‑Movie single released in 2022. What a wonderful track. Tell me about the song and the inspiration behind it.
It’s pretty self‑explanatory. I’ve had ups and downs in my romantic life, and the song was a way of articulating that—just getting it out. A relationship ended suddenly and painfully, and that kind of raw emotional material lends itself well to songwriting, especially in a post‑punk, atmospheric vein.

I added a bit of French—I don’t really know why. I can’t speak French. But sometimes music needs a touch of romance or mystery, and it just felt right. That’s where “L’amour est mort” came from.

Is there any new B‑Movie music on the horizon?
Not at the moment, simply because all our energy has gone into the Hidden Treasures album over the last few months. But I’ve got plenty of songs, and we’re keeping ourselves active. Paul, our guitarist, has his own projects—his Dark Flowers work and other things—and I’ve got a side project called Bureau of Change, which I’ll be releasing material from soon.

When we played the last three live shows, I think we found a path forward for what new B‑Movie songs might sound like. We seem to be moving back toward that psychedelic, slightly prog‑rock direction we had when we first started, but still with the post‑punk edge. That’s probably where we’re heading. So yes, there will be new music, but not until next year.

B‑Movie started in 1980, which makes this the 45th anniversary. How does it feel knowing you’ve been doing anything for 45 years?
I think we should get an award for longevity. There was a long break between 1986 and 2004—an 18‑year gap where nothing happened—but still, it’s a long time.

If nothing else, we’re an example of perseverance and a bit of bloody‑mindedness. Some people might say stubbornness. With Hidden Treasures, it’s been about laying a few ghosts to rest. It always haunted me that there were songs out there that needed to be found, retrieved, and brought into the light. That’s what this album is.

It all comes down to a love of music and a love of what we do. Honestly, it goes back even before 1980—probably late ’78 when we first got together. It’s remarkable that we built this from nothing and it’s still going. The three of us are still on stage, still playing, 40‑plus years later.

As long as you enjoy it, as long as you’re having fun, and people still want to come see you—why stop? In many ways, it’s better now than it’s ever been. We have great audiences, and we’ve made the UK Top 50 album chart, which we never did back in the day. Things feel more stable now. You just have to keep believing and never give up. And of course, it’s thanks to the promoters and the fans who still want to see us. That’s what matters.

I just want to thank you for doing that interview back then, and thank you for doing this one now.
No, it’s a pleasure—truly. Hopefully we can get over there physically at some point in the future. It may happen. I hope so. See you then.

OUTRO

Forty‑five years after B‑Movie first stepped onto a stage, Steve Hovington speaks with the clarity of someone who has lived every twist of the journey — the breakthroughs, the derailments, the lost tapes, the rediscoveries, and the strange afterlife of songs that refuse to fade. Hidden Treasures isn’t just an archival release; it’s a reclamation, a reminder that even the most fragile recordings can survive long enough to find their moment.

What’s striking is how grounded Steve remains. There’s no nostalgia for nostalgia’s sake, no myth‑making. Just an artist who still believes in the work, still writes, still experiments, still shows up. And maybe that’s why B‑Movie endures. Not because of a single hit or a cult following, but because the people behind the music never stopped caring about the spark that started it all.

If the past is finally settled, the future feels wide open. And whether the next chapter arrives next year or the year after, one thing is certain: B‑Movie’s story isn’t finished. Not even close.

(Interview by Ken Morton)

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