If you spent any time in a dark, strobe-lit club in the mid-eighties, you heard them. It wasn't just the beat. It was that specific, chilly, yet oddly comforting chime of the bells. Most people associate the era with big hair and neon, but Book of Love represented the shadow side of the 1980s—the side that was intellectual, queer-coded, and deeply obsessed with the intersection of technology and art. They weren't just another synth-pop group. Honestly, they were the bridge between the high-concept art world of New York City and the sweaty reality of the dance floor.
Formed in Philadelphia before migrating to the creative crucible of Manhattan, the band—Susan Ottaviano, Ted Ottaviano (no relation, surprisingly), Jade Lee, and Lauren Roselli—didn't follow the typical rock star trajectory. They were art students. They were outsiders. When they released "Boy" in 1985, it wasn't just a catchy tune; it became an anthem for a generation of kids who didn't fit the rigid gender norms of the Reagan era. It’s a song about wanting to be the boy, or wanting the boy, or maybe just wanting the freedom to be neither. That ambiguity was their superpower.
The Sire Records Era and the Seymour Stein Connection
You can't talk about the Book of Love band without talking about Seymour Stein. The legendary Sire Records mogul had an ear for the "next." He'd already signed Depeche Mode, The Cure, and Madonna. When he heard Book of Love, he saw the American answer to the British synth invasion. But they were different. While the Brits were often gloomy or aggressively industrial, Book of Love had a whimsical, almost nursery-rhyme quality to their melodies that masked some pretty heavy themes.
Take their self-titled debut album. It’s basically a masterclass in minimalist electronic production.
They used the E-mu Emulator sampling synthesizer in ways that felt revolutionary at the time. While other bands were trying to make synths sound like "real" instruments, Book of Love leaned into the artificiality. They sampled tubular bells, chanting, and even a "Hot Wheels" toy for "Lullaby." It was playful but sophisticated. They weren't trying to be macho. In a decade defined by Van Halen and hair metal, four people standing behind keyboards was a radical act of defiance.
Why Lullaby and Tubular Bells Changed the Game
If you look at the charts from 1988, you’ll see the band hitting a creative peak with Lullaby. The title track is iconic, but the real deep-cut flex was their cover of Mike Oldfield’s "Tubular Bells."
Most bands would steer clear of a prog-rock opus associated with The Exorcist. Book of Love turned it into a dance floor floor-filler. It was genius. They understood that the tension between "scary" and "danceable" was exactly where their audience lived. This period saw them touring with Depeche Mode on the Black Celebration tour. Think about that for a second. Playing to massive, black-clad crowds who were notoriously fickle. Book of Love won them over because they shared that same DNA of beautiful melancholy.
Interestingly, Lauren Roselli ended up marrying the band’s producer, Ivan Ivan. This kind of tight-knit, almost familial structure kept the band's creative vision remarkably consistent even when the industry started shifting toward grunge in the early nineties. They didn't chase trends. They just kept being themselves, even when "themselves" meant writing songs about counting and Modigliani.
The Cultural Impact of Pretty Boys and Modigliani
We have to talk about the lyrics. Susan Ottaviano’s delivery was always cool, detached, and perfectly pitch-correct. It wasn't about vocal gymnastics; it was about the message.
In "Modigliani (Lost in Your Eyes)," they turned a 20th-century Italian painter into a pop culture icon for the club set. Who does that? It was a "smart" pop song. It signaled to the listener: It’s okay to be educated. It’s okay to like art. They were making intellectualism sexy.
- Gender Identity: Long before it was a mainstream conversation, songs like "Boy" and "Pretty Boys and Pretty Girls" addressed the fluidity of attraction and identity.
- The AIDS Crisis: "Pretty Boys and Pretty Girls" was one of the first mainstream pop songs to explicitly mention the AIDS epidemic, weaving it into a song about safe sex and the loss of innocence.
- The Tech Aesthetic: They embraced the "geekiness" of the Fairlight and the Emulator, proving that machines had souls.
The band's visual aesthetic was equally curated. They looked like they stepped out of a Warhol factory film—all sharp lines, muted colors, and intentional poses. They were a complete package.
The Long Tail: Why We Are Still Listening
Technically, the band never truly "broke up" in the messy, tabloid sense. They drifted into other projects—Ted became a sought-after remixer and producer, Susan explored the culinary arts and illustration—but they always came back to the Book of Love.
The 2016 release of MMXVI (their 30th-anniversary collection) proved that the appetite for their sound hadn't diminished. If anything, the rise of "synthwave" and the 80s nostalgia cycle has made them more relevant than ever. Newer acts like CHVRCHES or even certain tracks by Robyn owe a massive debt to the groundwork laid by Ted and the gang. They proved you could be electronic and emotional simultaneously.
The reality is that most bands from that era burned out or became "where are they now" punchlines. Book of Love avoided that by remaining authentic. They never tried to be a "guitar band" to fit into the 90s. They stayed in their lane, and eventually, the world circled back to them.
What to Do if You’re Just Discovering Them Now
If you are just now falling down the rabbit hole of the Book of Love band, don't just stick to the "Best Of" playlists. You have to experience the albums as cohesive pieces of art. The textures matter. The sequencing matters.
Start with the "Modigliani" 12-inch remixes. In the 80s, the 12-inch single was an art form, and Book of Love mastered it. The extended versions of their songs aren't just longer; they are atmospheric journeys.
Watch the music videos. Specifically "Lullaby." It captures that ethereal, slightly Gothic-lite vibe that defined a very specific subset of New York club culture. It's a vibe that's hard to replicate because it was so tied to a specific time and place—the Danceteria, the Pyramid Club, the Limelight.
Listen for the "Bells." Once you notice the signature Book of Love bell sound, you’ll hear it everywhere. It’s their sonic fingerprint. It represents a kind of clarity and purity in a genre that can often feel cluttered.
Track their influence on modern synth-pop. Listen to the way they layer female vocals over cold, rhythmic sequences. You'll see it in everything from Ladytron to the more electronic-leaning indie acts of the 2020s.
The legacy of Book of Love isn't just about nostalgia. It's about the courage to be quiet in a loud world, to be artful in a commercial world, and to be yourself when everyone else is trying to fit a mold. They gave the "weird kids" a beat to dance to, and honestly, we’re still dancing to it.
For those looking to dive deeper into the technical side of their sound, researching the E-mu Emulator II library will reveal exactly how they crafted those haunting textures. It's a rabbit hole worth disappearing into if you value the history of electronic music production.
Actionable Steps for the Modern Fan
- Seek out the Sire Records vinyl. The analog warmth actually changes how those early synths feel against your eardrums. Digital remasters are fine, but the original pressings have a specific "air" to them.
- Explore the solo work. Ted Ottaviano’s remixes for other artists in the 90s carry that same sophisticated DNA.
- Follow the band on social media. Unlike many of their peers, they are actually active and frequently share archival footage and stories that haven't been documented in the major music trades.
- Analyze the "Pretty Boys and Pretty Girls" lyrics. Read them as a poem first. It’s a stark reminder of how high the stakes were in 1988 and how brave they were to put those words on the radio.