For the first time since Dawnrazor, the Nephilim worked with someone other than Bill Buchanan as producer; whatever Andy Jackson's particular qualifications, happily he knew not to ruin a good thing. The end result was the band's best all-around album, consisting of four lengthy pieces that showcase their now near-peerless abilities to create involved, textured, driving, and loud pieces of rock. It was still goth as all heck, but like the best bands in any genre, the Nephilim transcended such artificial limitations to create their own sound. McCoy still comes up with an occasionally curious lyric, to put it mildly, but such is the power of his performance as well as the band's that, at least for the time it's playing, Elizium really does sound like it's about to call up darkling spirits from the nether planes. The opening song is divided into four parts but mainly known by its second, "For Her Light," which was edited into a single. It moves from initial crashes of noise, feedback, and keyboards to catchier brooding and riff action, a calmer midsection with appropriate samples of Alistair Crowley, and a last slamming run to the song's conclusion. "Submission" stands on its own, switching between minimal bass with guitar stabs and massive crescendos. "Sumerland (What Dreams May Come)" takes the apocalyptic element of the Nephilim to its furthest extent; its relentless pulse supports some of the most powerful guitar out there while McCoy achieves a similar high point with his commanding voice. "Wail of Sumer" concludes Elizium on a striking two-part note, gently floating rather than exploding over its length, while McCoy's lost, regretful voice drifts along with it as a soft, yet still unnerving conclusion. Combine that with another fantastic job on art design, and Elizium, once you accept the Nephilim's basic conceits, simply stuns.
Scritti Politti finally delivered their fourth album, Anomie & Bonhomie, in the summer of 1999, nearly 15 years after their third. Such a long wait almost guarantees some change in the music, but the strange thing about Anomie & Bonhomie is how the updates -- rapper cameos, vague house beats, grunge guitars -- sound as if they're pasted over backing tracks from 1986. Not necessarily a bad thing, but disconcerting, since the heart of this album is squarely in Cupid & Psyche 85 territory. Green Gartside still creates unabashedly fey, unapologetically smooth pop, sprinkled with hints of soul and dance. Green's high, thin voice takes some getting used to, as does his aesthetic. He likes melodies, but he likes surfaces and textures even more, particularly if they're manufactured and polished. That was the very thing that made Cupid & Psyche 85 irresistible, at least to post-New Romantic new wavers, and parts of Anomie & Bonhomie work on that same appealingly slick level, since Green has a talent for constructing hooks and sounds. They don't necessarily add up to full-fledged songs, yet the feel is always right -- a light, persistent groove, swooning melodies, and a sense of twee sophistication. That's why the contemporary flourishes don't fit -- they're forced, and Green is at his best when he makes it all seem easy, no matter how intricately constructed his music is. Subsequent spins let Green's talents float to the surface, particularly on the luxurious "First Goodbye," the dancefloor opener "Umm," and "Mystic Handyman." If the album winds up succeeding on the strength of soundcraft instead of songcraft, that's the way Green works. While it may not be worth an extended wait, Anomie & Bonhomie ultimately remains faithful to the sophsti-pop aesthetic the band pioneered in the mid-'80s.
Even the cover art is great, playing with the same fake tabloid style that Guns N' Roses tried but with funnier results. Beginning with a semi-echo of the start of Propaganda, with the a cappella "Gratuitous Sax" leading into the surging, well-deserved European smash hit "When Do I Get to Sing 'My Way'," Gratuitous Sax & Senseless Violins broke a near seven-year silence from Ron and Russell Mael -- the longest period of time by far since their start in between major releases. Rather than sounding tired or out of touch, though, the brothers gleefully embraced the modern synth/house/techno explosion for their own purposes (an explosion which, after all, they had helped start with their work during the late '70s with Giorgio Moroder). Solely recorded by the Maels with no outside help, Sax keeps that same, perfect Sparks formula -- Russell's sweet vocals soar with smart and suspect lyrics over Ron's sometimes fast and furious, sometimes slow and elegant melodies, here performed with detailed electronic lushness. They make their style live yet again, feeling far fresher here than on Interior Design. "(When I Kiss You) I hear Charlie Parker Playing" finds Russell rapping (!), "I Thought I Told You to Wait in the Car" has a great building chorus, and "Let's Go Surfing" helps wrap up the album with a wistfully triumphant call to arms. "Tsui Hark" is the one slight departure from the formula, featuring the Hong Kong director Hark himself giving a brief autobiography while a colleague speaks in Chinese. Though some longtime fans groused that they missed the more rocked-up Sparks of the early '70s (or early '80s) in comparison, all in all, Gratuitous Sax & Senseless Violins is a well-deserved return to form from a band which has deserved far more attention from the musical world, or the world at large, than they have received.
As a slice of danceable, oddball pop confection, Weird Revolution glides seamlessly along as millenial ear candy -- bizarre, languorous, and utterly surreal. Only a band with such a varied past -- splatter-painted with psychedelia, avant-punk, and hardcore, the acid-damaged scatology of Chrome, the pastoral beauty of acoustic and folk guitar, and the acid guitar pyrotechnics of Led Zeppelin -- could attempt such a massive career about-face. Agreed, when the Beck-ish "Pepper" sailed up the charts in the late 1990s, with its casual, trippy sampled beats, the vast preponderance of old-school fans were aghast. The radio friendly -- not to mention dance club friendly -- Weird Revolution will do nothing to assist those people back into the Butts peculiar belief system. Certainly, an album like this is not without precedent in the band's camp. At the tail end of the 1980s, former bassist Jeff Pinkus and ringleader Gibby Haynes assembled some binary code mish-mash under the name the Jackofficers using little more than a couple of Macintosh computers. And that was merely a lark. This time, one guesses, the band is as serious as a band like the Butthole Surfers could be. Unfortunately, all organic drumming has been cast overboard in favor of the studio friendly ProTools unit. There are numerous occasions of pop brilliance; "The Shame of Life" and the "Sweet Jane"-flavored "Dracula From Venus." Gibby Haynes' vocals are the designated focus of Weird Revolution, and even though he has always shown tremendous range in years past, from the disturbing ("Gravyard," "Concubine") to Roxy Music-esque crooning, this time he's flexing his Texas hip-hop muscles. Perhaps this is precisely the album they've been waiting to make. Perhaps it was a career imperative; the only way to financially salvage a 20-odd year run of genius and mayhem that suddenly went awry, causing everyone involved trouble with the bank. That is forgivable; that is fine. Certain bands, given their dedication and catalog, are nearly exempt from traditional standards, but the near absence of Paul Leary's LSD-drenched guitar wizardry is unconscionable, as it had always been the band's most mesmerizing feature. This signals a weird revolution in sound and vision, indeed: from the damaged terror, brilliance, and whimsy of the '80s and early '90s to the ecstacy-lined trenches of electronica.
