Live albums, by and large, are a dime a dozen -- inconsequential souvenirs designed to placate fans awaiting new studio material, they rarely if ever shed new light on the artist in question; rarer still is their ability to approximate the energy and excitement of the concert setting itself. Spiritualized's transcendent Royal Albert Hall October 10 1997 is the proverbial exception that proves the rule, a revelatory two-disc collection which captures the group at the peak of their powers, somehow translating the hypnotic power and epic majesty of their live set onto vinyl. Rejecting the inane between-song stage patter common to most live performers, Jason Pierce instead weaves his music together into an unbroken tapestry of sound, casting a spell which ebbs and flows with narcotic beauty and intensity; even the most familiar selections (like "Shine a Light," "Take Your Time," and "Medication," all frequent inclusions on other Spiritualized live EPs and bootlegs) pulsate with new life, their melodies as likely to set off on a meditative drift as they are to erupt in blasts of white noise. Granted, Royal Albert Hall isn't a substitute for the experience of actually catching the group in the flesh -- what is? -- but like so few other concert LPs, it actually rises above its conceptual limitations, forever capturing a singular moment in time and space when Spiritualized was unquestionably the greatest rock & roll band in the world.
This album is often dismissed as a transitional release between two more substantial efforts, and while I don’t disagree with that opinion, Pure Phase is a fine album in its own right. Less suite-like than Laser Guided Melodes, with 12 distinct songs, this album is also less cohesive, and it has more moods as it veers between dreamy mood pieces and ear splittingly loud noise-fests. In general I prefer the former, as some of the more abrasive latter stuff can really test my patience, but though Pure Phase has its ups and downs some of the ups are pretty incredible. This album hits an immediate peak with the epic psychedelia of “Medication,” which starts with those church-y keyboards that play such an important role throughout the album. This 8-minute song is mostly very mellow but has periodic surges where the excitement is upped considerably, and there’s a certain uplifting euphoria and an undeniable sense of grandeur to the song (as with many of the best Spiritualized songs). Gorgeous flute highlights the more modest standout “The Slide Song,” while “All Of My Tears” is a pretty rewrite of an old Spaceman 3 song on which the dreamy, swirling sound again dominates. Even better is “Let It Flow,” which has more church-y organ and adds hooky gospel-y vocals as well, which would soon become an increasing band trademark along with the droning guitars that anchor their massive Wall Of Sound. The other highlights here are "Lay Back in the Sun," one of those (loud, poppy) songs that simply makes me glad to be alive, while the woozy "Spread Your Wings" provides a gorgeously affecting and suitably epic climax near the end of the album. Elsewhere, there are some pleasant songs that offer mere background music, and there are even a few that I tend to skip entirely, as Pure Phase to me is more about its peaks whereas Laser Guided Melodies was more about its consistency and start to finish listenability. Again, I prefer the former, but soundwise this was the album that pointed the way to their superior, breakthrough next release.
Spiritualized’s magnum opus begins with the electronic voice of a woman saying the title of the album, and then -- silence. Before the song begins, the listener is treated to 7 seconds of nothing, a moment of silence to both reflect on the album’s title and at the same time be transported to the abyss of space, and for a moment the listener is actually floating in space, looking back at mother Earth, distant. Everything is stationary and peaceful, and when the music slowly fades in, the illusion is not disrupted. The synthesizer is light and airy, there are occasional beeps and blips, the vocals are monotonous. The song goes out of its way to avoid revealing any emotion. If you close your eyes, you can see the image that is painted by the song: an astronaut orbiting around his homeworld, floating, looking through a window while Elvis Presley’s “I Can’t Help Falling In Love With You” plays in a speaker. The astronaut sings along, solemnly, thinking about someone at home that he desperately wants to be with, and he feels the cold pain of isolation. Then “Come Together” comes on, and its like plummeting back to earth, horns blazing as the listener crashes back into the atmosphere. Jason Pierce snarls in your ear in a voice entirely different than what you heard just 20 seconds ago, and despite the song’s title, it feels like everything is actually falling apart as instruments come and go in a tempoless tempest. “Come Together” and the title track effectively show the album’s two extremes: the solemn astronaut versus the anarchy and fire that rages inside of Pierce. And the most amazing part of this album is how Spiritualized emulate both sides of the coin so well. “All Of My Thoughts” begins sedated, a whisper that breathes and fluctuates, and then explodes into a fanfare for about 30 seconds before resuming its sober state, only to crash again into crazy mode, rinse and repeat. The album is often wrongly labeled as “what it sounds like to float in space,” when its really more “what it sounds like to be bipolar.” In the album’s 70 minute run, as advertised on the cover, there is hardly a minute that cannot be put into either the restrained or riot category. Resisting the bad feelings vs. letting them in. Pierce has succeeded in creating a schizophrenic album, and the effect is incredible. There is the song “Electricity,” a favorite of mine from the album, that shakes and rocks and threatens to run off the rails, followed immediately by “Home of the Brave,” which is the most emotionally revealing song of the album with Pierce confessing “I don’t even miss you, but that’s because I’m f**ked up.” Chaos vs. Control. The album’s theme reaches its climax with “Cop Shoot Cop…” The 17 minute monster of a song is really the must-listen of the album. Starting off soft with a piano, tambourine and guitar, Jason Pierce sings with his signature monotone moan “Jesus Christ died for nothing, I suppose.” You can almost hear Pierce shrugging as he sings the line. Of course, the song follows the theme of the album and straddles the line between tranquility and travesty, and the song soon explodes into a tempest of screeching guitars, bass riffs and just general fuzz, only to once again be calmed, restarting the cycle. In the end, this album could easily be 2 separate albums by 2 separate bands, that were then mashed together and intertwined and forced to live together in some sort of crazy reality show. Jason Pierce really made a masterpiece of an album with “Ladies and Gentlemen We are Floating in Space.” Not only is the concept of the album fully realized and well executed, the band behind Pierce is playing in top form (listen: Cop Shoot Cop…). The band is able to transform from a baseline and drum into a wall of sound and textures in seconds, and then at any moment compact itself back into minimalist mode. The album is a complete package, a joy to listen to from start to end, and that’s what really propels it into space.
