REVIEW: Ian Astbury, Spirit\Light\Speed (Beggars Banquet)
- Wilson Neate
In 1994, The Cult's eponymous last album showed that Billy Duffy and Ian Astbury were beginning to distance themselves from the stadium-friendly rockism into which they'd lapsed by the early '90s. Six years later, after a stint with the Holy Barbarians, Astbury has released his first solo effort, Spirit\Light\Speed, which attests to an even more marked musical evolution.
Taking a cue from one of his admittedly favorite bands, Primal Scream, on Spirit Astbury carries off a convincing hybridization of the textures of electronica and rock. The result is an engaging sonic venture that owes as much to the influence of the techno generation as it does to standard Astbury coordinates such as Led Zeppelin.
For the most part, Spirit exorcises any Duffy-esque ax antics and drops the anthemic pretensions and bombast of Sonic Temple and Ceremony-period Cult in favor of more subtle, integrated guitar work and an attention to beats and samples. Above all, Astbury shows that not only has he kept up with some of the more significant developments in certain variants of popular music over the last decade but, more importantly, he's able to craft his own distinctive and relevant contribution that doesn't sound out of place alongside many of today's younger acts.
Despite its contemporary feel, an unlikely influence on Spirit/Light/Speed is Jesus Christ Superstar. Astbury reports being inspired both by the emotive resonance of some of the songs from the rock opera and by its treatment of the notion of martyrdom, one of his own long-held lyrical preoccupations. It's precisely that subject matter that Astbury sets out re-explore on Spirit, albeit recontextualized amid what he terms "electronic landscapes."
The cover art itself announces a continued thematic concern with the martyr figure, featuring an image that appears to blend the face of Astbury himself and the familiar depiction of the Argentinian freedom fighter Che Guevara -- these days, unfortunately, a largely dehistoricized pop culture fashion accessory.
Che even gets his own song ("El Che/Wild Like a Horse") and, while it's one of the more memorable and melodic tracks on the album, it exemplifies a problem that has intermittently undermined Astbury's songwriting over the years: namely, his propensity for awkward lyrics of the high school poetry club variety. Of course, rock lyrics aren't literature and shouldn't be judged by the standards reserved for literary criticism or analysis, but when you do something like rhyming "French symbolist poetry" with "the BBC" -- as Astbury did on the last Cult album -- you've got to expect a few winces.
Although there are no cringers of that magnitude on this album, in certain places the lyrical content does blemish this otherwise respectable outing. While Astbury's "electronic landscapes" are fresh and compelling, with their driving beats and layers of sound, and while his voice is as effortlessly commanding and evocative as ever, on occasion you can hear the lyrics just a little too clearly.
"Metaphysical Pistol" and "Devil's Mouth" are two instances of solid tracks that are marred by their words. The latter foregrounds the diametrically opposed poles of Astbury's abilities: an unparalleled gift for soaring -- wordless -- vocal flourishes and a talent for unfortunate rhymes (check out the chorus). "Metaphysical Pistol" features some equally dodgy writing and Astbury compounds the problem by enlisting a sampled Alan Watts, spouting popular psychology/philosophy that now sounds only one rung above John Gray or The Celestine Prophecy. By the end of the track, however, Astbury introduces some heavy beats into the initially low-key affair, managing to whip it up and salvage things somewhat.
Minor grumblings aside, "Back On Earth" and the techno-meets-"Trampled Underfoot" of "High Time Amplifier" are unqualified successes. On these driving, forceful tracks all the components are well-integrated and arranged; and key among those elements is Astbury's voice, serving not so much as a vehicle for lyrics but as the effective and distinctive instrument that it always has been. Also noteworthy is the reworking of "The Witch," the hackneyed rock cliche of the lyrics eclipsed by its hypnotic and relentless, bass-heavy throb, reminiscent of classic Sisters of Mercy tracks like "Floorshow."
Equally strong is the straight-ahead, no-nonsense drive of "It's Over," with its vaguely Stooges guitar, bass and drum feel. Judging by this album, it's certainly not "over" for Ian Astbury yet. Indeed, The Cult are currently back together -- again -- and recording. It'll be interesting to see how much of the vitality and momentum of Spirit\Light\Speed Astbury will be able translate back to his renewed partnership with Duffy.
