A Litany of Sorrow
What is it with British singers of a certain age? First there was Morrissey, who has always been just a little bit morose, then Jarvis Cocker took on the role of frustrated Britpop veteran with his first solo offering and now even Brett Anderson is knocking on the door of this executive club for doleful past masters, a position, which this eponymous album proves that he deserves.
Adopting the role of electronic-tinged Morrissey with his melancholic troubadour new single, 'Love Is Dead', Brett Anderson's new album is off to a great start. "No one cares if there's inside of my dead", the singer wails over an aching backing as a lone guitar is unleashed to let out its own cry of mourning for the l-word. Continuing this dark side and proving one of the most powerful tunes is, 'Dust And Rain', which sees Anderson sneering, "I am the needle and you are the vein/ This is the moment that words can't explain" under a frothing overdriven guitar backing as deliberate synth notes drop in to punctuate the giddy crescendo.
Unfortunately simpering mellow numbers like, 'One Lazy Morning' and 'Intimacy' are allowed to ruin the impact of these first few bare and brutal tunes, but the singer soons come back with 'To The Winter', a fine example of a pensive ballad with perfect percussive couplets, "Went and sat in Crystal Palace by the plastic dinosaurs/In my pocket was a piece of paper and the writing looked like yours" - an effusive, icy eulogy for lost love.
'Scorpio Rising' sees Anderson once again embracing a dizzying depth of misery, "They move with murder in their veins"; this is a bleak and clinical tune that has an audible chill in its tone and will have you reaching for comfort in no time at all.
'Colour Of The Night' is a heart-rending tune with violins soon trembling with sorrow and a hypnotic piano backing, "Tell me when was hell so beautiful", sighs Anderson, full of tangible despair. 'The More We Possess The Less We Own Of Ourselves' waltzes along, conjuring images of opulence which Anderson counters with anti-consumerist lyrics, "So baby spent her everything on this lifestyle, but it's a lifestyle that doesn't exist", a tremendous number that brims with swirling emotion which spills over from the vitriolic lyrics.
Before Anderson slides into eternal gloom it would be lovely to see him pull some of the fizzing energy of Suede tunes out of the hat and inject it into more dirge-like offerings such as, 'Song For My Father'. While I can't say that this album disappoints, as the tunes are so finely sculpted from frozen emotions, it's a painful listen that brings you to the brink of tears at the peak of each tune. What happened to all the passion for misspent youth to turn it into something so utterly deprived of positivity?