CD Odyssey Disc 705: The Cult

I’m home from my early shift almost on time today, so I’m going to write this next music review and then take a nap so I can properly enjoy the weekend. I used to say “sleep is for the dead” but now that I’m older I realize that lack of sleep leaves you like the living dead, and that’s no fun either.

Disc 705 is…. Love

Artist: The Cult

Year of Release: 1985

What’s up with the Cover? Based on this cover, the Cult in question is of the ancient Egyptian variety. Personally, if I was to choose an ancient Egyptian cult, I’m partial to Bast because of my love of cats. Horus is pretty kick ass as well, with the falcon head and that whole righteous vengeance thing.

How I Came To Know It: As I noted back at Disc 606 when I reviewed “Sonic Temple” my friend Cameron introduced me to the Cult back in university and made sure I heard them a lot in his car. This iteration is Sheila’s CD, as she was also a fan of the Cult in the day.

How It Stacks Up:  We’ve got two Cult CDs and I put “Love” second on that list, behind the aforementioned “Sonic Temple”.

Rating: 2 stars

When I reviewed “Sonic Temple” I was pleasantly surprised, so I had high hopes that “Love” would also deliver. Sadly, it was a short–lived honeymoon.

I didn’t hate this album, but it certainly didn’t inspire. Musically, you can tell the band is trying to generate energy on every song, which makes the plodding quality to most of the them even more disappointing. Basically, the bulk of these tracks consist of a single boring guitar riff that is repeated over and over again and never quite resolves itself into something more, but spends way too long trying.

There are exceptions to this rule. Notably the album’s hit “She Sells Sanctuary” holds up very well despite getting badly overplayed in the late eighties. The opening guitar riff is one of the most recognizable in music, capturing the spirit of rock and roll and putting it in some kind of Far East vessel that evokes a sitar without actually playing one. “She Sells Sanctuary” also shows off Ian Astbury’s voice which is kind of a cross between the Doors’ Jim Morrison and the Cure’s Robert Smith. For most of “Love” Astbury sounds like he’s going through the motions of being a rock star, but on “She Sells Sanctuary” he is the real deal.

For deep cuts there isn’t a lot to offer, but the album’s final song “Black Angel” is a standout. It is a bit slower than a lot of the other tracks, and has a nice church dirge quality to it as Astbury sings the tale of a condemned man returning home to face his fate.

It is a shame that the band made these two songs the last two on the album. By the time the time I got there, I was feeling testy and musically neglected by what had come before. “Rain” (track 5) is passable but not enough to hold up the bloated and self-absorbed “Brother Wolf, Sister Moon” or the energetic but directionless “Nirvana.”

For the most part, hearing this record made me want to listen to a Cure album instead, which work the same musical structures but just do it better. That or the Cult’s own later release, “Sonic Temple” by which time they have better mastered the layered grunge production they’re looking for on “Love.”

My recollection of the Cult in the day was that they had a high opinion of themselves. They went out of their way to talk about how they were all about the music, and creating their own sound.  Even the liner notes of this reissue of “Love” are full of grandiose statements to that effect. Astbury is quoted as saying “I’d be walking around with a Jimi Hendrix T-shirt on and being laughed at for being this complete esoteric freak. The media thought I was completely potty – they just didn’t get it.” As though wearing a Hendrix shirt made him the inheritor of Hendrix. Also, Hendrix is hardly esoteric to music lovers, Ian.

The bottom line is that this album falls far short of its lofty ambitions. It lands as an inoffensive, OK rock record with a great single and a deep cut worth a listen. You can get experience with a 45.

Best tracks: Rain, She Sells Sanctuary, Black Angel