On their much delayed 1987 sophomore LP, The Sisters of Mercy–or to be more accurate, front guy and Andrew “Leave Me Alone I’m Playing Everything” Eldritch–proved themselves the Gothest of the Goth, Gother even than Professor Emeritus of Reanimation Studies at Transylvania University in Sibiu Dr. Viktor Frankenstein, Wuthering Heights, a convocation of gargoyles, and the Phantom of the Opera. And everybody’s favorite deformed organist conceded as much in a 1988 interview, saying, “I consider myself a damn good dark wave musician, but no way can I compete with a drum machine.”
The story of the dissolution of The Sisters of Misery Mach I and Eldritch’s decision to resurrect the band as a de facto solo project is boring beyond words–the only interesting thing about it was Eldritch’s decision to keep on drum machine Doktor Avalanche, who was willing to play for minimum wage and wise enough to keep his qualms about Eldritch’s despotic tendencies to himself.
While Eldritch of the haunted cheekbones and tinted vampire fang glasses has never been the official face of Goth–that title belongs to Robert Smith–his music is its official soundtrack. Eldritch trucks in pitch black romanticism and his formula is deceptively simple. First imagine Eldritch doing his best imitation of Count Dracula doing his best impersonation of David Bowie. Then set said vocals over the good Doktor’s beats, which stomp through these songs like Mr. Hyde on a spree through London’s East End in search of someone to cudgel. It all sounds very ghoulish, but lest you think Eldritch takes any of it seriously, bear in mind he’s the guy who once said, “Apparently, I have a totally different sense of humour.”
And taken in that spirit, Floodland is a whole lot of fun. Composed in the World Capitol of Gloom, Hamburg Germany, Floodland’s songs vary from the gussied up (the New York Choral Society pitches in on two tracks) and the unadorned (on “1959″ Eldritch is accompanied only by a piano which, if I understand correctly, was never touched by human hands–which means Eldritch must have played it with his feet!).
“Flood I” has a cool Middle Eastern flair to it, and you’d swear the ghost of Jimmy Page was flitting about the studio except he’s not dead. Eldritch sings, “In a flood of your tears in sackcloth” as if you can actually find waterproof sackcloth, but maybe I’m just being picky. Could be a simple case of writer’s block, as Eldritch himself admits when he sings, “Sitting here now in this bar for hours/Tryin’ to write it down.”
“1959″ is a pretty MopeFest and has something to do with Eldritch’s being a baby in 1959, which I can relate to seeing as how I was a baby in 1959 too! Maybe Baby Andrew and I met once and spit up on each other! ( I’ll have to ask mom). “Never Land” is a mullet with Led Zeppelin’s “When the Levee Breaks” up front and the Fall’s “Lay of the Land” in back, and the perfect song for your next Goth-themed trailer park party. “Flood II” also opens on a Fall-like note, then decides it wants to be Ian Curtis watching Werner Herzog’s Stroszek on the telly instead. It’s all so very depressing.
And speaking of Ian Curtis, Eldritch’s driving bass line and unrelenting guitar riff on “Lucretia My Reflection” owe their very existence to Joy Division. As for the lyrics they’re really cool–you get dum-dum bullets, Methedrine, dive bombers and all kinds of other neat stuff. “Driven Like the Snow,” meanwhile, is almost chipper in its morbid way and sounds like what you’d get if you slapped pancake makeup and fright wigs on the Pet Shop Boys. And what’s not to like about that?
“Dominion/Mother Russia” is your standard gloomcore fare until the New York Choral Society muscles into the studio, after finishing a session (or so I like to imagine) with Laibach. There’s also a synthesizer playing the saxophone, and if you ask me said synth kicks Michael Brecker’s butt. Check one up for the machines!
The track that’ll really have you doing the Zombie Bop is, of course, “This Corrosion,” which I’m sad to report has nothing to do with the undercoating of your Dodge Prius. The New York Choral Society goes big-league Gregorian, Doktor Avalanche gets up off his keister and does the Transilvanian Boogie, and an almost chipper Eldritch sings “Hey now, hey now now, sing this corrosion to me” like he’s auditioning for Men Without Hats. Who cares if forensic experts once dusted “This Corrosion” for fingerprints and identified them as belonging to Billy Idol? It’s still the best 9 and one-half minutes you’ll ever spend outside a morgue (inside a morgue you’d have rigor mortis).
I’ve spent my entire adult life mocking all things Goth, but no longer. Call me a born-again Bela Lugosi or a newborn denizen of darkness–call me whatever you want. Just show me the way to the moors of England and pass me a goblet of blood, and I’ll sing “Hey now, hey now now” until the bats come home.
GRADED ON A CURVE:
A-
