THE TWILIGHT SINGERS Powder Burns (One Little Indian)
I havent heard anything from Greg Dulli since the last album by his former (and future, apparently, with an imminent reformation in prospect) band The Afghan Whigs, 1965, was released back in the last millennium. Since then hes devoted his energies to both a solo career and the Twilight Singers project, of which Powder Burns is the fourth album. Thanks to Kev, by the way, who offered up the album as one of his regular Rocksig Yahoo group giveaways, and without whom I wouldntve heard what couldve been one of the finest albums of the year.
The Twilight Singers dont sound staggeringly different to The Afghan Whigs, albeit with an even greater sense of precision-drilled accuracy: there are moments, for example Theres Been An Accident, that sound like a cankered U2, and the momentous, epic Underneath The Waves is stadium rock in all but the lowest common denominator platitudes. So why dont Twilight Singers albums shift in precious metal-plated millions? Well, Dulli is a prickly bundle of moral ambiguity at best, and although in interviews hes quick to correct the misconception that hes a misogynist by explaining that hes actually a misanthropist, Powder Burns is laced with enough gender-specific unpleasantness to suggest hell never be a Bono.
Its that acrid, sexist whiff that despoils Powder Burns, lending a sulphurous, vengeful edge to his declaration Im ready to love somebody on Im Ready he doesnt exactly sound flushed with the improbable marvel of romance, put it that way or the blank transaction of Forty Dollars, in which he corrupts The Beatles glorious She loves you/Yeah yeah yeah, making it seem, well, grubby. Less specifically offensive is the steel- and string-coddled warmth of The Conversation, which just about distracts attention from lines like I travelled through the ether on the blood of my enemies, and its during the title tracks magnificently orchestrated caterwaul that it becomes apparent (well, to me at least) that the powder in question isnt being stockpiled for some kinda Guy Fawkes-referencing pyrotechnic display. In perhaps the albums most inventive moment, the track reaches a string coda styled on early Michael Nyman that cedes to the ominous sound of lapping waves. Finally, I Wish I Was sounds eerily reminiscent of Mark Eitzels magnificent jazz-tinged solo debut 60 Watt Silver Lining, wisps of trumpet curling around the lounge bar.
Musically, then, Powder Burns is a delight, stomping with conviction as often as it unsettles. Its a shame that Dullis continued lyrical preoccupations seem determined to undermine all that good work.