REVIEW - Big Paul Ferguson: Virtual Control

“Let’s hope Killing Joke is locked away in a bunker somewhere writing an album about all of this.”

I posted the above words on my personal Facebook page last year during the early days of the COVID-19 pandemic. I could not think of a more suitable band to express the anger, fear, isolation, confusion and grasps at hope that millions suddenly had to experience in the blink of an eye. Although a new Killing Joke studio album has yet to materialize (perhaps with the wildly disparate locations of the band’s members serving as the greatest culprit), listeners will soon have Virtual Control, the upcoming first full-length solo album by the group’s co-founder and drummer, Big Paul Ferguson.

Ferguson the man is soft-spoken, warm and welcoming – the kind of person who’d sooner greet a fan (or “Gatherer,” to use Killing Joke parlance) with a hug than with a handshake. Ferguson the drummer, however, is as terrifying as he is inspiring – the primal emotional engine fueling Killing Joke’s sonic storm through precise tom-heavy beats and a piercing, laser-focused onstage gaze that could cut through glass.

This duality is on full display throughout Virtual Control, which unpacks a hell of a lot in regard to our current state of world affairs through the juxtaposition of thunderous instrumentation and even-keeled, half-sung/half-spoken vocals. The album’s title alone should give you an idea of Ferguson’s present worldview as he comments on what has largely become a society manipulated into devolving into the human equivalent of rattled canines barking at one another in a circle. (As he sings on the album’s opening track, “Lapdogs of discontent never agree.”) Visually speaking, he addresses the pandemic in blunt fashion in the new video for the album’s first single, “Extrapolate.”

Lyrically, Ferguson’s primary interest on Virtual Control seems less focused on the pandemic itself and more targeted toward the societal and global implications of the cultural shifts it has produced, as demonstrated in these words heard underneath the loudly mixed musical blast of “Data Lama:”

Hard to imagine what the future’s gonna look like

When the structures we’ve been used to

Have all been swept aside

Barriers of normalcy

Barriers of trade

Have all been blown to pieces

By this fundamental change.

Of course, America (where Ferguson currently resides) recently faced racial unrest and a deeply polarizing Presidential election in addition to the lockdown conditions that shuttered the planet. This already combustible combination was made even worse by the proliferation of dubious information by sources driven more by the desire for clicks than the commitment to presenting anything resembling reality. These developments drive the slow burn of “The Unraveling,” a melancholic meditation on a citizenry rapidly succumbing to the seductive glare of portable screens:

Swipe left, swipe right

Scroll up, scroll down

Click here, click there

Watch the little wheel spin round

And round and round and round

Shopping online

Swallowing lies

Victims of circumstance

Telling porky pies

The world’s gone crazy

There’s so much wealth

Flushed down the drain

But so’s my mental health

It really doesn’t matter

There’s so much chatter

When the face on the screen

Says it’s safe, not safe.

Album co-producer/co-writer and veteran journeyman guitarist Mark Gemini Thwaite, who’s spent the past several years collaborating with a staggering array of artists (The Mission, Peter Murphy, Tricky, Julianne Regan and late Killing Joke bassist Paul Raven [in the band Mob Research], to name but a few), returns to deliver the same high-caliber musicality that he brought to Ferguson’s 2018 debut solo EP, Remote Viewing. (His playing on “Extrapolate” and “Plausible Deniability,” which both give more than a passing nod to the stylings of Killing Joke’s Geordie Walker, is particularly blistering.) Additionally, Tim Skold (best known for his stints with Marilyn Manson, KMFDM, ohGr and – if you’re of a certain age like me – Shotgun Messiah) bolsters the album’s impact through a guest appearance on “Seeping Through The Cracks,” while Die Krupps mastermind Jürgen Engler appears on album closer “Dystopian Vibe.”

(Speaking of Die Krupps, Ferguson contributes drums to the group’s stellar rendition of Gang of Four’s “To Hell With Poverty” from its upcoming covers collection, Songs From The Dark Side Of Heaven.)

As for the drumming…well, this album has the name Big Paul Ferguson on the cover. If you’re a Killing Joke fan, get ready to groove. If you’re in the unfortunate position of also being a drummer, prepare to be horrified and humbled. Again. (Take a listen to his playing on “Glass Houses” – another dose of game over for most of us, I’m afraid.) Massive respect to him for keeping his skills consistently sharp and evolving through nearly 45 years of recorded output.

Ferguson once famously described the music of Killing Joke as “the sound of the earth vomiting.” Virtual Control is the sound of the world recoiling from the horrors it has created for itself under the guises of security and progress, delivered through thoughts and music that straddle the line between rage and resignation. This is more than an album; it is an essential statement on this critical moment in human history.

Pre-order Virtual Control at Cleopatra Records.

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Anita Lane: 1960-2021

My morning was greeted by the very sad news that Anita Lane had passed away.

Most people have no idea who Anita Lane was. To a select few, she is best known as Nick Cave’s former muse and the woman who co-wrote his song “From Her To Eternity.” That alone should tell you plenty about her. She was also the haunting babygirl voice on Einstürzende Neubauten’s “Blume.” Perhaps most significantly, she wrote the lyrics to Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds’ “Stranger Than Kindness” – a still-stunning marriage between the sordid and the serene.

Although she was obscure, she also gifted us with a small but extraordinary personal discography that’s worth seeking out. Just be prepared for a ride that would make Marianne Faithfull and Nico blush.

It’s no surprise that Anita was nicknamed “Dirty” and her absolutely essential 1993 album was called Dirty Pearl. Watch her video for "Jesus Almost Got Me,” a song that effortlessly eclipses “WAP” and other considerably more blatant mainstream expressions of female sexuality with a delivery that rarely rises above a whisper. Her music was the soundtrack to the feminine side of film noir, the workings of a sonic witch whose image and output suggested she would have been fantastic company for late-night sinning before leaving her companion dizzy and disheveled in a hotel room and wondering what the hell happened.

Earlier this year, The Quietus published a lengthy feature on Anita’s work. Such a piece was long-overdue.

Of course, no new quotes from Anita were featured in the story, nor had she been truly visible in the media even at the height of her creative output. She remained an enigma, a shadowy songstress represented on Facebook through a fan page with few revelations about her life and the real-world circumstances and processes that may have driven the world she showcased in her music.

Anita’s passing comes at a time when there was finally a hint of more to come. Her most recent solo album, 2001’s Sex O’ Clock, is set for a first-ever vinyl release on Mute Records later this year. There was newfound interest in her past and even word of new music. In a way, it’s poetic that she’d leave us now in spite of this – still largely a mystery, still leaving us with little to go on than a handful of utterly perfect songs to break our hearts and challenge our imaginations.

Like most true artists, Anita created work that didn’t speak to everyone, but it will forever slay the right people at the right time – and leave them desperately wanting more insight into a story that will never be fully told.

Well played, dear. Farewell and thank you.

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REVIEW - MOAT: Poison Stream

Sipping a cup of black coffee alone in a diner at 3am while dialing a cell phone that never picks up. Spending a downcast afternoon walking through a tired carnival with creaky and rusty rides that were surely something in their time. Facing another sunrise with a full ashtray and an empty bottle of wine. Staring at pictures of the one who got away – or the one in the other room who’s packing up to leave. There are moments in everyone’s life when they are confronted with the reality of a promise that never quite worked out. And now, those moments have a perfect soundtrack.

Wryly released two days before Valentine’s Day, Poison Stream, the first album in seven years from MOAT – a collaboration between Marty Willson-Piper (formerly of The Church) and Niko Röhlcke of Weeping Willows – is the kind of album that breaks your heart right out of the gate. From the morose opening keys to Willson-Piper’s concluding croon of the song’s title, the album's late-2020 single, “Gone By Noon,” was a decidedly somber affair that hinted at what was to come. While Willson-Piper’s past work with The Church often hid lyrical gloom behind shimmering arrangements (1988’s “Reptile” is a prime example), there were no grey shades – neither musically nor lyrically – found on this tune. The sense of loss and disillusionment was direct and palpable:

Silence spills like a wave in the dark

The films you play

Black and white

A final scene – crying

And you’re gone.

If that kind of sonic snapshot of disconnection is up your street, you’ll find more of the same on the album-opening “Acid Rain,” which uses a more upbeat musical presentation to cushion another Willson-Piper waltz through lyrical melancholia:

You flick the pages

Of your book

Trying to find

The right line

Then there it is

That famous quote

That explains

Away your life

You flip a coin

You laugh out loud

As it’s lost.

However, “Acid Rain” is far from a complete downer, as the song’s arrangement (highlighted by the simple but highly effective charge of drummer Eddie John) flavors its sentiments with hooks that last for days. Synth player Torbjörn Svedberg and backing vocalist Dare Mason add just the right amount of light to the proceedings, while Willson-Piper’s guitar work is instantly recognizable and characteristically pristine.

Then comes “Helpless You” – the best song Tom Waits never wrote. I mean, this is the opening verse:

The light slips through

You're alone in your room

With your secrets and pain

And it's happening again.

If you hang on long enough, you’ll encounter a gorgeously composed chorus that will compel you to sing along despite what it’s telling you:

And you cry as you slide away

In the light see the sign of your decay

So goodbye, we'll deny your prey

Your desires and lusts have locked you away

So sad, helpless you.

Once you pick yourself off the floor after that, you’ll be greeted by seven more songs pretty much in the same spirit as the preceding three. But even when reaching their dirgiest depths, the songs are rescued from complete despair by stunning (and sometimes even uplifting) instrumentation by a cast of other supporting characters, including (among many others) Willson-Piper’s wife, Olivia, whose harmony vocals and violin/cellolin on “The Ballad of Sweet Marie” add just enough sweetness to flavor the otherwise bleak narrative. The addition of tenor sax and trumpet (courtesy of Jonas Wall and Jonas Lindeborg, respectively) on “The Roadmap to My Soul” delivers a similar effect. Multi-instrumentalist Röhlcke – the album’s not-so-secret weapon – is heard and felt all over the place as the proceedings play on.

Of the remaining album tracks, “The Folly” is the peak of Poison Stream’s gripping power, with the strings of Malin-My Wall and Madelene Johansson meeting Röhlcke’s classical guitar in just the right way to expertly carry Willson-Piper’s crestfallen delivery.

And how do Willson-Piper, Röhlck and company wrap up this 10-song affair for the dutiful listener? With a song called “Tears Will Come.” For fuck’s sake!

Quips aside, Poison Stream is a truly masterful work – easily one of Willson-Piper’s most captivating releases and proof that his union with Röhlcke is a deeply successful formula. Every syllable the man sings utterly shatters you in the best possible way, but what do you expect from a guy who wrote the lyrics for this thing while spending time in the Swedish countryside?

Poison Stream will not speak to everyone, but nakedly honest art never does. However, those who possess the requisite disposition and bent to take it on will be rewarded with an album both serene and soul-crushing. It’s ultimately quite beautiful, even if it’s possibly the first recording since Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds’ Skeleton Tree to warrant the need for a safeword.

Devastation and cynicism have rarely sounded so lovely.

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REVIEW - Bitter Elixir: "Help"/"Stop"

Nothing about Bitter Elixir – the newly unveiled collaboration between Chicago-based multi-instrumentalist Roger Ebner and veteran New York underground noise merchant Christoph Liggio (a.k.a. Krztoff) – should work.

Ebner is a soft-spoken, sixtysomething sonic traveler whose musical journey has included explorations in (among many other things) Jazz and World music. Liggio is best known as the leader of long-running Industrial Metal savages BILE. This is clearly an odd pairing, but it’s one that makes all the sense in the world when considering that these two disparate characters first met as participants in the “25th Anniversary” incarnation of Pigface in 2016.

The spirit of Pigface’s aural alchemy is all over Bitter Elixir’s debut single, “Help”/”Stop,” out today via Bandcamp. “Help” reinvents the classic Beatles track as a dystopian dirge accented by plenty of vocal effects (which thankfully don’t overshadow Liggio’s surprisingly soulful voice) and sax blasts. Bitter Elixir’s reimagining is equally dreamy and dreary – a perfect reflection of what Ebner and Liggio call “the sense of urgency and uncertainty of ‘the new normal.’”

The mostly instrumental “Stop” is the Skinny Puppy-meets-John Zorn jam you never knew you needed until now. While the heaviness of Liggio’s contribution is expected, those unfamiliar with Ebner’s more abrasive tendencies will certainly be brought up to speed once his pummeling shrieks come in. (If wild sax playing is your thing, be sure to track down Bluewolf Bloodwork, Ebner’s exceptional 2008 album with the brilliant avant-garde collective Snarling Adjective Convention.)

Perhaps the most magical thing about the Pigface experience is that it allows musicians who wouldn’t otherwise meet to subsequently branch off and create captivating sounds of their own. Bitter Elixir is not the first example of this phenomenon (nor will it be the last), but it is certainly one of the best.

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REVIEW - Gang of Four: 77-81 (Box Set)

Photo courtesy of Matador Records 

“‘Damaged Goods’ will always remind me of being 19 and free. Thank you for that.”

The above words by original Cure drummer Lol Tolhurst, featured in the gorgeous 100-page hardbound book included in the new Gang of Four box set, 77-81 (out this Friday on vinyl via Matador Records with a CD version coming next month), strike a particularly strong chord with me. “Damaged Goods” will always serve as a flashback to my equally free 18-year-old self driving around in a car (my first) full of friends one hot and crazy Saturday night in the summer of 1995 while the song played on the tape deck.

“Damaged Goods” sums up everything that the original Gang of Four was: An energetic and instantly memorable blast of music that prompted the listener to sing along and move even though the deeper meaning behind the lyrics wasn’t immediately apparent. The classic incarnation of Gang of Four made us bop and shake, but it also made us think and feel. This was smart and adventurous music made by smart and adventurous people; in many ways, peers and acolytes (many of whom fill the pages of the 77-81 book with recollections and testimonials) are still trying to catch up to where Gang of Four already was 40-plus years ago. In terms of this fan, Gang of Four hooked me as a teenager and never let go, leading the band to be the most-covered artist in the history of this website. This music matters.

As previously discussed on this site, there is a considerable amount of activity in the world of Gang of Four these days. Sadly, all of these things are unfolding without late guitarist/producer/occasional vocalist Andy Gill, who was the last man standing from the band’s ’77-’81 lineup when he passed away in February 2020 at the age of 64. In addition to the 2020 release of two posthumous EPs featuring music from Gill’s final Gang of Four lineup, the surviving members of the original quartet – drummer Hugo Burnham, singer Jon King and bassist Dave Allen – reconvened to bring this long-awaited collection to fruition.

And My God, is it extraordinary. Let’s dive in…

Entertainment! (1979) has been written about (and reissued) ad nauseum, so I have little to add except 1) It still sounds amazing and years ahead of its time, and 2) I’ve always considered the deep cuts “Guns Before Butter,” “Contract” and “5.45” the most thrilling songs of the lot. While 77-81 succeeds in (again) celebrating a deservedly iconic debut album, perhaps the box set’s greatest strength comes in providing a fresh opportunity for listeners to gain a greater appreciation for 1981’s Solid Gold. Unfortunately, Gang of Four’s second album has spent four decades in Entertainment!’s shadow, unjustly relegated to also-ran status by more than a few fans and music scribes. But when experienced in the context of this box set, it is clear that Solid Gold is everything a sophomore release should be. Bolstered by a much stronger production than its predecessor (goodbye, dead-sounding tom toms!) and substantial progress and innovation in the songwriting department (hello,”If I Could Keep It for Myself”!), Solid Gold is when the music of Gang of Four became bulletproof. Additionally, it stands as the strongest – and, sadly, final – studio-recorded representation of Gang of Four’s finest rhythm section – a special combination of two musicians who were meant to play together. (One listen to ”The Republic” will convince you of this fact.) Allen split after Solid Gold’s release, taking much of the band’s original grit with him. Burnham stuck around for one more album (1982’s softer but no less brilliant Songs of the Free) before King and Gill took the band (by then really just the duo backed by hired guns) in an increasingly Pop-oriented direction before grinding to a halt in 1984.

If you’re reading this, there’s a very good chance you already own the first two albums. (Hell, perhaps you even own several versions of each. Lord knows the re-release marketplace has provided you with plenty of opportunities to do so!) Should you still make the investment in this (quite reasonably priced, all things considered) box set? Without question, and here’s why…

Singles: Seven non-album tracks highlighted by the eternally boisterous “To Hell with Poverty” (perhaps the most glorious Allen/Burnham groove ever recorded), “It’s Her Factory” (featuring Gill behind the kit and Burnham at the mic), a blistering live recording of Solid Gold’s “What We All Want” and the raw singalong charm of the Punk-as-fuck “Armalite Rifle.”

Live at American Indian Center 1980: An official double LP pressing of a long-bootlegged gig originally broadcast over UC Berkeley station KALX. Captured straight off the band’s soundboard, this must-hear collection presents the original band at the peak of its onstage powers, delivering fiery renditions of cuts off Entertainment! and Solid Gold (along with a streamlined cover of The Mekons’ idiosyncratic “Roseanne” that sounds like long-time Gang of Four admirers R.E.M. forming a few thousand miles away). You can practically feel the sweat through the speakers.

The Amazing Book: Lavishly created by Jon King and Dan Calderwood of Quietly, the 77-81 book features complete (and correct) lyrics, visually stunning photographs and dozens of contributions by the usual suspects (Henry Rollins, Flea, Steve Albini, Peter Hook, members of R.E.M.), some surprise cameos (Sofia Coppola, members of 10,000 Maniacs) and a slew of others. (Perhaps the most surreal – and, if you’re a Northeast guy like me, nightmare/anxiety-inducing – moment in the book comes when Burnham shares the tale of the band’s tour van breaking down in the Lincoln Tunnel during Friday rush-hour traffic. The culprit? Sugar in the gas tank – a gift from fellow English band Squeeze.) Packed with content, the book alone makes the box set a worthy purchase.

The Jaw-Dropping Packaging: Designed by King and Bjarke Vind Normann (described in the book as "one of Denmark's pre-eminent industrial and product designers"), the box itself is a sight to behold. Just have a look...

The Demo Cassette*: The vinyl edition of the box set comes with a red cassette of 26 demo tracks recorded from 1977 to 1981 – complete with tentative names for sound sketches (“Asshole,” “Cymbal,” “Reverb,” etc.). Unfortunately (if understandably), Matador did not include the demo tracks in review downloads of this box set, presumedly out of piracy concerns. The sole cut that has been made available in advance, “Elevator,” can be heard below.

The Band’s Clear Autonomy: In addition to King (design and editorial) and Burnham (editorial) taking a hands-on role in the creation of 77-81’s packaging, the box set’s very existence is the result of the band breaking free from its US contract with Warner Bros. Records via Section 203 of the Copyright Act of 1976 (otherwise known as “the 35-Year Law”). As explained in the 77-81 book, “[t]his powerful – yet underutilized – law allows recording artists to terminate grants of rights that they made to record companies, 35 years after publication of the works, and restores ownership of the US copyright in the sound recordings to the artists who recorded them.” Work on the box set – as well as the current deal with Matador – commenced following the official termination of the Warner Bros. connection in 2019 after a two-year process. It’s heartening to see the band finally have control over its recorded output. This isn’t a cash grab by a label looking to capitalize on the band’s legacy and the tragic loss of one of its founders; this is a pure labor of love by those who obviously know how to best respect and represent the band’s material.

If there’s any fault to be found in 77-81, it’s that it is presented as the definitive word on Gang of Four instead of what it really is: A beautiful way to commemorate one very important chapter in its history. The book begins with the words “Gang of Four did its best work between 1977 and 1981[…]” in bold letters, while the proceedings conclude with a statement – jointly credited to King, Allen and Burnham – that the albums included in the box set “show [Gill’s] best recorded work[...].” Yes, this was arguably Gang of Four’s most recognized incarnation and era, but it’s far from the only one that mattered. There was a hell of a lot of great Gang of Four music released post-Allen/Burnham (and even post-King), and Gill was working on new material literally days before his death. While not all of the Gill-led Gang of Four’s output hit its target, there were certainly moments on the band’s later releases that were among his “best recorded work.” To suggest otherwise is to disregard the creative high points of the man’s final years. (For those not in the know, Gill and King reunited for two Gang of Four albums in the 1990s. The original lineup reformed for a spell in the mid 2000s before it was down to Gill and King again. King left following the release of 2011’s Content, leaving Gill to lead the group as its sole founding member until his death last year.)

Quibble aside, 77-81 lovingly – and loudly – represents a time when four very special and deeply inventive people worked together to create something of immense power and significance that will outlive them all. And how many other bands can fill up 10 sides of vinyl in a box set without a single stinker in the bunch?

*The CD version of 77-81 will include a download card of the demo tracks.

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