Fans of The Cult argue over which is the group's definitive album. Some prefer the sweeping, cerebral overtones of the 1985 Love LP, while others opt for the stripped-down aggression of 1987's Electric. It was inevitable, then, that the Cult would at some point in its career attempt to please everybody by fusing both elements on one album. Sonic Temple is that album.
To get the bad news out of the way, the album has a few drawbacks. One annoyance is the tendency of the Cult to invite old songs back for special return engagements. "She Sells Sanctuary" from Love turned up as "Wild Flower" on Electric, and now Electric's "Love Removal Machine"
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makes a spectral appearance during the chorus of "Fire Woman."
While we're bitching, why is it that the members of the Cult never seem to meet any girls with names? With the exception of Edie Sedgwick – the unhappy Warholian camper whose tragic demise is mourned in "Edie (Ciao Baby)" – this album, like its predecessors, is rife with women called "li'l honey," "sweet angel" and "black-haired missy." After a few repetitions, this becomes tiresome. You'd think the guys could throw in a Cathy or a Jennifer for good measure.
Minor gripes aside, Sonic Temple has more than its fair share of good news. First and foremost, the combination of guitarist Billy Duffy's psychedelic crunch and Ian Astbury's Lizard King-revisited vocals is still lethal, and five of the eleven tracks on Sonic Temple bear excellent witness to that. There's the mystical stomp of "Soul Asylum" and "Medicine Train" (on the CD and cassette only), in which harmonica and acoustic guitar evolve into a bottom-heavy blues belter, Astbury wailing out lyrics a half beat behind the drums. There's the manic, thrashy "New York City" (featuring Iggy Pop's unmistakable deadpan backing vocals) and the shuffling bombast of "Soldier Blue." "Edie (Ciao Baby)," with its cellos and bell-like guitar, finds Astbury abandoning his wildcat growl just long enough to pay vocal tribute to Styx's Tommy Shaw.
Its marriage of spiritualism and slam may occasionally fall short of the mark on both counts, but Sonic Temple could hardly be called unsatisfying. The best moments artfully embrace the two distinct musical styles that have marked the Cult's finest work, and its worst moments simply make you wonder why the band didn't stick to one or the other. (RS 553)
KIM NEELY
