of tonal theater -- the doomsday ticktock and gently abrasive fuzz in "Numbers"; the ice-water drip of the arpeggios in "Chromium" -- puncture the reverb without scarring it. The seamless-dream quality of After Everything is no small accomplishment; the Church, with drummer-producer Tim Powles, made the record in studios on three continents. But in these songs of dislocation and disconnection, intoned by Kilbey in a silken-lava baritone, Koppes' and Willson-Piper's guitars are a seductive counterweight, piercing the tension with an elegantly disruptive twang in "After Everything" and the interlocking dread of airplanelike hum, breathy strum and the insistent static of a guitar pick scraped against a string in "Invisible." In fact, After Everything is virtually free of classic-rock riff ego; the electricity in the Church's wraparound shimmer is in the accumulation of sculpted detail, like the trebly shiver and spritz of backward guitar framing the bullish distorted lead in "Reprieve." It is a sound, and grace, that the Church have pursued for more than two decades, and maybe you've heard it before. But you've rarely heard it better.

DAVID FRICKE
(February 4, 2002)