The Cult: Love versus Electric
hogginthefogg
6,098 Posts
"This dance thread is not for everybody; it's only for the sexy over-30 people."And before I start, let me say that I don't want any Ralph Naders in this thread talmbout "Sonic Temple" (Harvey, I'm looking at you).I actually got into "Electric" before "Love," even though I'd heard the 12s for "She Sells Sanctuary" and "Rain." The gap between the albums is massive; they basically went from a dance-friendly guitar and bass outfit to a Rick Rubin-produced full-on rock band. I much preferred "Electric" (and still do); "Love" has more skippable tracks, like "Brother Wolf, Sister Moon" (one of many examples of Ian Astbury's burning desire to be Native American).What say you, OldStrut?
Comments
Don't make me choose.
Love: Soundtrack to surreptitious subversive listening in church fellowship hall.
Electric: Soundtrack to morning carpool to high school in Keith's '85 Buick.
Hearing Electric, hearing how Rick Rubin built Ian Astbury a brand new house out of AC/DC bricks, was an early realization for me of the power of producer and image, and how overall tone of one type, such as a black Goth trench, can be shed as a snake's skin, revealing a new tone involving fur hats and floor-length dusters with many buttons.
My Ralph Nader contribution would be that Dreamtime[/b] is actually my favorite Cult record.
But between Love and Electric? Love it is.
Great b-side band too...Sea and Sky, Litte Face, Sunshine, etc.
Overlooked in a major way:
check the used CD bins in your area, probably cop for $5 or less, prepare to kick back with drink and melt face.
Me too.
You 'tarts didn't see that one coming.
Or did you?
I graduated from college in March, 1985 and promptly moved from Athens, GA to London, UK where I stayed for a about a year on and off. Musically 1985 was not a good year IMHO. New wave and punk were dead. Hip-hop was bubbling but mostly under my radar. The rare groove scene was just cranking up (I had no idea what modern soul was at that time) and the rave scene was a few years off. Goth and synth bands ruled in London. The two big radio records that saved me that year were Love and the Cure's "Head on the Door."
underrated:
And Terry summed it up quite nicely, but for me, it was a little different:
"Love" = Music to listen to while being wistful for girls who smoke cloves.
"Electric" = Music to listen to while riding around with your dudes.
a) So, then; this is what you cats secretly wanted to do all along, but you lacked the courage of your convictions to give the finger to the vagaries of fashion and just go 'head on?
b) "Back In Black"/"Led Zeppelin II" >>>>>>>>>> "Electric".
Down the years, though, I've softened to "Electric" and to the Cult as a whole and, even though I thought they were just dilletantes in search of a fresh bandwagon at the time, I can now dig it for what it is/was.
Sidebar: around 1980-81, the band I was in opened for Crass-affiliated anarcho-punks the Poison Girls when they played in my home town. Like many similar bands at the time, they had a little troupe of fans who followed them around the country from gig-to-gig. After the show, many of these kids were looking for somewhere to crash for the night, so my brother offered a bunch of them his living room floor. Me and the rest of the band went back to my brother's with them for a smoke and a few beers. I remember one particularly intense young man who was sat on the floor next to me. He didn't say too much, and he certainly didn't smile, but gave the impression of being somewhat apart from the rest of these kids. He didn't really dress too much like them either. Anyway, they all went their own way the following morning, and we thought no more of it. A couple of years later, I'm rooming with my brother at another place entirely. It's Friday night and we're watching "The Tube", a now-legendary live music show which ran on Channel 4 during the 80s. First band up that evening are the highly-rated Southern Death Cult, whose first single had just come out. Me and my bro clocked the singer, and immediately realised that Ian Astbury (for it was he) was that same moody kid who'd crashed on my brother's floor a couple of years earlier.