It's a sad fact that reunion tours spawn reunion albums, records where bands that may well put on good oldies shows write new songs despite the fact that they have nothing new to say. Back in the early 80s, the ill-named Manchester band Crispy Ambulance made a minor splash with some singles and one album, The Plateau Phase. They were a solid second-tier band, or, to put it in perspective: they didn't make it onto the soundtrack for the period flick 24 Hour Party People, but they opened for many of the bands that did. The Ambulance were frequently dismissed as Joy Division imitators at the time, but they were also influenced by Magazine and, well, Hawkwind. Honing a post-punk style that included gothically bleak keyboards, quick-strike guitar strumming, and martial drumbeats-- plus moody interludes and atmospheric synthesizers which bought them the damning 'prog' qualifier-- the boys were signed to Factory Records, but broke up soon afterward.
And now they're back with Scissorgun, their second record after a mysterious 20-year hiatus. There's only one problem: while the Manchester scene may be hot again (catch it now at the local art house!), the kids today are armed and preoccupied with boxes of reissues and new post-punk bands like... well, have you heard of this band called Interpol? They're all the rage right now, and frankly, they cop Joy Division better than Crispy Ambulance ever did-- or ever will.
But that's not to say that they should be put down like a crippled horse. These guys sound even tighter and more focused than on their early work, and singer Alan Hempsall-- whether you like his voice, or find the swagger and intimations of growl off-putting-- also sounds in top form; age hasn't hurt him at all. Plus, with production by Graham Massey (808 State, Björk), they've recorded an album that sounds genuinely alive: on "Step Up", the keyboards blurp and throb like lights when you're speeding through a tunnel, while the guitars crank in, dark and foreboding. "Slip 'n slide, slip 'n slide," Hempsall sings warningly, as if he's telling you something important, and bell-like synths chime early-80s-style behind the verse. On the next song, album highlight "Loupgarou", Hempsall almost sounds giddy with the "eeeeyyyyyowwww" that he bellows over the generic but exciting guitar lines.
After two tracks, though, there's nothing much to offer. The album can't escape the problem that felled Emerson, Lake & Palmer's Black Moon, or the one that brought down the Yes retirement fund project Anderson Bruford Wakeman Howe: the new material doesn't add anything. It copies their older style, down to the last tic and gimmick; they take no risks, and most of the tracks drag. "Parallax" is leaden-- the catchy melody gets swamped by turgid guitars-- and the taut repetitiveness of "Re-animator" quickly wears thin. They churn through the same template on "The Drop" and "End Game", plus the two pointless, anticlimactic instrumentals that wrap up the album. Fans may enjoy getting exactly what they expected, but this won't have anyone reassessing the band.
