R.I.P. Here lies Catherine Wheel, an exceptional band for nearly 10 years, owner of several masterful albums, ranging from the propulsive shoegazing of Ferment and Chrome to the psychedelic brit-rock of Adam and Eve. The band managed not only to adapt their sound as popular tastes changed, but performed the even rarer feat of leaving an indelible mark on each style as they went. With each subsequent album, Catherine Wheel expanded their sonic palate and grew more willing to experiment with their signature sound. (Even if the cost of that increased musical experimentation meant lyrical regression.)
When word came that Catherine Wheel was releasing their fifth proper LP, Wishville, we figured it'd be a slam dunk. After all, this was a band that had survived the inevitable shoegazer backlash by reinventing themselves as a powerhouse neo-grunge outfit. Perhaps more to their credit, they made the transition so credible and seamless that it seemed downright preposterous to suggest that they had ever been anything else. Given that audacious transformation, there remained little doubt in our minds that Catherine Wheel could emerge from a label change and a split with their longtime bassist unscathed. We were grievously mistaken.
The record's opening track, which rather fittingly also serves as the lead single, captures all of the album's flaws in its four interminable minutes. "Sparks are Gonna Fly" relies on one monotonous riff repeated ad nauseam for the duration of the song. No amount of layering or studio wizardry can hide how paper-thin the song is. The same basic problem plagues all of these nine songs: the production and layering effects are used in an attempt to mask the shortcomings rather than to enhance the melodies. Many of the additional instruments thrown into the mix feel forced, whether it's the harmonica on "Ballad of a Running Man" or the violin on "Gasoline." This is in sharp contrast to the function of the extra instruments on Adam and Eve, which seemed both effortless and integral to the overall song structures.
If anything positive can be said about the band at this stage, it's that they haven't rested on their laurels. Catherine Wheel have indeed morphed their sound once again. Yet unlike their previous efforts, the new sound sees them pushing into some pretty unsavory territory. "What We Want to Believe In" sounds like, as its title suggests, the work of a drunken Christian rock band (if one actually existed). Even more embarrassing is "Mad Dog," a song that wouldn't sound out of place on a compilation of Collective Soul b-sides.
But even when Catherine Wheel manage to stumble into a mildly engaging melody, they successfully sully any possible pleasure with laughable couplets like: "Fuel of fathers' sweat/ Sweet like baby's breath," or, "Strong like Superman/ Stinking up the streets I am." Other inadvertently hilarious lyrics come at the start of "Idle Life," where Rob Dickinson comatosely mutters, "Give me soap to shave around/ With my guts exposed and slippy," without the aid of any instrumentation. Yeah, trust us, it sounds even worse than it reads.
In case some of you haven't quite gotten the message, or it hasn't been made perfectly clear yet: this album is absolutely terrible, a total abomination. It's a loss in every sense of the word. Ah, well, guys, it's been a great run of it. Most bands never make it to nine years, let alone enjoy a consistently superb output. But now, in the interest of good taste, it's time to pack it in and call it quits. Services will be held at daybreak.
