Tricky albums are rarely what they seem on the surface. The decision to use his birth name as the title of this record suggests something confessional after years of cloudy rumination, hinting at a genuine departure. Tricky even refers to it as his "least introspective" work. The reality is somewhat different, with a familiar world-weariness setting in, varying genre tropes getting applied then discarded, and a handful of guests coloring songs in around the edges. Ultimately, this is another Tricky album that drags the diminished expectations of anyone who’s heard Maxinquaye behind it, making a once-great work feel ever more like a millstone. At least he doesn’t appear tortured by his past—this is a quick follow up to last year’s False Idols, implying that Tricky is in a fertile period, happy to be making music, out on his own imprint, and free of any label woes. He’s in a strange bubble now, wandering through a world where he’s lost to all but the most devoted of followers.
At least Tricky inspires loyalty in those he works with, including singer Francesca Belmonte, who returns to the fold to appear on a handful of Adrian Thaws tracks. Belmonte’s contributions, and those of promising London-based artist Tirzah (on "Sun Down" and a cover of Janet Kay’s "Silly Games") edge a little too close to work Tricky has undertaken elsewhere, occasionally replicating the half-spoken/half-sung cadence of former collaborator Martina Topley-Bird. It’s clear that Tricky's post-Maxinquaye work has largely been about about firming up his province, which consists of a tiny sphere of sound resolutely his own. This album, like many of his other works, has been talked up in terms of departure, of a more club-oriented sound, although that’s largely an untruth, constructed as a hook to prick waning interests; there’s not much doubt where you are when immersed in the baked-out beats and lugubrious atmosphere of the Nneka-featuring "Keep Me In Your Shake".
For someone who was once so forward-thinking, there’s a touch of the retro blues to Adrian Thaws. "Gangster Chronicles" is built on a beat so old it mirrors the George Semper lift Cypress Hill took for "Insane in the Brain", although Tricky at least delivers a surprise when he samples the vocal passage that Massive Attack’s "Unfinished Sympathy" is centered around (from John McLaughlin and the Mahavishnu Orchestra's "Planetary Citizen"). The latter is a moment of amusement, perhaps born out of a beef with his old colleagues. Whatever the intent, it at least brightens up the turgid slog through the middle of this record, which features an aimless limp through sloshed, bluesy crooning ("I Had a Dream") and a misguided attempt at filtering the Middle Eastern conflict through the lens of a love story ("My Palestine Girl"). The latter is an unfortunate demonstration of the paucity of lyrical thought in this phase of Tricky’s career (“She’s close to God, I dribble like a dog”).
There’s not much on Adrian Thaws that distinguishes it from the direction Tricky has been heading over the past 15 years. This is a continuation of a mood he began etching out in song long ago, which he’s apparently either unwilling or unable to get away from, making it both the best and worst thing that’s ever happened to him. It’s a curious place to be, trapped in an airless corner of his psyche, full of suggestive thoughts that could be pried open and interpreted in infinite ways. Sometimes it’s more direct than that; on "Why Don’t You", Tricky settles on asinine rock riffing and a lyric that completes the title with: “...go and get fucked.” It’s the sound of his world emptying out, where all nuance is nullified in favor of white-knuckle Audioslave riffing. Tricky’s played with rock before, of course, but "Why Don’t You" and the "Silly Games" cover that follows it are a nadir in terms of the inspiration he’s seeking. His process of filtering out the bad has failed him on Adrian Thaws, leaving an album that bears both his names but offers less of himself than ever before.
