There are few artists who can make self-loathing sound as arrogant or overconfident as Greg Dulli does, and chances are, he knows it. Over the course of his almost two-decade-long career, the former Afghan Whigs guru and current Twilight Singers mastermind has rarely deviated from the oversexed, drugged-out rock 'n' soul persona to which he so aggressively plays. Less a gimmick than a stylistic trait, his image and thematic technique has served him well: Congregation, Black Love, and the certifiable indie classic Gentlemen aren't just the sound of harrowing confessionals set against searing, stabbing guitar abuse and distorted squall, but also of a man at the top of his game achieving what he'd set out to accomplish from the very start: make brilliant rock records.
Though he basically perfected his volatile blend of bar-table theatrics, melodramatic soul pomp, and Jaggerian rock swagger his first day on the job, it isn't necessarily such a bad thing that Dulli hasn't exactly been pushing the creative envelope of late. In fact, Dulli's music tends to suffer more from experimentation. In 2000, after six albums and fourteen years of Afghan Whigs, he conceived the Twilight Singers, a side project whose revolving lineup of diverse musicians was recruited as a means of freeing him from the confines of his identity as The Afghan Whigs' seething, dejected crowned prince. However, their unrelentingly demure debut, Twilight, proved Dulli's frothy croon is better suited to roaring accompaniment that can match the intensity of his cutting delivery.
Thankfully, this kind of debauched, emotive overload makes a return on the Twilight Singers' latest, Blackberry Belle. There are moments on this record in which Dulli's band-- featuring guest spots by everyone from Prince protégé Apollonia, to That Dog alumna Petra Haden, to ex-Screaming Trees frontman Mark Lanegan-- flawlessly recreates the vibe of the Whigs' heyday. Album highlight "Teenage Wristband" is a piano-driven cocktail of self-destruction, showcasing Dulli's penchant for rock bombast and spite-driven vocal histrionics. Even ethereal female background vocals from Apollonia and Haden can't cool Dulli down, as he menacingly coos, "You wanna go for a riiiide?/ I got sixteen hours to burn and I wanna stay up all niiiighht." "The Killer" also marks Dulli's most soulful performance in years; over a suave 2am groove and a wash of electric guitar fuzz, he urgently confesses, "I caught a fever/ A holy fire/ 'Til I was crawling on the ceiling.
Blackberry Belle is also injected with Dulli's trademark flair for concept; the record kicks off with the part-dirge/part-rocker "Martin Eden", which pays tribute to the Jack London novel that chronicles the exploits of a writer who commits suicide after being exposed to the pressures of fame (there's also a quote from the book in the liner notes, as well). But in standard Dulli fashion, the record's strongest trait is his cunning lyrics, which seem more overtly personal here than ever. This heightened sense of intimacy allows the delivery of lyrics like, "Let me bleed/ For God has come to play/ So play me," to seem unusually convincing."
However, for all of Dulli's fantasies of martyrdom, his songs never come off as unrelentingly dark as his lyrics. Unlike the Twilight Singers' debut, Dulli's collaborators on Blackberry Belle most frequently serve as sublime accompaniment for his consummate showmanship. "Esta Noche"'s proclamations of "neverlasting love" conclude in a rousing coda of spirited horn accompaniment, courtesy of session pros Kamasi Washington, Josh Lampkins and Chris Gray, while Dulli's taunts serve as a careful counterpoint to Jon Skibic's impassioned banjo playing on the stirring acoustic ballad "Papillion". Additionally, producer Mike Napolitano lends the record a cavernous, gothic ambiance that nicely enhances Dulli's moody musings.
Given this context, it's of little surprise that Blackberry Belle's finest moment comes in the form of the Mark Lanegan duet that serves as the record's closer, "Number Nine". The track is a stumbling slow-motion dirge in which Petra Haden's longing violin notes entangle with Richard Ford's melting pedal steel lines, and the reverberating melancholy of Hammond Organ chords soothe Lanegan's trembling, gravelly basso as he sings Dulli's ravaged lyrics: "You trouble me, and I ain't myself anymore/ I'm crawling around like a whore." Whereas the guest vocalists on the Twilight Singers' debut, never seemed quite as inspired as Dulli, Lanegan's mercurial turn makes all the difference here, beautifully contrasting Dulli's wavering falsetto. It makes for what is not only the most moving moment on Blackberry Belle, but also one of the sublime highlights of Dulli's entire career.
Ultimately, Blackberry Belle comes to serve as a rather inconspicuous career-defining moment for Greg Dulli; most songwriters who abandon their main gig to embark on solo ventures fail at recreating any of their previously recorded magic. That Dulli, with more than three years gone since separating from the Whigs and one solo flop already behind him, has regained his footing with an album of this caliber now separates him from any number of alternarock has-beens and reclaims his relative worth as an indie rock should-be.
