Cold Cave's embarrassing attempt at crossover success opens with "The Great Pan Is Dead," a dull, emotionally overwrought synth-rocker slathered in Wes Eisold's affected, fake British accent (he's from Boston) that sounds like a nu-goth approximation of the Killers. Cold Cave may be aiming to win over the synth-pop revival crowd, but the Killers are more popular than Cold Cave (and headlining sold-out arenas) for one simple reason—they write better tunes.
I wouldn't bother to complain about Cherish the Light Years, Cold Cave's second album, if I had not expected more from the band. I fell in love two years ago with Cremations, a collection of abrasive, lo-fi noise-pop sketches, demos and live tracks that was given wide release on Hospital Recordings (run by Prurient's Dominick Fernow, who also plays in Cold Cave). Cremations remains their most rewarding work—they signed to Matador soon after the initial release of Love Comes Close, their first full-length, which cranked down the volume and shone light on their '80s new wave influences. It was a risky move, but Cold Cave smartly balanced the noise and pop halves of their sound, and Love Comes Close was on target more often than it missed.
To be clear, I have no issue with a band recognizing its popular appeal and tailoring its material to commercial audiences. In fact, it can be a smart move for a band making appealing music to focus on its pop smarts and expand its fan base; it's been done well by too many synth-pop bands to count over the past 30 years. The trouble is that to succeed, a band needs to have great songs, not just reference sounds that are currently in vogue (or "influences," as bands typically call them).
On Cherish the Light Years, Cold Cave's Xerox machine is in good working order. They lean heavily on New Order and Depeche Mode blueprints, shitting out synth presets and clunky melodies at every turn, but their songs are nowhere close to as smart or creative. These songs are faceless, lacking a sense of personality, and hardly original; they would sound at home if played by any '80s revivalist act on the indie circuit. Granted, the album is essentially focus-grouped to reach fans of such music—its best song, "Confetti," is the aural equivalent of the band crossing its fingers for a FADER Magazine cover story—but will alienate fans of Cold Cave's previous work as a result.
As icing on the cake, the mastering job on Cherish the Light Years is beyond horrific—all traces of sonic detail squashed together in the mix, equalized and compressed to infinity; everything pushed completely into the red for maximum impact at radio. Cold Cave's album is as much a victim of the last decade's loudness war as, say, Britney Spears' latest will be (the difference being that Britney will actually get radio play, so has a better excuse for botched mastering). All said, Cherish the Light Years reminds me how disappointing it can be hearing a once capable band make a bid for crossover stardom without writing a proper batch of songs first.
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