While this moderately hyped debut showcases the tried-and-true qualities of these two seasoned rockers decorated with bloodstained major label merit badges and a priceless caliber of indie credibility, rarely does it step outside their established comfort zones to celebrate this sacred union of American misanthropes.
If back in the late nineties someone had told me that the sinister frontmen of The Afghan Whigs and Screaming Trees would continue to be relevant in 2008, I would probably have cocked a skeptical eyebrow. Though my admiration for Greg Dulli has grown and grown since first hearing Gentlemen, one of the greatest rock albums of all time, back in 1993, I considered myself part of a cultish sect of his worshippers. As for Mark Lanegan, his post-Trees work hardly crossed my radar until he made serious waves on his critically acclaimed 2006 collaboration with Isobel Campbell, formerly of Belle and Sebastian. In principle, their continued creative survival should only be bolstered by this collaboration, returning to a label that once housed both artists’ breakthrough projects.
An imperfect record from imperfect men, Saturnalia feels suspiciously like a cautious retread of their respective catalogs, along with an indulgent celebration of their shared influences. Unsurprisingly, blues, soul, and Americana pervade these twelve deep cuts. While so much of the album is listenable enough, I expected something more from these venerated veterans of the underbelly. Dulli in particular has written so many anthemic choruses in his day that the dearth of them here downright startles. "Bete Noir" and "The Body" meander along at the whim of their creators, never quite enticing listeners with something even slightly memorable to wrap their arms around. Lost in the groove, Dulli and Lanegan at times appear to have forgotten how to write a proper song, a disappointment considering their prior track records.
Despite these issues, the album offers a great deal to enjoy. On the powerful, apocalyptically personal single "Idle Hands," Lanegan spits and growls his taunting verses, while Dulli assumes his role with a charmingly thin near-falsetto. Balancing one another out, this is where the two frontmen coexist peacefully and most satisfyingly. Yet "Seven Stories Underground" reminds of the exceptional range of Lanegan' vocal abilities, something that may surprise those enamored with the cigarettes-and-alcohol drenched delivery he has become particularly revered for over the past few years. Lyrically breathtaking, "Front Street" shows Dulli bearing his lecherous soul while thumping his chest as he sings "Give me five minutes / With your sweetest sweetie / If she's fine as your missus / Then she's fine enough for me."
Though separated by a good decade and sharing only one collaborator in common, The Gutter Twins deserve to be regarded in the same breath as Mad Season, an understated supergroup of grunge alumni that recorded just one breathtaking album that I will never tire of. Lanegan's supporting role on that record gets engulfed by Alice In Chains vocalist Layne Staley, his bedraggled and damaged soul on display, yet Lanegan has somehow carried the introspective essence of that material to Saturnalia. Of course, Dulli's no stranger to darkness, having mined it extensively with the Whigs and The Twilight Singers, a project that ensures his legacy as one of the most charismatically menacing and lyrically honest performers to come out of the nineties. Shying away from progression, The Gutter Twins settle into what feels right to them, a sound familiar and safe to their fans, but still terrifying to outsiders.
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