A sure sign that time is passing quickly was the sudden realisation that multi-instrumentalist and driving force par excellence of Crippled Black Phoenix, Justin Greaves has been putting forward the sonic ideas for this project for nigh on twelve years now. I could scarcely believe it but then, as Greaves and his co-conspirators have never been ones to rest on their collective laurels, delivering music that is hard to pigeon-hole but easy to love, then one can be forgiven for not paying attention to old father time.
Crippled Black Phoenix are probably what you’d lazily describe as post rock. Before you wander off, come back. This is complex, nuanced and brilliantly realised music for the head and the heart; there are more ideas going on this one record than many bands have in their entire careers and, even though I have lived with this record for some time, it continues to offer up delicious morsels of pure aural pleasure.
Their eclecticism serves them well: whether it’s the stoner rock that closes Champions of Disturbance (parts 1 and 2); the Boards of Canada echoes that you can hear at the start of Dead Imperial Bastard or the Black-Sabbath-in-a-patchouli oil bath that is Deviant Burials you get the sense that this is not only a band with a hugely classy record collection but a fierce intelligence and imagination to take those influences and run with them: the music here is fresh, warm and dynamic.
It’s the attention to detail that equally impresses. The use of piano, narrator dialogue or the brass section (courtesy of Robert Holm) bring additional levels of drama, mystery and pathos. There is a retro 90s feel to No Fun with gothic overtones that Sisters of Mercy fans will cock a proverbial snook at. However, it’s more than a simple homage, replete with driving riffage and even a coda of what sounds unerringly like a nuclear explosion. When writing this down and then reading it back, it shouldn’t work but it does. And how.
The plaintive tone of Rotten Memories is a solid bridge to the haunting Scared and Alone where the vocal talent of Belinda Kordic is brought centre stage for a haunting performance ably assisted by the aforementioned brass and Greaves’ own melancholic guitar playing which whilst reminiscent of Pink Floyd, is used sparingly and much more powerfully; it is a foil, a crutch and a scythe for cutting through the bleak soundscape created.
Likewise, witness the dark beauty of album closer Winning a Losing Battle. Here we have over nine minutes of reflective, brooding rock building to crescendo upon crescendo. Imagine what Pink Floyd might have done if they had decided to go and join My Bloody Valentine or Alcest for a weird yet compelling busman’s holiday and you will be part of the way there. It’s quite, quite brilliant.
There was a sense that Greaves and co had something very special in them: last year’s 37 minute cover of Pink Floyd‘s Echoes was equal parts respectful, heartfelt, innovative and resonant. The invention and artistry that manifested itself so hauntingly there is writ even larger on Bronze which resolutely defies easy description but seeps under your skin like a freshly commissioned tattoo. Bronze actively challenges one’s prejudices about sonic dynamics and what should or shouldn’t be done when conveying drama or mystery. What CBP seem to be attempting here is the art of the possible for a rock album: that they have delivered an unqualified success is all you need to know.
In a word: magnificent.
9.0/10
MAT DAVIES