 Cocteau Twins In the distant future, after the Robot Wars have reduced civilization to rubble and we descend into an anarchic assortment of fiefdoms, with self-proclaimed kings holing up in stolen castles and living in decadence over the bones of the fallen, the New Medieval Era will be upon us, and Treasure will be its soundtrack. Where once harpsichords and flutes echoed in the antechambers of our rulers, so now reverby guitars and sweet, birdlike vocals will play as drug dealers and other shady figures seize control and set up shop in overrun mansions. The Cocteau Twins will be the new classical music, the only sounds left that make sense in a hazy and unsure world. Treasure is the one true ring among the Cocteau's ever-rich jewelbox, as epic and eternal an album as I can think of – insular, otherworldly, claustrophobic, and phenomenally beautiful. It is a private symphony of desperate pain, dense and dark yet wholly soothing. It is the sound of a band very much in their own universe, the Gormenghast of rock music, simultaneously dated and futuristic, with harsh drum machines sputtering below cascading guitars and the … I'm sorry, there's no other word for it, for she invented the style … ethereal voices of Elisabeth Fraser. Does it sound like 1984? Maybe in the Orwellian sense. Certainly not in the Duran Duran sense. Though some of their albums are more pleasant, Treasure is their boldest moment. It may be one of those "love it or hate it" recordings – for Elisabeth Fraser's vocal theatrics range from the breathtaking to the absurd, both of which are great. The dog-like swoops in "Ivo," the faux-Latin choral stylings in "Donimo," the breathless, almost-too-high tightwire act of "Lorelei," the frickin' yodelling in "Persephone" … each song on this album is performance without parallel, even within the Cocteau canon. So many dreamlike moments, not Disney-dreams like Fantasia, but, like, Blade Runner dreams, with real menace to them. This is not a restful sleep. "Beatrix" is the sort of lullaby a mom might sing to the children she is about to systematically smother. "Otterley" is aural opium if ever such a thing was made, washing over you in whispery waves, quiet and seductive like a warm bath you draw to kill yourself in. 4AD's 2003 remaster of the disc brings it to a new level of brilliance, offering a cleaner and fuller sonic experience – guitar lines that were previously enmeshed in a wall of sound are now distinguishable, but without becoming conspicuous. It's easier than ever to be awed and battered by bleakness and beauty. Treasure = art, as any music can ever claim to be.
Review by Dr. David Ryebread |
