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Somewhere between Goth Rock and Techno-Pop lie the Cruxshadows. Exactly where is hard to say, since their disc, “The Mystery of the Whisper,” is one of those albums that subtly shifts directions every time you think you know where it’s going. Up front, it appears to be an Egyptian/mysteries of life-themed concept album, with an ankh joining the band on the front cover, and the Sphinx gracing the back of the liner notes. The first track takes it a step further. Entitled, “Isis and Osiris,” it features a vaguely Arabic-sounding vocalization.
But that’s about as far as the desert sound goes on this album. Beginning with the cathedral-organ opening to the second track, “Cruelty,” “The Mystery of the Whisper,” largely consists of “Depeche Mode”-style Techno-Pop rock, mixed with a healthy dose of Goth-y intrigue. At times, it sounds like a meeting of the “Pet Shop Boys” and “Type O Negative,” so much so that I kept expecting Peter Steel’s otherworldly vocals to creep out of the speakers. Instead, “Cruxshadows” lead singer, Rogue, tells the band’s stories in a disaffected, almost bored British vocal style (like Robert Smith of “The Cure,” but with less flair) that’s elevated by an underlying hint of menace. In fact, the best tracks are the ones where the instrumentation is at a minimum, and Rogue is asked to carry the song vocally, including, “Insomnia (a Ghost Story),” the fourth track. The keyboards rarely rise above a whisper, and the tension builds as the protagonist keeps frightening thoughts in check through the entire song. There is a momentary breakthrough of emotion, but it lasts only a couple of seconds, and serves to make that final drop into a whisper all the more effective.
That’s not to say the rest of the album isn’t up to par. Where the disc suffers is in the fact that the Techno/Goth stuff all tends to blend together. There are a number of catchy, synthesizer-driven melodies running around “The Mystery of the Whisper,” but after the CD stops spinning, it’s hard to figure out which riff came from what song. That lack of separation leaves in its wake a tendency to pick up on shortcomings, like the drum machine that just sounds too artificial on too many occasions, or the subpar backing vocals from Rachel McDonnell. To be fair, she does make up for it with some stellar violin parts, including her turn on, “Sympathy,” the best track on the album. It begins with a solo piano line, joined in turn by a simplistic bass line and a keyboard track. By the time Rogue joins in, the song builds to a pastoral height, brought home by McDonnell’s string parts.
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