Christian Death
Ashes

Everybody hates Valor Kand...

...and I don’t deny being part of the category myself: not only for the reprehensible appropriation of the Christian Death brand, not only because he managed to churn out an overwhelming number of albums that can be counted among the most atrocious the human race has dared to produce and listen to, but also because, overall, Valor is one of the most disgusting beings (conceptually and physically) that the entire rock scene has ever produced. With his rectangular face, his tacky goatee, his mesh tank top that even Scialpi wouldn’t wear in the eighties, with his endless arrogance, his idiocy, his cheap charisma, with the nonsense he utters on stage, such horrendous scenes were before my eyes when I had the ill-advised idea of seeing the new Christian Death live (also because a performance by the old ones is denied to me for insurmountable reasons of age), foolishly expecting a rendition of "Romeo's Distress."

Yet, like all those who attract unconditional hatred from the entire humanity, Valor possesses his qualities, as if to be even more loathed by getting on the nerves of even the most steadfast detractor: Valor was a good musician, that is undeniable, and as long as his feats served as a stage for Rozz Williams to enact his neuroses, his obsessions, his mental turmoils, he certainly cannot be criticized. Indeed, it can be said that his creativity managed to breathe new life and expand the horizons of a phenomenal band from its outset (the unrepeatable "Only Theatre of Pain," an unsurpassed masterpiece for the band and for the entire genre, death-rock), but still anchored to the rigid dictates of post-punk prevailing in the early eighties, which left little room for stylistic developments. His melodic talent, his restless esoteric visions, his gothic/romantic grandeur enriched, deepened, and augmented Christian Death's music without undermining its foundations; but above all, they allowed better expression and simultaneously containment of an artist like Williams, a son of fragility and impulsivity that had to be recomposed and guided somehow to avoid the ultimate artistic (as well as psychic) tragedy.

The unpleasant Valor thus had, in his way, a role in the evolution of death-rock, and the two albums marking his full collaboration with Rozz Williams, before the latter left, are to be considered among the milestones of the genre. I am talking about the excellent "Catastrophe Ballet" (1984) and this "Ashes" (1985), slightly inferior, already a product of the newcomer’s overblown ego. But let’s give credit where it's due: in these two works, we find another fundamental pillar of the band’s new course, namely the fascinating Gitane De Mone, whose keyboards and sensual harmonies softened the rawness and brutality initially showcased by the band.

In the previous work, the band had already managed to dismantle the purely post-punk setup of the debut to embrace a more melodic, varied dimension, but no less disturbingly. With "Ashes," the journey continues in the same direction, further eroding the autonomy of Williams as a writer, compressing the taut moments (confined to the track "Face" alone), giving free rein to the atmospheres, the supernatural visions of the acclaimed duo Valor/Gitane: the former’s guitar (also on piano, organ, violin, vocals, and hand percussion) lashes the tracks with resurgent acidity, never losing sight of the melody (after all, the riffs are always commendable and inspired), while the latter’s synthesizers and keyboards add atmosphere and elegance to the tracks, always well-conceived and arranged. In all of this, Williams navigates excellently, adopting from the previous album a more clean, theatrical, romantic vocal style, less abrasive and awkward (more Bowie-like, we might say), a choice that nonetheless causes him to lose some of that morbid, draining character that made him unique and inimitable.

The imposing title track, placed at the opening and which can be seen as one of the highest points of the entire Christian Death discography, well explains what has just been described: dramatic piano introduction, pulsating bass in the background, the oblique crackle of the electric guitar, a sonic body that gradually takes shape and then solidifies into a vigorous, top-class new-wave. Follow a trotting drum, aggressive female harmonies, Williams’ exhausting visions as a novice Ziggie Stardust, a dizzying chorus on the brink of glam, and a crescendo ending that borders on the mystical, thanks to a rhythmic acceleration worthy of the best metal gallop. This is basically what Valor will reproduce for ages, but it will turn into farce, devoid of the indispensable contribution from one of the best interpreters of the dark universe for ages; one who (alas, the events will prove us right) was not pretending, he was there. Oh, he was there indeed.

Opened by the clangor of a gong, the second part of the title track is an unsettling instrumental interlude which pairs with the album’s concluding track “Of the Wound,” another noisy episode, this time spiced with the cries of Sévan Kand (offspring of Valor himself, never missing a chance to display his enviable good taste), the inhuman screams of Gitane, and the raving recitation of Williams, returning to horrify with his morbid movements, bordering on a psychic collapse.

The rest of the album is a handful of pieces among which stands out the eight-minute classic "When I Was Bed," with vaguely Middle Eastern tones (Valor’s input once again) and the surreal country fair march (!!!) "Lament (over the Shadows)," where Gitane duets with a Williams in the guise of a dreamy troubadour, demonstrating how the entity Christian Death, under the aegis of the histrionic Valor Kand, acquired a multifaceted character, but always well-rooted in a context of provocative irreverence against decency, bigotry, and generic ecclesiastical hierarchy, the conceptual framework at the project’s core since its origins (the moniker, after all, is eloquent), and which over the years will remain the only facet of coherence in the band’s artistic path.

Some might say Christian Death has become bourgeois, that they’ve turned to catchy pop, but it’s a fact that even through these Christian Death passes the history of dark music and gothic-rock in general.

Ode to Valor Kand (but just this once).