Current 93
Black Ships Ate The Sky

Premise: for the first time, I approach the role of reviewer for Debaser motivated by the fact that there are no reviews of the seminal works of Current 93 on these pages, a group I love and believe deserves to be known beyond the stricter dark, folk, or industrial environments. Therefore, this is not simply intended to be a review of their latest album, which I highly recommend as a first approach to the band (for its beauty, accessibility, and availability, given that with the bankruptcy of World Serpent, most of their albums, especially the older ones, are now unavailable!). It is also a sort of introduction to those who have never had the chance to come across their music. This is to say that I will go on a bit, counting on the fact that those who don't know Current 93 will be encouraged to read on to learn more, and those who love them will certainly appreciate hearing about one of their favorite bands. I promise, in the future, if I'm able to write more reviews, to be more concise.
 
So, for those who don't know, Current 93 is a sort of musical collective revolving around the charismatic figure of David Tibet, a fragile and visionary personality, undoubtedly among the leading figures, alongside Douglas P., Tony Wakeford, and Ian Reed (just to name the most illustrious names) of that movement, as fascinating as it is controversial, which goes by the name of apocalyptic folk. 
Willingly leaving aside all the controversies related to the scene, and wanting to focus exclusively on the musical content, I realize that explaining Tibet & co.'s music in words is no easy task, not only because it is decidedly a proposal outside of any scheme (the same definition of apocalyptic folk seems restrictive if such a label includes music from bands like Death in June), but also due to the frequent stylistic changes the group has undertaken throughout an already over twenty-year career. Inversions also dictated by an ever-changing formation and frequent collaborations with personalities from the most disparate fields (Nick Cave, Bjork, Douglas P., Jhon Balance, Steven Stapleton, Boyd Rice, Antony, Cosey Fanny Tutti, Bonnie “Prince” Billy, just to name the most prominent ones).

Born in the early eighties as pioneers of a disturbing mix between industrial, esoteric music, and avant-garde (one cannot fail to mention in this regard the seminal “Nature Unveiled” and “Dogs Blood Rising”, from ‘84 and ‘85 respectively, cornerstones that have erected the standards of the entire genre), our sound has softened over time, transforming into an original folk (acoustic guitars, violas, and flutes, to be clear), in which the major roughness has been smoothed out, but without losing the esoteric hues and experimental excursions that characterized the early period (it is no coincidence that Steven Stapleton, the mastermind of the experimental industrial project Nurse with Wound, has proven over time to be Tibet's most faithful adventure companion, both as a producer and collaborator): the first experiments in this sense are present in the inspired yet naive and incoherent “Swastikas for Noddy” (a fascinating mishmash of folk, industrial, rock, nursery rhymes, invocations, and various noises), but it is in the nineties that full maturity regarding these sounds is reached with works like the seminal “Thunder Perfect Mind” (92), and the subsequent “Of Ruine or Some Blazing Starre” (94) and “All the Pretty Little Horses” (96). With “Soft Black Stars” (we are in ‘98) the sound (dominated this time only by the piano and Tibet's sparse poetry) seems to further refine itself, further purging itself of industrial/noise contaminations, and becoming increasingly minimalistic and intimate, and such seemed to be the new direction of Current 93, a conviction confirmed by the subsequent, and beautiful, “Sleep has his House” (dominated instead by the harmonium) and the various tracks of Hipnagogue, in my opinion less convincing. Naturally, mine is a reconstruction that greatly simplifies the path undertaken by our folks, as the story of this group has been unpredictable and full of reversals, having touched the most disparate genres with extreme freedom, not only industrial (mention should also be made of “Imperium”, “In Mestrual Night” and “Christ and the Pale Queens might in Sorrow”) and folk (the beautiful EP “Tamlin”), but also electronic (“Island”), rap/disco (“Crowley Mass”), metal (“Lucifer over London”, “Horsey”), noise (“Down”), avant-garde (“I have a Special Plan for this World”, “Faust”), and chamber music.

So we arrive at 2006, the year of the release of “Black Ships Ate the Sky”, an album that hits the market after years of silence, in which we found ourselves with a myriad of bootlegs and live recordings more avoidable than not; years without relevant novelties that made us seriously fear an impending creative stagnation of the artist. The bankruptcy of World Serpent, and the breakup rumors following a striking yet sudden conversion of Tibet to Christian doctrine, with consequent renunciation of all esoteric background material of the past, complete the picture. In short, there was really cause for concern, but luckily our worries proved to be unfounded: Tibet is back, and it is a great comeback! Having essentially abandoned the hermetic introversions of the recent period, the album distances itself from the minimal tendencies of masterpieces such as “Soft Black Stars” and “Sleep has his House” (which, although full of charm, could over time tire even the most willing and trained ears) marking a sharp return to those early '90s sounds, and in particular retrieving those intense and visionary acoustic ballads that shone in works like “Thunder Perfect Mind” and “Of Ruine of Some Blazing Starre”, the two real points of reference for understanding this tome (it is no coincidence that in addition to the loyal Stapleton, the resurrected Cashmore, the guitar from which the most beautiful melodies of the folk period flowed, was involved). 
The first thing that strikes is the variety and eclecticism, given also by the number of guests called to give their contribution. And the mind goes to the first of the two cited albums, precisely that “Thunder Perfect Mind” which, upon listening, seems like flipping through a family album. Now as then, Tibet has surrounded himself with relatives and loved ones, old and new friends: thus answering the call are long-time acquaintances like the historic Marc Almond and Cosey Fanny Tutti, youngsters and disciples like Antony (launched by Tibet himself) and Bonnie “Prince” Billy,  and characters from other times, resurrected from who knows which basement, like Baby Dee and Shirley Collins.
From “Of Ruine of Some Blazing Starre”, instead, seems to be inherited the atmosphere of a spiritual journey, in which the different songs, while shining with their own life, constitute pieces of a mosaic, competing to create something more profound and composite. A dreamlike flow in which the listener is led by the hand through the inner landscapes that populate the singer's tormented soul, intent on completing his personal path of redemption.
A tormented path, therefore, certainly not serene; a tortuous road, full of obstacles, that, not by chance, stems from an urgency of Tibet (the whole actually springs from a dream of the songwriter: the Black Ships, an omen of Evil and the imminent Apocalypse, of the End of the World and of Man, with the consequent second coming of Christ), a necessity to confront one's ghosts and resolve unresolved knots. A therapeutic process, therefore, tinged with psychoanalytic and spiritual nuances, directed at him as an individual and him as Man, condemned together with the rest of Humanity.
I want to clarify that although the themes certainly do not deserve a Nobel for originality, they are, as always, treated and reworked in a completely personal way, through a dense series of often incomprehensible images and symbolisms. Despite the fact that the significance of the work is difficult to grasp in all its nuances, the lyrics, never trivial or predictable, rather brilliant and full of suggestion, reveal depth of thought and extreme involvement on the part of the artist.
Tibet thus rediscovers here the role that suits him best: that of hallucinated and possessed prophet, once again unfurling just that theatrical component that had been dormant for a while, and which now allows him to review the most disparate moods as if in the grip of incurable schizophrenia: at times fragile, subdued, resigned; other times authoritative, prophetic, biblical; other times desperate and still others sweet and reassuring. Certainly Tibet is not a singer, this must be noted. More than singing, he recites, declaims, and the most fitting example, while remaining worlds apart, seems to be the Jim Morrison of “The End” (excuse me for the comparison!) or the Nico of “Desertshore”, without however having the singing qualities of the latter. But what might seem like a limitation becomes instead a strength, because where technique seems to wane, there is passion and imagination to the rescue, the ability to continuously change register, to inspire the listener, to create beautiful and disturbing images and visions in their mind. All characteristics that make the small and fragile man with a shrill and ungraceful voice, a unique, unrepeatable character in the history of music, an artist who speaks with soul and heart, who does not shy away from baring himself before listeners; a sincere, integral, passionate artist, uncompromising, who does nothing to be liked but simply is. 

Given the sense of unity that binds the different moments together (more than a listening, it could be said to be an experience), a track-by-track breakdown would seem inadvisable, but since we are facing a very varied work (compared to the group's standards, of course) with a few surprises scattered here and there, I feel it worth at least a quick glance through the different moods one encounters, just to give a slightly clearer idea of what we are setting out to listen to. After all, I don't think I am wronging anyone, because between words and emotions there is always a sea, and certainly three more words won't take away suspense and pathos from the listening. (In fact, I believe the album lends itself to two types of reading: a synthetic one, aimed at receiving the general atmosphere of the work, the suggestions it evokes in the listener (a passive, mystical approach, therefore it is advisable to listen during a state of drowsiness) and an analytical one, a more attentive listening, aimed at capturing the infinite nuances the work presents.

Opening the dance is a delicate arpeggio of acoustic guitar, serving as a soft carpet for the clean and crystalline voice of a Marc Almond in a state of grace, who, although venturing into a context far removed from the plastic pop more customary to him, manages magnificently to immerse himself into the ethereal and apocalyptic mood of the album, splendidly interpreting the first part of “Idumea”, the dominant theme of the album, a song written by Charles Wesley in a more or less remote past, in which unanswerable questions are posed about the meaning of Life and Man's existence in this world, a stanza that will be revisited and interpreted in turn by the different guests invited to contribute.
In the subsequent triptych, (the still “Sunset (the Death of Thumbulina)”, the pressing “Black Ships in the Sky” and the spacey “Then Kill Caesar”), it is Tibet himself who takes the responsibility to take us by the hand and lead us into his world, first calmly and quietly, then with increasing tension: whispers and subdued voices are accompanied by the poignant guitars of Cashmore and Chasny (Six Organs of Admittance), which weave poignant melodies, aided by the excellent cellist John Contreras, who throughout the album will demonstrate in more than one instance to be an essential element in the Current 93 sound of 2006. It is clear we are still at the beginning of the journey, but it is already evident that everything will be based on a play of nuances, of details, of signs that will need to be captured with extreme attention, step by step.
The atmosphere masterfully created by Tibet is momentarily interrupted by Bonnie “Prince” Billy's version of “Idumea”, dominated by his evocative, raw voice and supported by the notes of his banjo, an instrument I usually do not take to, but which in this context proves to be a truly clever choice, sounding less southern and very close to the sounds of an Indian sitar, giving the whole a spiritual and ascetic dimension. But the settings are those of the end of the world, barren and dusty; the sun is red and close to the horizon, the sense of solitude and desolation palpable.
With “Aucustic Imperium is Nihil Reich”, Tibet resumes the narrative from where he had left it: the tension begins to build, but it is with the subsequent “The Dissolution of the Boat Millions of Years” that the first glimpses of real unease find full expression: a distorted cello and a slow arpeggio pave the way for Tibet’s transformed voice, which finally becomes prophetic and menacing, distant as if coming from an old radio, four minutes of true dreamlike estrangement, where Our Man's haunted words are softly enunciated, evoking decadent and dusty settings.
Tension is once again relieved by another interlude, this time by Baby Dee, who gives us her version of “Idumea”: her pained singing, interspersed with poetic viola incursions, constitutes another moment of great suggestion. 
“Bind your Tortoise Mouth”, despite its extreme simplicity, is, in my opinion, one of the highlights of the album: a once again fragile and sweet Tibet turns his restless warnings into a pleasant children's nursery rhyme that would not have looked out of place on an album like “All the Little Pretty Horses”. Credit also goes to the beautiful arpeggio by Chasny, which sounds fresh and lively (therefore producing an unprecedented effect in a Current 93 work), and the excellent, as always, support with strings from Contreras.
The baton passes to an embarrassing Antony (strictly personal opinion: I have never been able to stand his tremulous whining) who, after multiplying the loaves and the voices, attempts a sickly version of “Idumea” a cappella, but perhaps even this (in my view avoidable) parenthesis reveals a certain utility within the economy of the album's climax, because, if it's true that every pain is followed by joy, the prolixity of the piece in question further elevates, by contrast, the incisiveness of the following two songs, “Black Ships seen last Years South of Heaven” and “Babylon Destroyer”: in the first, Tibet’s voice accompanied by a driving guitar and a sampled chorus repeated in a loop throughout the track's duration, becomes nervous and hallucinated, the words are uttered as if in agitation, in a crescendo of frenzy and anguish, anguish that is allowed to dissipate in the second, a beautiful and emphatic ballad dominated by Cashmore's delightful arpeggios and a stellar performance by the singer.
Clodagh Simonds offers her version of “Idumea”, for voice and harmonium, an elderly lady pulled from who knows where, more than up to the task, full of pathos and skill, but without delivering any particular emotions.
Emotions are not late in arriving thanks to the monumental “Black Ships were Sinking into Idumea”, 10 minutes in which practically everything happens: after an initial acoustic moment where Tibet continues to paint his revelations with class and great pathos, the path seems to get bogged down in an almost ambient stasis, dominated by Stapleton's skillful manipulations and the cello's muffled laments, which suddenly go crazy, exploding into a brief but intense noise interlude of great intensity, made even more disturbing by the backwards reproduced phrases. Calmness then returns, on the verge of drone music, over which gently arrives the liberating whisper of Cosey Fanny Tutti, weaving her version of “Idumea” in a minimalist yet effective and personal way: a faint little voice buried by the reigning desolation.
To the sensual sighs of the Throbbing Gristle heroine abruptly succeeds the baritone voice of Antony who, in “The Beautiful Dancing Dust”, a sweet piano lullaby lasting no more than a minute,  redeems himself from the previous effort, giving us a very intense and heartfelt performance, finally worthy of his artistic stature. A gem.
The baton then passes to Pantaleimon, none other than Tibet's wife, who too is able to carve out her own portal in the work, performing with her clear and fairy-like voice (reminiscent of Julie Cruise in the Twin Peaks soundtrack) yet another version of “Idumea”, the most ethereal one, embellished by the gentle and slow sounds of a dulcimer (akin in every way to a sitar) played by herself.
“Black Ships in their Harbours” is opened by a dark distorted arpeggio breaking the acoustic idyll that had so far prevailed: it's the turning point. Tibet's filtered voice returns, looming ominously over the notes of an electric guitar so seedy it wouldn't have been out of place on a Burzum record. Tibet’s flowery flights of fancy, here more obsessed than ever, reach their peak in a ceremonial worthy of the group's early production: quite hard to believe that Our Man has converted to Christian doctrine!
Then follows a new version of “Idumea”, finally interpreted by Tibet (in my opinion the best version: not sure if it was clear, but he is the one who really takes center stage here), serving as the prelude to the emotional peak of the album, the moment of greatest intensity, the true point of no return: “Black Ships ate the Sky” is dominated by the obsessive pulsating of the electric guitar, serving as a percussive element, and as the tidal waves of feedback grow and overlap, spilling into moments of genuine noise, Tibet’s desperate singing, obsessed beyond measure, takes us ever deeper into the abysses of his emotional and mental labyrinth, a crescendo of high intensity, a delirium culminating in the obsessive repetition of the phrase “who will deliver me from myself!” shouted at the top of his lungs by a graceless, desperate, gasping Tibet.
There is still room for a couple more songs, the calm after the storm: “Why Caesar is Burning”, a sweet ballad with a sense of redemption and inner peace finally (or provisionally?) reached, and Shirley Collins's version of “Idumea”, a former glory of folk music and a close friend of Tibet's, who has the honor of closing the dance, and, I must say, in a more than worthy manner: her melancholy singing stands out on the desolate notes of a detuned harmonium, constituting the perfect farewell for the entire work. Here for the first time there are shades of hope, but in my opinion, one certainly cannot define this an happy ending, because the condemnation still hangs over Man, but it certainly becomes legitimate to celebrate, in a context of desolation and resignation, a moment of appropriation of greater awareness after a hard-fought inner battle.

What to say, a beautiful album that I recommend to all lovers of good music. The 4/5 is due to the fact that we certainly do not have the ultimate masterpiece of Current 93 in our hands, and above all, we have nothing particularly innovative, as the group has draw heavily from its past repertoire. Certainly, an artist with more than twenty years of music behind them, an abundant discography, varied and courageous, certainly doesn't have to prove anything to anyone, and therefore, on its own, regardless of past production, this is in every respect an album that deserves top marks. A single warning: it can seriously get on your nerves, as it is still a nearly eighty minutes wallop, a rather uniform monolith of acoustic folk (it's been said that the terms “accessibility” and “variety” must be calibrated, taking into account the group's compositional standards, which certainly doesn't play progressive); the brief electric and noisy parentheses are certainly not sufficient to shake up the thrill junkies. Not recommended, therefore, for those who cannot do without changes in time, virtuosity, big riffs, captivating and catchy melodies. To everyone else, happy listening!