Peter Murphy
Ninth

Having immensely appreciated the Bauhaus in my younger years, as the years have passed, my attention inevitably turned to their leader Peter Murphy and his solo career. Some characters change over time, mature, and sometimes improve; if the wine is good, aging isn't frightening, just look at what a certain Nick Cave has achieved, to name someone whose dark side is unmatched. Perhaps the first-hour fans will not always appreciate the radical changes of their idol, but you can't always be twenty (as Madonna seems to insist on), so being a Bauhaus after a quarter of a century might not make much sense, just remember the unfortunate "Go Away White."

Towards the end of the 80s, all the premises were there for a long and interesting career for the handsome, dark Englishman, and yet, from his debut onward, he only makes a few significant marks, but nothing truly remarkable or memorable. In 2011, here is the last (the ninth) attempt with "Ninth" (a title that doesn't shine for originality), a very "conformist" album, flat, already heard. There's no despair, no depth, no prompts for reflection. The black velvet of Bela Lugosi has gathered dust and been sold at the flea market for a few coins and, worse yet, hasn't been replaced with anything else. The voice is always intriguing, but alone it's not enough: the pop/rock mold highlighted by harmless electric guitars and rhythms that are at times bland, at times slightly more sustained, makes the listening moderately boring right from the first track "Velocity Bird," which, instead, should have been an explosive start. The cheerful, not sparkling, calm, and non-lyrical air denotes a clear lack of creative stimuli. Even when trying to push with some heavier sounds and a tense voice, the desired results are not reached; it all recalls the new millennium U2, the Blur... Perhaps Peter has found a balance in his private life that is, however, lethal for his music, which should thrive on conflicts, melancholies, and anger. The enjoyable "Seesaw Sway" has a pounding melodic refrain and possesses a diluted repressed anger that reminds me of the Smashing Pumpkins (in a softer version), while the sweet "I Spit Roses," rightly chosen as a single complete with a video (horrendous, full of overly used images and he, bloated, is dressed like a drunkard) stands out for Murphy's splendid hypnotic vocals. Thereafter, it reaches a safe and exciting haven, "Never Fall Out," an acoustic ballad in which Peter's performance lends an almost magical aura: for me, by far the most successful track. The second part of "Ninth" flows away with few jolts (the more aggressive "Uneven & Brittle" awakens from torpor) until the two closing tracks, the dark "Secret Silk Society" unable to evoke the dark glories of the past and the well-executed and very dignified "Crème De La Crème."

"Ninth" is well executed, but nothing more, better than many things you hear around, but so much like the crowd that you can hardly believe it. I didn't have high expectations (since Bauhaus the word "masterpiece" isn't associated with Peter Murphy's works), so I can't say I was disappointed, but for those waiting for a historic coup de grace from that man of slender and dark figure with the moving voice, will have to wait for the next album, perhaps in vain.