Psychic TV
Mr. Alien Brain vs. The Skinwalkers

The indomitable Genesis Breyer P-Orridge returns.

He returns with a good album, probably the best in many years.

Revived in 2007 with the good "Hell is invisible... Hell is Her/e," after twelve years of discographic silence, P-Orridge achieves the feat of giving his historic creation a new shine: tinged with rock'n'roll and psychedelia, definitively shelving the industrial past (except for the noise element that inevitably continues to animate his artistic vision).

The comeback album restored credibility to a project that seemed to have nothing more to say; "Mr. Alien Brain vs. The Skinwalkers," released in 2008, does even better, focusing the intent, correcting the major flaws present in its predecessor, and shining in excellent song-writing that we never expected: the latest reincarnation of Psychic TV is undoubtedly a machine that has fully surpassed the break-in phase and is now capable of running at full throttle.

Looking at the past, having fun, quoting and self-quoting.

Needless to say, leading the caravan is the invincible charisma of P-Orridge, who, as a good madam of the Psychic TV musical bordello, decides to surround himself with a harem of sturdy and handsome lads, capable of infusing the right verve into tracks that certainly couldn't stand on the old singer's breathless voice alone.

What to expect from a sprightly old man with a nice pair of breasts and arms tattooed like a dock worker, high heels, mini-skirt, and blonde bob of a middle-aged secretary? Probably one of the best rock albums released in recent years.

In "Mr. Alien Brain..." there's everything: rattling rock'n'roll, anthems to sing at the top of your lungs, psychedelic excursions, quirky ballads, slow tear-jerkers, smoky nightclub settings, dark ascetic parentheses, and more.

In "Mr. Alien Brain..." you have fun, you get wasted, you get uneasy, you cry, and you dance.

In "Mr. Alien Brain..." there's madness, there's neurosis, there's narcosis.

The curtain opens with a brief instrumental introduction: "The Thin Garden" is a visionary arpeggio that takes us directly back to the moods of the indispensable Velvet Underground, always an inspiration for the insane music of the former Throbbing Gristle singer. Following are the famous off-key notes of Syd Barrett: it's the haunting introduction to "No Good Trying," a historic track by solo Barrett, warped by P-Orridge and transformed into an authentic sonic nightmare. Childlike verses and sly singing alternate with demonic screams and guitar explosions: welcome to the perverse world of Genesis Breyer P-Orridge. The following two tracks open a wide psychedelic parenthesis, where the tones lower but not the tension: in "Trussed," the slow percussion beats and swirling electric guitars accompany a dark ritual where inevitably the protagonist role rightfully belongs to P-Orridge's prophetic voice, for the occasion in the guise of a Billy Idol having his balls squeezed; "The Alien Brain," a liquid and sulfurous piece, directly evokes the most lysergic Doors and the damned poet Jim Morrison, weaver of blurred visions and ominous omens (still with the balls being squeezed).

The electronic beats opening "Papal Breakdance" decidedly change the cards on the table: they lead us to what is the real hit of the album, an irresistible anthem with such a winning and anthemic chorus that we're almost surprised it's not a cover of an eighties gay-rock classic: not at all, it's all P-Orridge's doing, full, brimming with love, at the peak of his jollity.

New piece, another round: "Pickles and Jam" opens with a hypnotic bass line, soon supported by a delicate guitar arpeggio. Shedding the glam-star persona, P-Orridge sinks into an intimate dimension, gifting us a ballad with a bang, an intense roller-coaster of emotions in which the mad singer moves as only thoroughbred rockers know (or rather, knew) how to do.

An electric guitar restarts: it's the "Foggy Notion" of the Velvet Underground, nothing less than wholesome rock'n'roll; the obsessive drumming is that of Maureen Tucker, the creaky solos are those of Sterling Morrison and Lou Reed; it's hard not to be captivated by these overwhelming ten minutes exploring, between trepid pauses and explosive restarts, the quintessence of rock.

Ascetic pause with "I am Making a Mirror," a droning interlude characterized by dreamy arpeggios, oriental chants, and P-Orridge's mystical narrations, who seems to don the ancient vestments of prophet of the Psychic Youth once more.

The exhumed "New York Story" (already present in the previous album) is even more likable than the original, with Michael Gira's backing vocals in the chorus, and a remix that breathes new life into a track that previously seemed penalized by overly sickly sounds: the extra weapon in this "Mr. Alien Brain..." is precisely the sound, ruggedly "live," which lends authenticity to the vintage moods that enchant and thrill from the first listen.

To conclude, the most insignificant track of the lot, though the only one able to recall the cold and unhealthy tones of the early albums: the gloomy "I Love You, I Know" closes an album that, up until the seventh track, managed to be brilliant and full of surprises, but in the final portion seems to show a slight dip in inspiration and conviction.

(Finally, noteworthy is the captivating ghost-song, a live-captured track: a thrilling rock'n'roll ride that shows us, among lethal guitars, frantic drumbeats, and wrenching Hammond riffs, how little difference there is between today's Psychic TV and the indispensable Velvet Underground of all time).

In short, it's clear that in "Mr. Alien Brain..." influences, more or less explicit, alternate with true citations, yet it doesn't end up sounding like a bland revival, but rather like a sort of logbook titled 2008, an act of love toward the music P-Orridge seems to have grown up with: the same music that seems to have formed the decayed springboard that would later launch him toward the industrial revolution branded Throbbing Gristle.

Long live Genesis P-Orridge!