How far? How long?
Once upon a time, there was a band. Cincinnati, Ohio, was a quiet place. Legend has it that some young folks found themselves sharing a cell on a Halloween night when the '80s were already in their downward arc. That's how the Afghan Whigs were born...
In reality, it wasn’t like that, but it doesn’t matter much. Initially more akin to Hüsker Dü, among the emblems of that generation, they gradually grew, refining their sound, increasingly personal and distinctive, increasingly “theirs”: Rick McCollum's guitars would be recognizable among a thousand, as would Greg Dulli's venomous voice. They grew, or perhaps rotted, in a way, until they embodied what is "Gentlemen". A peculiar work to be released in the midst of the grunge era, a record full of vivid images and colors, almost with the presumption of being a film, so much so that the credits say "shot on location" instead of "recorded in".
The music is the kind that gets under the skin immediately, visceral, able to wander inside the host organism to shake it mercilessly or to caress it gently. Violent ("Gentlemen", "Fountain and Fairfax") or soothing ("When We Two Parted", "I Keep Coming Back"), following Dulli's overflowing ego, which sometimes whispers and other times screams. He sings about unhealthy relationships, spits out his anger, fascinates women by candidly confessing to being a jerk, or something like that (ladies let me tell you about myself, I've got a dick for a brain… "Be Sweet"). A man who spits bile like few others, whose raucous tone is as sharp as a claw. Dulli is the storyteller who guides us along the road that meanders between perversion, malice, and compulsion, where a dependency different from the strictly physical and sexual becomes almost a blessing ("What Jail Is Like").
A journey into a sick, greedy, and needy psyche, of sex, physical contact, attention. The Afghan Whigs paint the monster that lurks hidden within all of us: the one that chokes us and leaves us breathless among infatuations of the ego, remorse, and listless consciences. A journey that begins with the blowing of the wind and finds an epiphany in the final blend of guitars and cello, an almost liberating post-coital crescendo.
The demon, for now, has been exorcised... but it will return, more eager and thirstier than before.
Emotions that pierce through infinity to strike right at the soul's core, piercing, abysmal wounds that, when awakened, provoke ecstasy and torment.
The Afghan Whigs are and will forever remain one of my favorite bands... Truly, one of the most beautiful and heartfelt albums I have ever listened to.
"He has confirmed himself... an excellent interpreter of timeless torch songs, a perfect singer of that thin shadow line dividing day from night."
"The glories of the past might never be reached again, but the overall variety and undeniable value make it a more than dignified work."