This album might be out of time, but it’s certainly not out of place. That’s to say that it is still relevant, with its blood-stained bilious tirades against the ongoing evils of the world how could it not be, but that its fires were lit a long time ago. Again, that’s not to say they burn any less fiercely now, just that some things never change. There’s an almost archaic sense to everything here, the raw materials were certainly harvested the best part of two decades ago. There is a refusal to adapt or maybe just ignorance to the art of moving on, but that it still has such a frighteningly harsh impact is an adequate enough defence. That it does still have that impact probably says more about what has (or has not) followed in the wake of Killing Joke’s 80s heyday than it does about Killing Joke’s current resurrection. That is this record’s utter strength. There’s a feeling from this that they’ve already proved themselves and are still waiting for the rest of the world to catch up.
The heavy breadth of the record swallows everyone from Metallica to Sepultura to Nine Inch Nails to Marilyn Manson to Queens of the Stone Age to Rammstein to almost-peers New Model Army to numerous others. That last band in particular shared a similar perspective on society, and similar cravings to put things right, normally by protesting with a hoary iron voice (the most direct comparison here is on the smouldering, anthemic, yet slightly lumpy ‘You’ll Never Get To Me’). But where NMA and toothless crusty leader Justin Sullivan have faded pathetically into adulthood, perhaps zapped by the realisation that they’ll never actually make a difference, Jaz Coleman and his compact musical army are still marching strong with piercing red eyes, rustier spears and belief.
You could almost laugh at the simplicity of some of Jaz’s throat-tearing one-man-revolution monologues though (“Kiss the arse of Uncle Sam, oh to be an Englishman” for instance). But there’s an odd celebration in such directness in an age when most, including our supposed rebels, have signed up to The Programme. Even when his delivery treads the dubious and eyebrow-raising fine line between a Ring Wraith and a pissed gutter vagabond on the likes of ‘Dark Forces’ and ‘Total Invasion’. People do pay more notice to a freak. The music is naturally just as bleak, as blunt and ultimately as straightforward as his lyrics, if not more so, but they work as a formidable team, aiming for a target and not relenting until it’s in shreds. The rhythms are particularly violent. Oh, and did we mention it’s Dave Grohl on the tubs? The perfect seal.