Back when your humble reviewer was taking his first muddy steps into the grubby world of boisterous indie music at Reading Festival ’94, as some sort of self-prescribed induction into its sordid workings, there seemed much to learn, there were new experiences and there were many questions. But the one thing, above all other things that I took away that day (apart from perhaps wondering how I could get hold of one of those massive light bulbs the Chilli Peppers wore atop their heads onstage), was how incredibly provocative, classy and – for want of a more British word – awesome the frantic cellist that played live with ‘Troublegum’ era Therapy? was. The deep throbbing sub-guttural sound churned directly through the already rough textures being hammered out gregariously, lifting the whole experience up to an entirely new, convincing level. Though they then took him on in a semi-permanent capacity, the passing of time saw it turn out to be an embellishment rather than anything more permanent.
The whole point of this little run down memory pastures is to point out how long overdue Murder By Death’s dramatic entrance has been. There are no shortage of bands who recognise the power of the cello’s dark orchestration and are happy therefore for session players to enhance the mood of their works, but this powerful Indiana 4 piece don’t deal in half-measures, full stop, and their striking full-time cellist Sarah Balliet is one of many reasons why they never fall back into the predictability of the agitated bar-blues that makes up their foundation. The sinister, jagged arpeggio classicism of ‘One More Notch’ and heavily textured ‘Brother’ and ‘Steam Rising’ are defined by her contributions rather than simply enhanced. And the crushing, apocalyptic finale to the post-rock verging ‘Raw Deal’ seals the deal if nothing else does.
The band are centred around the gnarled character sketches of Adam Turla, the kind that could exist adequately bashed out on a slightly out of tune acoustic guitar in a dark bar, but are spurred on by capable, complex band contributions to epic set pieces silhouetted against the flames of Armageddon, evoking comparisons with Johnny Cash (the bold traditional simplicity) and Nick Cave (the thundering drama). The imaginative, abrasive songwriting and pack performance of ‘Dead Men & Sinners’ and ‘Dynamite Mine’ brings to mind the influence of Waits and Beefheart, or perhaps more pointedly and currently the cross-culture folk of Gogol Bordello. Almost every tone across the dark spectrum is covered on this surprisingly diverse collection of moods, but the one thing that never changes is the unshiftable horsepower at its heart.