The moment that twisted discord gives way to the first tune “Way The World Is”, the Pale Saints‘ The Comforts Of Madness album has you hanging on a massive wave of daggering sound. That piranha(ing) energy slamming around you, Ian Masters‘ dreamy voice thistled by melodic splashes and restless propellants, his vocals bleeding existential bluntness buttered in flaming ascents and cross-cut dynamics. As first tracks go it’s magnificent and like the rest of the album has spanned these thirty-odd years virtually unscathed.
From a foetal heartbeat, “Sea Of Sound” swoons on in with a calming glow, a firm favourite of mine swallowed in vaporising effects and bewitching melancholics. The ennui of heartbreak or love’s embrace — the lyrics hint at both as the words beam on warm tides of reflection and the arcing arpeggios scoop at a crystallised centre. Textures seemingly feeding off Sarah Tucker’s opulent imagery and Vaughan Oliver’s light graphical touch (I really hope they’ve kept that all important silvery glisten to the arts as they gelled completely with all that glorious sonicness).
“Little Hammer”’s gently bruised persona is another favourite, a childhood reminiscence miraging to gentle tabla / dulcimer touchstones as the fractured narrative conjures, wraps context in a smokey glove. I like the way nothing gleams with concrete certitude, but floats in hazy ambiguity, the surrounding instrumentation never breaking the spell with predictable flourishes. The monumental “A Deep Sleep For Steven” sea-horses a swollen tide of amplification, those gilded guitars and all that toppling roominess collapsing around you Ride-like, a gorgeous apparition flooding the senses with white cresting vocals. The palette cleansing spangle of “Language Of Flowers” and “Insubstantial”’s poppy kick separate out the softer moments, flavours that would blossom to full potential on their In Ribbons album -i but for now it’s articulating the artsy. A cover version of an Opal song that sounds like their own; again the rich colours of the album’s artwork swirling Icarus-like to its melodic splashes and glittery agitations. “You fell from my sun / Now you’re feeling so cold”, goes Masters. “Never thought morning could feel so alone” he sings as the chorusing fog is entangled in burning guitar, all spun-out to a cottony reprise, its helical vocals seeping into the soaring “Sight Of You”, another high point that nails you in sumptuous seductives, with “Time Thief”’s explosive / retractive zither breezing out on an absolute high.Reissue-wise (for me), it doesn’t need any extras as the main feast has been gloriously resurrected, but I’m glad they’ve included those Woodhouse Studio demos, if just for the fact they show how completely on the money the Pale Saints were in the first place, long before John Fryer and Gil Norton gave them the 4AD sheen, an impression only re-confirmed by the four fiery pre-album Peel Sessions that are also included.
The Comforts Of Madness is one of 4AD’s hidden gems (along with Kendra Smith’s Five Ways Of Disappearing); so glad it’s back in print and ready to inspire a new generation.
-Michael Rodham-Heaps-
