Last updated March 14, 1998
From SOUNDS, September 24, 1988
Talk Talk, of course, don't. Ever since their initial, spurious labelling as a constituent of bosun Le Bon's 'New Romantic' master race, the ironically titled Talk Talk have evolved into contemplative muso-techs with a communication capability every bit as impressive as top Jock master rhetorician Kenny Dalglish.
Invoking that most sacred of imprecations ("the music speaks for itself"), Talk Talk are, nonetheless, in a comfortable position. For while Spirit Of Eden is hardly full of burbling eloquence, it's an impressively resonant stanza.
From the word go, Eden calls up ambassadors of ambience from Eno to Satie, but the way it avoids any feeling of pastiche, absorbing rather than succumbing to these influences, is crucial to its achievement. The first side's three songs blend into a continuum, propelled by a relentlessly gentle drive. But the whole thing is pulled taut by the continual melancholy tension - this bursts through on The Rainbow's staggering chorus. Beneath Eden's surface there's often a glimmer of meshed feedback-riven guitar, that recalls the best of the Mary Chain and AR Kane.
Desire comes alive with another guitar glisten, before breaking up in bona fide axe-wielding mayhem. First they chew up 'Last Train To Clarkesville' then we have max-grunge, Zep-style wig-out as the ghost of 'When The Levee Breaks' is ruthlessly exorcised. Quiet returns with a closing Satie-esque tinkle.
The second side, unsurprisingly, falls short of this magnificence. And, while never intrusive, lines like "lilac glistening foal" remind that words are not this bands forte. But with three distinct songs, as opposed to the opener's seamless flow, the flip is not short of brilliance. Notably, the closing, drifting refrain of I Believe In You and the spectral Wealth.
Talk Talk revive the ghoul of monkish muso endeavour and, against the odds, Spirit Of Eden is uncommonly beautiful.
Roy Wilkinson