06 10

Murder City Devils The White Ghost Has Blood On Its Hands Again Self-Released

08.08.14

Eternal slaves to the overblown, embittered paean to demon alcohol, Seattle vets Murder City Devils always imbued their garage gargle with an open-armed, almost gospel-like reverence to skid row depravity. Releasing three albums at the back end of the 90s, the clawing desperation which eked through every utterance from frontman/heartbeat Spencer Moody could never be forced.

So between their 2001 break-up, their 2006 reformation, and this, their first record in 14 years, Moody must have plumbed a couple of depths to be able to step out and get blood on his hands, again. Emerging from the battered yet sturdy shelter of Sub Pop, this self-released album ticks all the boxes; the creeping organ, the stomping punch-drunk plundering, the unabashed melodynamics, the bloody scrawled diatribes. In fact, there are even unlikely chinks of light creeping through in the chiming guitars and bluegrass twang of Pale Disguise or the apologetic country sway of closer Don’t Worry. But at its heart, from the opening clatter ‘n’ mulch of I Don’t Wanna Work For Scum Anymore onwards, this is a record of turgid self-reflection and self-rejection. At points it sounds tired, hopeless, gasping for air; and that’s exactly the point.