The intertwining sparks of guitars courtesy of Marty Willson-Piper and Peter Koppes almost come out like barbs from an immaculate row of briars. Vocalist and bassist Steve Kilbey can still channel the subconscious unconscious on his own terms, weaving his basslines as fluidly as any calligraphic scribe. The percussive end of things are punctuated in a subdued stylized manner which somehow brings even more dynamic tension to the proceedings, so kudos to you Mr. Powels.
What is most evident amidst all the textures and tactile ecstasy, is that this band are survivors, veterans: they are intuitive in their songs at this point; it will seem maudlin to the uninitiated it may even come across as listless, this could not be further from the explosive chemistry at work here. The Church do not exist through the usual channels, they let the music speak - and what music it is. To call them surreal would be an understatement; their atmospheres conjure everything from alien vistas to rain drenched misanthropy looking back on its excesses.
Nearing 40, I cannot believe this band are as pertinent and vital as they are. Who would have figured 80:s icons could cast such long and defining shadows some twenty years after their "big break". Talent, ladies and gentlemen, is what we have on display here. Raw, unadorned shamanistic creative abandon continues to flow through them, pray it never stops.