The Cult
Sonic Temple BEGGARS ARKIVE
Mammoth reissue of late-80s riff monster.
Ian Astbury’s accelerated journey through the 1980s was as strange as it was unexpected. Within the space of four years, he’d gone from being leader of Yorkshire goth-punks Southern Death Cult (supporting Bauhaus around the UK) to transatlantic hard rocker, fronting The Cult as they took on America with 1987’s riff-packed Electric album. But the band’s Stateside fixation had yet to peak. That moment arrived two years later, with the multi-platinum Sonic Temple.
Not only did that album mark the beginning of The Cult’s long association with producer Bob Rock, it also found Billy Duffy – Astbury’s songwriting partner – fully indulging his guitar god fantasies. If Electric was the blueprint, then Sonic Temple was the real deal: pared down, power-chord rock’n’roll aimed squarely at the US market.
Grooves rule. Especially the old-school kind. Inspired by Louis XIV, opener Sun King is macho rock incarnate as Astbury howls, Duffy pumps hard and new drummer Mickey Curry lays down a beat as simple as it is thunderous. The subject matter of lead-off single Fire Woman pulls straight from the rooted symbolism of rock’n’roll, as does its lyrical blues reference to Howlin’ Wolf’s Smokestack Lightnin’. This isn’t the only time it happens. Wake Up Time For Freedom may Astbury’s personal statement about escaping the negative demands of the record industry, but it’s reliant on another sturdy old blues trope – ‘Hound dog on my trail’ – to make its point. Some of the lyrical conceits are clumsy (at one point, Astbury really does describe the protagonist of Sweet Soul Sister as a ‘sexual panther’), though that doesn’t make these huge songs any less impressive. The lighters-aloft moment arrives with Edie (Ciao Baby), a tribute to doomed starlet Edie Sedgwick and the Warhol demimonde of the 60s, its grandstanding lick book-ended by soft acoustic passages.
As with Electric, there’s little attempt to cloak Sonic Temple’s debt to AC/DC, the Stones and Led Zep, even down to the palpable Kashmir riff on Soul Asylum. But familiarity, rather than originality, remains its defining feature. Primed for Europe as well as America, it’s still The Cult’s biggest-selling album of their career.
This 30th anniversary edition comes in a variety of formats, from a five-CD set to standard double vinyl, dependent on both your budget and your appetite for demos, unreleased tracks, alternative mixes and a live recording from Wembley Stadium. It’s a worthy release. All things considered, Sonic Temple is an event.
Rob Hughes
