http://www.messandnoise.com/releases/2000255

The trouble with approaching a new record by a band with the history and repute of The Church is that one has to place it in the context of a large sanctified oeuvre, while simultaneously considering it as a stand-alone work born of its own time.

Once the heyday of their career had passed, The Church moved away from the concise songwriting that characterised the era of their mainstream success. On the albums they released this decade, The Church tended to create denser soundscapes and jams that still sparkled with psychedelic flourishes, yet were in danger of becoming increasingly esoteric and impenetrable to casual listeners. Which was perfectly alright for a band that didn't have anything left to prove in terms of fashionability or commercial viability.

Now, releasing albums on their own Unorthodox label, Kilbey, Koppes, Willson-Piper and Powles have perfected the fine art of pleasing themselves while the iPod generation has moved on to more immediately gratifying musical territory.

Interestingly then, on Untitled #23, The Church attempt to harness some of the sounds of their classic albums and combine them with the more digestible aspects of their recent output. Clearly still relishing the alchemy of creating songs together, they fashion these elements into a series of mid-paced songs that echo with some of the chord progressions and turns of phrase of old. Individual tracks blend into a seamless whole that almost necessitates listening to it as one long song in the manner of '70s concept album epics. Luckily, The Church realise the value of brevity and spare us the triple gatefold.

The tone is set in opener 'Cobalt Blue', which washes over the listener in a gentle and unhurried manner. The following track 'Deadman's Hand' is the closest the album comes to having a song with a hook large enough to make it single material. In fact, it's a terrific number with one of Steve Kilbey's most intriguingly oblique lyrics - which revolution is he on his way to crush, exactly?

After such a promising beginning, the album settles into a comfortable groove, full of sparkling guitars, wafting atmospherics and melodic bass lines. It doesn't deliver the visceral thrill that songs like 'Electric Lash' or 'Reptile' did, but then it doesn't have to. It wouldn't be fair to expect such dizzying heights from the band, especially when songs like 'Happenstance' and 'Sunken Sun' are such brilliant musical excursions in their own right.

'Space Saviour' could teach Jason Pierce a few things about crafting a cosmic gospel tune with its insistent vocal and heavenly crescendos. 'Anchorage' revolves around a simple repetitive bass riff and jangling guitars that occasionally burst forth but are continually pulled back to make way for the rousing chorus. It's a fine teasing device that adds a certain amount of tension to a tune that would be perfect for the end credits of a road movie.

It's almost inevitable that critics - those who haven't paid much attention to The Church over recent years - will label Untitled #23 a return to form because of its more focused songwriting. Such assessments would be doing the band a disservice. Instead, Untitled #23 is another milestone in the career of a band that is nowhere near ready to let itself be considered a nostalgia act.

by René Schaefer