Your support helps us to tell the story
From reproductive rights to climate change to Big Tech, The Independent is on the ground when the story is developing. Whether it's investigating the financials of Elon Musk's pro-Trump PAC or producing our latest documentary, 'The A Word', which shines a light on the American women fighting for reproductive rights, we know how important it is to parse out the facts from the messaging.
At such a critical moment in US history, we need reporters on the ground. Your donation allows us to keep sending journalists to speak to both sides of the story.
The Independent is trusted by Americans across the entire political spectrum. And unlike many other quality news outlets, we choose not to lock Americans out of our reporting and analysis with paywalls. We believe quality journalism should be available to everyone, paid for by those who can afford it.
Your support makes all the difference.For all its apparent hard-bitten toughness, Lydia Lunch's work is a surprisingly fragile thing, liable to shatter completely if it loses the listener's faith. In the case of Smoke in the Shadows, that entails buying into a series of semi-spoken, sleazy monologues about low-lifes, drifters, grifters, murderers and erotic obsessives, without allowing a smirk or a sneer to break the delicate meniscus of one's suspended disbelief. It's to her credit - and especially to the credit of the musicians who supply the suitably noir-ish jazz backdrops - that the edifice is sustained until the last few tracks, when her mannered delivery becomes intensely irritating: surly, swearing and sexually aggressive, she comes across like Peaches' pissed-off, crazy aunt on a track such as "Trick Baby", which is not really a recommendation. But the earlier parts of the album work well, in a manner reminiscent of John Zorn's Spillane. "The scene of the crime could be anywhere, at any time," she suggests in the opening "Hangover Hotel" - but it's always, by the sound of it, shot in moody black-and-white, to a Sweet Smell of Success soundtrack of creeping double bass, vibes and indigo horns, whether she's playing the sexual obsessive of "I Love How You...", the femme fatale of "Touch My Evil", or the spurned bunny-boiler of the title-track.
Join our commenting forum
Join thought-provoking conversations, follow other Independent readers and see their replies
Comments