The Wedding Present + more across Manchester Academy.
The Cult
O2 Apollo, Manchester
25th Oct 2024
In which the magisterial Cult celebrate their 40th anniversary with a shamanic romp through their back catalogue.
Far from the madding crowd there seems to be some sort of upward curve in all things The Cult. The venues like tonight’s 3400 capacity O2 Apollo are getting bigger and selling out, and the band are sounding juggernaut.
It’s a mighty long way down rock n roll but four decades in and The Cult are finding new peaks and new ways to make their music matter. It’s a simple sounding equation that is far harder to pull of than you think, and whilst many contemporaries flounder, The Cult have found a new lease of life that adds a freshness to their sound and an edge to their back catalogue.
There was always something fascinating about the group who emerged out of the wreckage of ‘the band most likely to’ from the post punk hinterlands – the Southern Death Cult to become The Cult. They then walked the tightrope between big rock and the post punk underground – somehow jamming good with Ian and Billy with the idealism of Crass, the riffola of AC/DC, the poetic mysticism of The Doors with the dark magus metal funk of Led Zeppelin, and the smarts of fellow tightrope walker David Bowie with the visceral thrill of rock. Last year’s Death Cult gigs seem to have further reinvigorated the band and reminded them of their artsier roots without ever losing their rock and roll.
Bathed in the blue lights, they never tip too far to either side and create their own sweet spot in the middle of art and rock that reflects the two powerful personalities at the core of the band.
This yin and yan.
This Billy and Ian… it’s all played out tonight but with an added strength with the guitarist and frontman in embrace, as they complement each other perfectly with a brotherly love that would have seemed unlikely decades ago.
At one point, Ian Astbury mentions that he’d like to find the woman who gave him a fiver outside Liverpool Lime St all those years ago that spurred him to travel to Bradford at a low point in his life to see Crass play, and where he then formed Southern Death Cult. Ian Astbury owns the stage and looks about seven feet tall as he does his whirling dervish moves with his baggy kecks and nimble ninja footwork and tambourine keepy uppies; his voice is soundscape-huge and still full of the idealism and yearning of his own teenage rampage, whilst Billy Duffy is one great guitar player. There’s something about playing in Billy’s hometown of Manchester that brings it all back home, and a reminder of his own long journey from a few miles away and the Wythenshawe kitchen where he jammed with a younger Johnny Marr before sneaking into gigs at the Apollo to see the high decibel gods like Mick Ronson and the glam titans or the early punk shows.
Converting that molten excitement into six string thrills is never simple, and tonight he underlines his own space and own unique style. For starters, his tone is immaculate whether its the lead lines or the grinding riffs. The actual sound and texture is almost scientifically perfect for each song and the riffs have a rock power but also a groove and swing, whilst his lead lines are about as post punk as rock can get. There are no conventional guitar solos, just a melting molten sound that creates space for Ian’s voice to soar between flurry of notes.
Billy may do good rock god but there’s no shredding and no rock by numbers. This is an almost psychedelic pealing of notes that creates a perfect soundscape that is unique in its sonic story telling. It creates a thrilling texture overload for Ian Asbury’s voice that somehow hasn’t decayed like most people’s. His impassioned vocals are as powerful as ever and sit in the same sort of space as the guitar with both their yelps and soars, painting the same sort of emotional and emotive backdrops that are both primal and sophisticated.
The Cult play rock but a rock with a much broader palette of emotions and mystic yearning. There are shamanic forces at play as the singer colours the songs in with his own obsessions, whether it’s micro dosing, shamanic mysticism, tribal lore or the revolution inherent at the heart of great rock or the underground art that plants its ideas DNA into everything The Cult do.
As the set unfolds it celebrates the mainstream rock of both at the core duo’s youth on either side of the Atlantic. The big rock pouring out of the Canadian FM radio of Ian Astbury’s Hamilton Canada teenage years or the pre punk rock ‘n’ roll that Billy Duffy was cranking with long hair mates. The filter of punk and post punk added something unique to this and the 40th anniversary of the Cult still see them wander at the edge of rock, taking it as far as you can go into esoteric directions without ever losing the thrill of its big noise.
Of course the set has the bigger hitters like Sweet Soul Sister, Resurrection Joe, an ever epic She Sells Sanctuary and Fire Woman, plus an acoustic Edie (Ciao Baby), plus deep cuts like Brother Wolf, Sister Moon that updates the original into an urgent new space. But ultimately it’s the overall sound of the band that is the trip. Far from knocking out the hits, The Cult still feel edgy as they seek something from the very core of rock, pushing and prodding the ancient beast to make it come alive again for one more last dance.
~
All words by John Robb
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