Reviews of three new releases Love Spirals Downwards Temporal (Projekt) Cocteau Twins BBC Sessions 2CD (Ryko/Bella Union) Of related interest: Faith & Disease, Hana, Cranes Maybe it's the millennial change, or maybe it's because there's so little to see on the current musical landscape, but everyone seems fascinated with the past. Take these two collections as evidence. Temporal, a lengthy glance at the eight-year career of Love Spirals Downwards, is aptly named: Not only does it imply a passage in time, it also refers to the temples of one's head, brain space well-suited to Love Spirals Downwards' tranquil musical tides. The album's main handicap is its running order. It starts illogically with newer songs, reverse-drifting to the duo's 1992 genesis. LSD's recent ambient-techno trips sound like diluted Muzak for latte shops, with skittering breakbeats dripping instead of percolating. Ryan Lum and Suzanne Perry's wistful early work, on the other hand, carries the delicious scent of a potent Cocteau Twins influence. And speaking of the Cocteau Twins, that dual-gendered British duo finally did what their misty music frequently threatened to: dissolve. But before they evaporated, Robin Guthrie and Liz Fraser left behind a legacy of beautiful tuneage, wordless female vocals climbing skyward on ladders of chiming, chorus-saturated guitars. Copied by many, equaled by few. BBC Sessions floats back through the ether to the early '80s, peeking in at the budding Twins' on-air sessions with freshmaker DJ John Peel. Drum machines give the music a gravity lacking in beatless later albums like Victorialand, and Fraser actually tries to communicate her emotions, rather than just sail away like the proto-Enya chanteuse she became. Getting nearly two full discs of this (23 of the comp's 30 cuts precede 1985) is the cherry on the sundae. Dig in. John Graham The Gunga Din Glitterati (Jetset) Of related interest: Elysian Fields, Congo Norvell, Firewater, Botanica New York, that infamous town without pity, breeds a different kind of hipster. When non-Gothamites look to the Continent for inspiration, they emulate the pastel Euro-kitsch of Air or Stereo Total. NYC indie-cabaret acts like the Gunga Din, however, prefer a sensual darkness. They're a lot more Weimar Republic than '60s Paris. Drenched in exigent sexuality, their ballads are ripe with the potential for lust-induced violence. The bruise-blue lens of proto-psychedelic keyboards investigate shadowy, near-psychotic moments. They lure you with a wink, a wily smile and a delicate melody, then slap you with the harsh sentiment and heavy cynicism of big-city living. It sounds pretty until the grittiness lodges in your teeth, mellifluous and mean at the same time. Not that the Gunga Din is mean, mind you. Glitterati is a musical massage, hot fingers of Farfisa organ tickling your earlobes while Siobhan Duffy's sultry voice blows smoke in your face like a come-on. But listen to the words and you'll hear a less seductive story. These characters are lost souls, moral compasses spinning out of control. That the Gunga Din corrals them into a coherent, uniform sound-structure is impressive. It's also beautiful--in a sordid, black-hearted way. What else would you expect from the Naked City? John Graham   - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - Willamette Week | originally published February 16, 2000