Cranes - The ethereal face of dark-wave

Cranes are one of the leading bands of the dream-pop movement, that fertile musical laboratory straddling the Eighties and Nineties. From the “masters” Cocteau Twins, they borrow above all the dreamlike, spectral dimension, even if they never quite match its evocative power. On top of that, they add a “dark” touch borrowed from bands like Joy Division, Cure and Siouxsie & The Banshees.

The band formed in the mid-'80s in Portsmouth, England, at the initiative of siblings Alison and Jim Shaw (bass/vocals and drums respectively). The line-up was completed by Mark Francombe (guitar) and Matt Cope (bass, guitar). They all shared a common background, ranging from New Order to Nick Cave, from Young Gods to Joy Division.

The demo tape (1988) Fuse began to put the band on the map within the British indie circuit. Their sound openly echoes Cocteau Twins and My Bloody Valentine, but also Joy Division and Cabaret Voltaire. It's a dark-hued dark-pop-industrial, steeped in a veil of existentialist melancholy.

After spending three years mostly producing tracks for compilations, the trio managed to self-produce the mini-CD Self-Non-Self, which caught the attention of John Peel, the famous BBC DJ, along with a handful of singles (“Inescapable”, “Espero”, “Adoration, Tomorrow's Tears”).

In July 1990 Cranes were signed by Dedicated (a subsidiary of BMG/RCA Records) and achieved modest success with the album Wings Of Joy, which showcases a handful of minimalist, metallic, funereal ballads. Their dark dirges rest on extremely solid walls of guitar and hypnotic bass lines. These murky sounds seem to pull off the feat of fusing the dreams of Cocteau Twins with the unsettling visions of Swans, the ghosts of Cure and the trance of My Bloody Valentine. An enveloping piano underpins the clattering guitars of the terrifying “Starblood”, “Beautiful Sadness” is almost a manifesto of the band's “aching” aesthetic, while the neoclassical watercolor of “Tomorrow's Tears”, the almost deathly despair of “Adoration” and the ethereal dirge of “Watersong” (opening with plucked violin) heighten the pathos further. Alison Shaw's childlike vocals sit in a register deeper than Claire Grogan's in Altered Images and less dark than Elisabeth Fraser's in Cocteau Twins, helping to create a remarkably evocative effect.

But it's with the follow-up Forever (1993) that the Portsmouth band began carving out a significant place for itself within the British indie scene. Compared to their earlier work, the sound here is softer and more ethereal, building ideal sonic backdrops for Shaw's angelic vocals. The band's minimalist, dark sound is warmed by more “human” arrangements: “Far Away” and “And Ever” are dominated by warm piano chimes. “Cloudless” and “Rainbows” pair the trappings of the “glacial” ballad with a return to acoustic textures, as does the single “Jewel” (which would be remixed several times, by Robert Smith of Cure, by Jim Foetus, and by 4AD's “boss”, Ivo Watts-Russell). The aggressive guitars of “Starblood” return, albeit less violently, in “Sun and Sky” and “Clear”, which also feature sirens and congas. The spectral mood is heightened by the dissonant single “Adrift” and the grandiloquent “Everywhere”, with Siouxsie-style dark atmospheres. Two more small gems round off the record: “Golden”, another headlong plunge into despair, and the closing “Shine like Stars”, majestic in its mournful, requiem-like procession.

Meanwhile, Cranes also made a name for themselves as the opening act for Cure during the 1994 “Wish tour”. It's the decisive year for their career. That's when Loved came out, their masterpiece and one of the finest achievements of the entire dream-pop movement. Built as a concept album around themes of loneliness and existential anguish, the record unleashes a sequence of elegant, funereal ballads, wrapped in a spiral of obsessive, claustrophobic sounds. Amid acoustic instruments and dreamy keyboards, a swarm of distorted guitars pushes through, becoming one of the band's trademarks alongside Shaw's ethereal vocalizing, the bold use of programmed and sampled patterns, and powerful, hypnotic drumming. The record ranges from the majestic melodies of “Shining Road” to the poignant elegy of “Are You Gone?”, from the magical waltz of “Paris And Rome” to the spectral nightmares of the title track, from the frail “funky” sinew of “Lilies” to the aching meditation of “Reverie” and the desolate soundscape of “Beautiful Friend”, which coins a sort of original “ambient-western”.

In 1995, with the album “La Tragédie d'Oreste et Électre”, Cranes gave a demonstration of their ability to explore new musical territory, creating an orchestral adaptation of Jean-Paul Sartre's existentialist play. Semi-industrial sounds dominate, with crooked piano motifs that almost sound like Philip Glass and Tom Waits film scores “rearranged” by Foetus.

The follow-up Population Four (1997) was a slide into more commercial pop territory, which failed to bring the band the success they'd hoped for, and instead stirred up no small amount of resentment among longtime fans. The album's flop was also behind Cranes' split from their label, which ended their collaboration by releasing a double compilation titled EP Collection Vols 1 & 2 (1998) without even granting the musicians the proceeds from sales.

After four years, plenty of upheaval and two lineup changes (drummer Jon Callender and guitarist Paul Smith came aboard), Cranes returned in 2001 with a new album, Future Songs (self-produced on the Dadaphonic label), which leaps back toward the icy sound of their early days, with melodic ballads like “Future Song” and “Fragile” and elegant acoustic songs like “Sunrise” and “Driving the sun”. “It's a more atmospheric record and less guitar-driven than the previous ones,” explains Alison Shaw, who also writes the lyrics. “I think it marks the start of a new phase in our career.” Overdubbed into the tracks are some curious sounds obtained, as Alison explains, “by leaving a microphone out in the garden all night, or capturing street sounds, or the flapping of birds' wings.”

2004 saw the release of Particles And Waves, another foray into their ethereal, dreamlike sound, built entirely on Ali Shaw's diaphanous, childlike vocalizing and the blend of acoustic guitars and electronic textures. “K56” condenses this formula into two minutes, built on a constant high-low contrast, with Ali's thin voice set against the basslines' dark undertow. Jim's vocals, warmer but just as sinister, carry “Every Town”, a languid electro-acoustic piece built on a swarm of effects and reverb. “Vanishing Point” pairs its electronic textures with the strongest melody of the bunch.

Elsewhere, the mood turns more spectral and dreamlike, as on “Here Comes The Snow”, with its soft drumming, dissonances and shoegaze-style riffs forming the backdrop to Ali's angelic, yet still unsettling, whispers.

An album that brought Cranes back into the international media spotlight, with more than one merit to its name, even if the feverish intensity of their early days is now a distant memory.

In 2008, with the self-titled Cranes, Alison Shaw and co. deliver eleven new songs played with meticulous skill, seasoned with melodic flair and enriched by a vivid, moving interpretive passion.

In just over half an hour we're lulled by gentle, dreamy little marches (quiescent nightmares in the opening “Worlds”, a reassuring awakening with “Worlds”), jolted by barely recognizable electronic beats (an electro-pop backdrop for “Feathers”, translucent fizz in “Wires”) and finally distracted by a voice that swells until it becomes almost impalpable (“Panorama” sounds like a church hymn, “Collecting Stones” flows between piano scales and sinister hisses).

The use of an almost folk guitar setup lends variety to the sound, blending ideas that sit somewhere between a storyteller's bucolic song and the work of an artist devoted to dark trip-hop. Examples include the transfigured drops of melody in “Wonderful Things” and the closer “High And Low”, never so fitting as a farewell. The remaining songs imaginatively recycle the key elements already highlighted, coming across at times as a bit stammering but ultimately positive in their naivety.

However patchy and uneven, Cranes' journey managed to hold together two of the main souls of Eighties art-rock: the noisy industrial of bands like Einstürzende Neubauten, Swans and The Young Gods, and the spectral pop of Cocteau Twins and Dead Can Dance. All while updating the typical Eighties dark-sound into an “ethereal” key.

Contributions by Alessandro Biancalana (“Cranes”)

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