Cult - Hard-Rock Rituals in Wave Sanctuaries

There’s a revolution

Four decades in music, and every single time it feels like it’s only just begun, and always in a different way. There’s something magical, a feverish anticipation, surrounding the release of any Cult record, whether it’s curiosity about their sudden changes of skin or perhaps the unspoken hope that they’ll pull out all the stops — what’s certain is that, in the mid-Eighties, they had the merit of leading the hard-rock revival at a time when the charts seemed to have completely forgotten the raw guitars of previous decades, with the mortal sin of having reaped less than they sowed.

Survivors of the times, of fashions and of countless line-up changes, Ian Astbury on vocals and Billy Duffy with his guitar are still there today, having survived above all themselves. Plenty of triumphs on their resume, but also débâcles, rebirths, periods of dormancy, awakenings and relapses, like an ever-unfolding saga.

The story of the Cult officially begins in 1984, but the band’s geography knows no territorial bounds and stretches along the restless trajectories of its frontman, English by birth and a globetrotter by adoption.

Ian Astbury, youth, Canada

Heswall is a small town in Merseyside, twenty minutes from Liverpool; Ian Robert Astbury was born here on 14 May 1962, son of Robert Leighton, a merchant navy officer of Irish descent, and Judith Lindsay, a Scottish teacher. Even as an infant he already has rhythm in his blood — after all, Liverpool is something of the musical cradle of the United Kingdom and a forge for artists of global renown, not least the Beatles, of whom his aunts, who babysit him, are fervent admirers, while his parents instead prefer gospel and have him listen to Paul Robeson and Johnny Mathis. But he grows up on the myth of the Fab Four; one day, out walking with his family in a public square, he happens upon an impromptu performance by Paul McCartney, and from then on he learns “Hey Jude” by heart and sings it in front of relatives, accompanying himself on the pandeiro, the Brazilian frame drum he will keep using on stage well into adulthood. He spends his evenings glued to the radio, adores “L.A.Woman” by the Doors and falls in love with David Bowie after seeing him perform “Starman” on Top Of The Pops, which is why “Life On Mars?” automatically becomes the first vinyl record he buys.

At just eleven years old his existence changes radically when, in ’73, he moves with his family to Hamilton, Canada, on the shores of Lake Ontario, where he spends his entire adolescence as an outsider, yet fully immersed in local customs. “I felt at ease, it wasn’t the first time I’d lived as an outsider,” he would later recall. “Ever since I was little I’d been ostracised even in the UK just because my mother was Scottish, I’d already changed six or seven schools and everywhere I went I was treated as different because of my accent, so I learned to socialise with children of other ethnicities, who were more open and less spoiled.” In Canada he receives the same wary welcome, finds a part-time job as a busboy in a restaurant, but suffers harassment and bullying from his boss; too afraid of being fired, though, he never reports it, and the experience leaves him deeply traumatised.

Meanwhile he attends Glendale Secondary School, where little by little he finds the right countermeasures to ward off any sense of being besieged, and falls in with the children of other immigrants — Turkish, Caribbean, Italian or Pakistani: it’s a formative phase that will leave a deep mark on him, as he gradually becomes immersed in Native American culture, for him a genuine intellectual trance, if not an outright obsession (most of his writing and the iconography of the bands he plays in will remain inextricably tied to this chapter of his life, steeped as they are in asceticism, mysticism and non-Anglicised indigenous spirituality). “I was interested in philosophy and I played Lacrosse with them (a kind of stick-and-ball hockey that in Canada is one of the two national sports alongside ice hockey); those peoples have an awareness of and relationship with the Earth that is so special that anyone raised in industrialised societies can’t even conceive of it. We’re part of the environment, nature isn’t separate, we’re a single body — the key is to sit down, meditate and educate yourself, and I’ll keep insisting on this a great deal in my storytelling.”

In ’79 he crosses the Atlantic again in the opposite direction, bound for Glasgow, and spends a year in Scotland, where he finishes his studies, this time labelled as “English”. By now, though, he no longer pays it any mind, so used is he to the constant upheavals and their accompanying changes of habits and customs. During this period he reads Dickens, Byron and Shelley and becomes a devoted fan of Iggy Pop and the New York Dolls. His true point of reference, however, is Jim Morrison, after one evening watching “Apocalypse Now” leaves him utterly dumbstruck, to the point that he describes the film as an ecstatic-religious experience. “The End” by the Doors features on the soundtrack and lights his way toward music, so he decides that the time has come for him, too, to give it a try.

1981, Bradford, Southern Death Cult

In 1980 Astbury returns to Liverpool, drawn by the siren call of Eric’s Club, located on Matthew Street, across from the legendary Cavern. Swept up by the thriving local punk scene, he gets involved with guitar and saxophone and works as a roadie on Crass tours; meanwhile, he puts together Sex Pistols covers to get himself noticed by Send No Flowers, who are looking for a singer. That audition goes badly, but some time later the songs come in handy as an icebreaker for his first band, which takes shape a few months afterward in Bradford, Yorkshire, where he settles permanently in 1981 and founds Southern Death Cult together with bassist Barry Jepson, David “Buzz” Burrows (guitar) and Haq Nawaz “Aki” Quresgi (drums). The name comes from the religious rite performed in the area around the Mississippi Delta by 14th-century Native Americans, the South-Eastern Ceremonial Complex, sometimes also known as the Southern Death Cult, a name the singer adopts for the band centuries later with an ironic and sharply accusatory edge aimed at the centralisation of power in the South of England at the expense of the North, for historical, economic and social reasons (the music industry included).

The fatman takes away what isn’t his

He weakens you and me

Lust of your life

Money, life, your money is his life

(“Fatman”)

Their one and only double single “Moya/Fatman” was released in December 1982 on Situation Two Records (an offshoot of Beggars Banquet) and denounces the greed and avarice of the oppressive system through the metaphor of a fat man (some reissues add the track “The Girl” to make it a triple A-side, while others, in ’83, incorporate a couple of live cuts and Peel Sessions, turning it into something close to a fully-fledged eponymous LP to all intents and purposes, even though the band had never expressed any clear intention of doing so, so much so that many of the tracks are of poor audio quality).

Either way, the semi-official bootleg quickly wins converts, so much so that by their fifth show two thousand people are already turning up. “Moya”, “Fatman”, but also “Vivisection”, “Apache”, “The Crypt” and “All Glory” (the other titles on the tracklist) bear the mark of the era’s heated climate and show clear darkwave leanings, or rather “positive-punk”, as critics label it in contrast to the violent, alienating sound of Killing Joke and Spear Of Destiny, who are the big names around these parts alongside Theatre Of Hate and Bauhaus, more spectral and terrifying.

Bradford is a village fifteen miles from Leeds, and the tribes of isolated, disillusioned teenagers found in the noble Indian warrior Ian Lindsay (he still goes by his mother's surname) a seductive alternative to the college/football/TV routine. That fifth gig (in Manchester, in 1983) would unfortunately also turn out to be the last for Southern Death Cult, given Ian's wish to pursue a path more suited to his pseudo-hippy philosophy, influenced by Sixties music.

Once their run ended, Jepson, Burrows and Qureshi formed Getting The Fear (later Into A Circle) together with Paul Hempshire (associated with Death In June, Psychic Tv and Current 93); Astbury then replaced them with Sierra Leonean drummer Ray Mondo and James Stewart on bass (both ex-Ritual), plus Billy Duffy, a skilled guitarist he met backstage at a Theatre Of Hate gig, a band Southern Death Cult had previously supported as openers.

Meanwhile in Manchester: Billy Duffy

Emerging from the mean streets of Manchester, Billy Duffy was born at St. Mary's Hospital on 12 May 1961 into a Jewish-Irish family, and spent his childhood in the Hulme district before moving to the Wythenshawe area. He started playing guitar at fourteen, spellbound by Queen, The Who, Thin Lizzy and Aerosmith, and by the late Seventies he was already an institution within the city's punk scene, serving as a key member of the Nosebleeds (fronted by a certain Morrissey, though due to line-up changes the two never actually played together) and later of Mick Rossi's Slaughter And The Dogs. "As a kid I was obsessed with music," Duffy admits, "and I didn't want to miss a single gig: the biggest shows were held at the Free Trade Hall, where I saw a historic Sex Pistols concert. Steve Jones hypnotised me with his legendary Les Paul covered in stickers - before that night I barely knew anything about them except from the papers, but from that moment on it was clear to me that I wanted to be like him. Then I saw Slade and Thin Lizzy, my dad took me, then an incredible Heartbreakers show with the Banshees and the David Johansen Group at the Factory Club. And then Iggy Pop, my idol Mick Ronson and plenty more - unfortunately Bowie and the Spiders never came round, that would have been the ultimate."

It was Billy himself who introduced his friend Johnny Marr to Morrissey after a Patti Smith concert they saw together at the Apollo in 1978 (that meeting would give birth to the Smiths); unsatisfied, though, with such a small-scale existence, in January '79 he moved to London to chase rock'n'roll dreams with the Studio Sweethearts (the single "I Believe" came out in May, marking Duffy's vinyl debut), followed by a couple of stints with the Andy Blade Group and Lonesome No More (April 1981), which proved decisive in steering his style towards the rawer sound of Buzzcocks and the Stooges.

In late '81 came the big opportunity: he was recruited by Theatre Of Hate to open for the Clash on tours both in and outside the UK, and their "Do You Believe In The Westworld?" (1982) was aired on Top Of The Pops - but for Billy it was just a taste of real showbiz, since he fell out with singer Kirk Brandon and was forced to move on. No great loss: around the same time he met Ian Astbury, who was impressed by his skills and wanted him badly for his new band, which inherited the previous group's name, shortened to Death Cult. Alongside them, as mentioned, were James Stewart and Ray Mondo; it's 1983, and the EP Brothers Grimm is released, immediately topping the independent charts thanks to a successful blend of goth atmospheres, tribal percussion and sectarian lyrics ("Ghost Dance" draws on the doctrines of the holy man Wovoka, "Christians" tells of the Vietnam War, while "Horse Nations" sets to music the American writer Dee Brown's book "Bury My Heart At Wounded Knee - An Indian History Of The American West").

The band's live debut took place on 25 July in Oslo, and that same month saw the release of the EP Death Cult, promoted with a tour across Scotland and various European countries, at the end of which Mondo was deported back to his native Sierra Leone (little has been heard of him since, beyond a few terse reports) and replaced behind the kit by another ex-Theatre Of Hate member, Nigel Preston. This line-up held together for a reasonable stretch of time, and in October 1983 released "Godszoo", which in Astbury's plans was meant to serve as a promo for a hypothetical album that never materialised.

1984, Dreamtime: enter the Cult

The long-awaited full-length was delayed by just a few months: on 13 January 1984, the band appeared on Channel 4's The Tube, finally presenting themselves under the name that would go down in history: The Cult. The group chose to drop the gothic connotations of "Death" in order to broaden their audience, and they called it right, as their "Spiritwalker" immediately shot to number 1 on the UK Indie Chart. It came out in April 1984 and paved the way for Dreamtime, the debut album released the following 10 September which, naming aside, still retains a great deal of that gothic spirit.

Produced by John Brand for Beggars Banquet, it was recorded at Rockfield Studios in Monmouth, Wales, and remixed at Eel Pie Studios in Twickenham. The tracklist draws heavily on material shelved during the "Death" era, combined with new songs; the result is a wild formula that tries to merge the dominant macabre tendencies of darkwave with hard-rock influences, underscored by Astbury's melodramatic delivery, a frontman Morrison-esque to the core. The majestic "Horse Nation" is a statement of intent in that direction, built on brutal drumming torn apart by Duffy's ferocious guitar work, free to wield his unlikely weapon of choice, a mid-Seventies Gretsch White Falcon that would soon become the band's trademark.

The lyrics (credited to Astbury/Duffy) betray the singer's anthropological leanings: take the mesmerising title track "Dreamtime", which draws on Australian Aboriginal mythology, while the suicidal "Butterflies" mimics the dance of the Hopi tribes, in which young women of marrying age would style their hair into the shape of butterfly wings. Even bleaker and more resigned is "83rd Dream" ("There are no bright skies/ where the eagle flies" - in shamanism, the number 83 refers to the rite by which the dead are drawn from their chambers, dressed in rich garments and adorned with feathers on their heads, in the hope that they might dance with the living).

Let the sun shine on me when I sing the last song

⟦Q1⟧

Let all the children kiss the stars before they sing their last song

("Spiritwalker")

Returning to "Spiritwalker": it should be noted that the song actually dates back even further, to the Southern-era gigs, when it was played untitled at Bradford's Queen's Hall with more or less similar lyrics (the more meticulous accounts cite "The War Song" as a working title). The sepulchral rides "Gimmick" and "Ghost Dance (Spinning In Circles)" beat the Sisters Of Mercy's "First And Last And Always" to the punch, while standout tracks also include "Rider In The Snow", the evocative mirage of "A Flower In The Desert" and "Bad Medicine Waltz", a slow-building ballad and the emotional high point of the record.

A special mention goes to the propulsive "Resurrection Joe", a non-album single (from December 1984) tacked on as a bonus track to some CD editions.

All in all, it's not a bad start conceptually: Dreamtime offers a complete snapshot of the times, thanks to a hybrid sound that paradoxically ends up being its biggest limitation, since its various contaminations deny it a fixed residence among the wave deities. The Cult are too elitist even for the underground scene, but those melodic arpeggios and insistent basslines are picked up and swiftly carried to success by a full-fledged goth-rock wing, with Mission ("God's Own Medicine"), Hèroes Del Silencio ("El Mar No Cesa" and "Senderos De Traiciòn") and Italy's own Litfiba acting as standard-bearers; likewise Dreamtime (initially intended for the UK only) gradually makes its way through and is reissued in around thirty countries worldwide, giving The Cult huge visibility, so much so that around Christmas they embark on a European tour supporting Wayne Hussey's Sisterhood.

1985 – There's a Revolution: Love

There were a few guiding principles in the post-punk and new wave movement, namely: stay well away from long hair and guitar solos, so we thought: great, that's exactly where we'll start!

(Ian Astbury)

If Dreamtime had lit a few timid sparks of rebellion in charts besieged by electronic keyboards, the second album Love sets off a full-blown fire: it's the album of total revolution, and probably the only one capable, at that precise moment in history, of breaking the synth-monopoly, even though some press outlets of the time could barely hide their disgust at seeing the brash rock of past decades resurface so shamelessly. In other words, it simply wasn't cool, in a year like 1985, to reclaim Doors, Jimi Hendrix and Led Zeppelin. There weren't exactly many guitars in the charts: Human League were clumsily trying to bring them back with "The Lebanon", Eurythmics were folding them into a mostly synthetic menu, while the great bands of the punk generation such as The Clash had already fired their last shots. The radio was playing Howard Jones and King, the general public was swooning over the new romantic idols, Trevor Horn was the Midas of electronic pop. Under the radar, though, someone was preparing the move that would overturn every prediction.

With the Dreamtime promotional tour wrapped up at the end of '84, The Cult expressed a desire to work with Steve Lillywhite, who had forged a robust, recognisable sound for early U2, Xtc and the Simple Minds of "Sparkle In The Rain", but they made the mistake of leaving a tape of demos on his manager's desk without specifying the surname. So, by mistake, the demo ended up in the hands of London's Steve Brown (who had already worked with Abc, Elton John and Wham!), who listened to the tracks and was thrilled, but wanted to keep his feet on the ground and chose the cautious route, starting with just one song and deciding what to do next based on the results. And the results weren't long in coming: that song was called "She Sells Sanctuary", the biggest alternative hit of summer '85, built on a devastating guitar riff that itself becomes the hook of a hit whose key line, "the fire in your eyes", draws on the book "Lame Deer: Seeker Of Visions" (written by Richard Erdoes in 1972, based on the testimony of a Sioux medicine man from the Rosebud reservation) but also echoes a line from The Doors' "Soft Parade" ("Can you give me sanctuary? I must find place to hide"). On drums is Nigel Preston, later let go from the band for deplorable behaviour and replaced by Mark Brzezycki (on loan from Big Country) on all the other tracks of the album, completed between July and August at Olympic Studios in Barnes (chosen for having been the birthplace of records by Free, Jimi Hendrix and the Rolling Stones). The public seemed to appreciate Astbury's clear, passionate roar and the unusual alchemy of past and present, hard rock and new wave, psychedelia and metal leanings, so "She Sells Sanctuary" – of which there's also a 12" long-version – spent 23 weeks in the Top 100, immediately displaying the distinctive traits of the sound and imagery that the singer would continue to infuse into his songwriting from then on.

Part of the critical establishment seems thrown off, genuinely unsure which pre-set box to file it under, but one thing's for certain: Love (18 October 1985) is one of the most significant and substantial albums in the whole history of rock, starting with the dense, theosophically-inspired cover artwork: against a black background emerge religious characters, a Sioux "thunderbird", a Hopi cloud, Egyptian and medieval symbolism, a scythe suggesting death, and the Yin and Yang symbol.

Sporting a glam-cowboy look, somewhere between Spandau Ballet and Adam & The Ants, the second, irresistible single "Rain" is probably The Cult's most famous song, and once again draws on Native American imagery (specifically, the dances of the Pueblo peoples of the south-western United States): Astbury doesn't just evoke the saving power of rain, he makes it anthropomorphic, addressing it as if it were a woman ("here She comes again…"); after all, he had already on several occasions expressed reverence and admiration for the feminine, reiterating his hope that women's rights be recognised in political life.

The opening track "Nirvana", despite its whirling rhythms, bears a Sanskrit title meaning "cessation of breath", that is, extinction, while the self-destructive anthem "Big Neon Glitter" invokes childhood idol Gary Glitter and unloads the full weight of existence onto kick drum and snare ("the wall gets taller while you get smaller, the fear is getting taller"). The energetic title track "Love" mysticises love as the final act and the goal to be reached, while the Hendrix-esque "Phoenix" is a (literally) fiery call to sex and desire, notable for its use of wah-wah (“Like a kiss from the lips of Ra that burns on/ The pleasure is getting higher/ A servant of desire/ I’m on fire”, an ode to Egyptian deities, and a kick-off reminiscent of The Stooges' "I Wanna Be Your Dog").

Joy or sorrow, what does revolution mean to you?

To say today’s like wishing in the wind

all my beautiful friends they've all gone away

like the waves, they flow and ebb and die

("Revolution")

The memorable third single "Revolution" is a poetic image of "endless dreams" and one of the songs Duffy says he's particularly proud of, while "Hollow Man" launches its attack, attempting an escape from an evil, inhospitable reality.

Finally, there's the moonlit litany "Brother Wolf, Sister Moon", a visceral hymn to nature in its four primordial elements that reconciles the wolf-man with his destiny, and the aching, black-clad, march-paced ballad "Black Angel", which closes the perfect album with goosebump-inducing pathos and is one of those songs that maybe don't "click" right away, but which, even twenty or thirty years after first hearing them, you wish would never end. Sublime, though sadly the prophecy delivered in closed-roll fashion – "It's a long way to go with the reaper at your side, it's a long way to go with an angel at your side, it's a long, long, long goodbye" – also represents, in a way, The Cult's own sad farewell: they certainly don't end their run here, but they would never again manage to climb to such creative heights. Perhaps, though, that's only right, and Love remains a one-off, not just in the Eighties but beyond, so simple in its complexity and so complex and structured in its unrepeatable spontaneity.

1987: The Electric Turning Point

In total Love sells two and a half million copies and reaches number four in the UK, bringing the band enormous popularity and cementing their mainstream status with an exhausting world tour, joined by new drummer Les Warner. On Duffy's personal website, in the memora-Billy-a section, you can find curious mementos of those shows in the form of humour-filled flyers listing passes and the musicians' code names for the various legs of the tour (which ran from October '85 to June '86 through England, the United States and Canada, as well as mini-festivals in Scotland and Finland, alongside The Pogues and Simple Minds).

Once the tour wraps up, the band once again places itself under the direction of Steve Brown (already responsible for the success of Love) and records a dozen new tracks at Manor Studios in Shipton-On-Cherwell, Oxfordshire. But unhappy with the sound of "Peace" (the title initially planned for the new album), they decide to relocate to New York and hand the remix of the prospective single "Love Removal Machine" over to guru Rick Rubin (Beastie Boys, Run Dmc and Public Enemy on his resume, but also Metallica, Audioslave, Tom Petty, Red Hot Chili Peppers and many others). "If it hadn't been for the Beastie Boys, things might have gone differently, and we probably wouldn't even have asked him," Astbury jokes, though not entirely. "I remember hearing 'Cookie Puss' at a club in Toronto in '85, so I asked the DJ about it. He told me it was the Beastie Boys, and I thought, 'Wow! This really is Sound, bare, stripped down but tremendously rhythmic, we have to make this ours no matter what.' I found out it was Rubin's work, so we tracked him down all the way to Long Island. Rick at the time was specializing in hip-hop and doing amazing things with Def Jam - we loved the Beastie Boys and wanted to graft that energy onto our classic rock lines." Rubin says he's willing to take them under his wing, but only on condition that they re-record the song from scratch, after which they could possibly discuss the whole album. Beggars Banquet balks, having already sunk two months and £250,000 into the record, but after hearing the New York re-recording, they give the green light to proceed.

"Love Removal Machine" comes out on February 16, 1987, and is the first single lifted from Electric, the official title the Cult settled on for their long-awaited third studio effort, which marks a shift toward decidedly harsher sounds and the definitive abandonment of their early gothic traits, in order to best capitalize on the heavy-rock revival of the late Eighties (Guns'n'Roses, Metallica, Danzig and Slayer, just to name a few, but above all Ac/Dc, the true reference model for the album and also on the roster of the same producer). Bare, unadorned, crisp and direct: Electric is a paradoxically experimental album, even though it's built on a handful of basic ideas and the raw sound of four instruments. Rubin's diktat is clear, as he explains: "I loved Ian's voice, but it had that sinuous, soft wave-rock quality, I wanted to see him connect with the energy and hear more of it. I think I managed that - the howls on that record are the embodiment of rockstar swagger, he gained confidence in himself and pushed his vocal cords to the limit, with inflections landing in all the right places, establishing himself as one of the best in history, which is why his music is ageless. As for Billy, I made him leave the pedals at home, so the solos would come out shorter, more focused and less decorated, and some memorable riffs came out of it." And who cares if most of those riffs are shamelessly ripped off - people clearly loved the album, since, at least in commercial terms, it matched the success of Love, if not surpassed it (also reaching number four on the chart, but staying there for 27 weeks, five more than its predecessor).

Critics, on the other hand, were once again thrown off balance - rarely has there been a tracklist with songs so similar to one another. "The same song eleven times over," someone quips sarcastically, "If one's good, they're all good," someone else declares. So where does the truth lie? As usual, somewhere in between, and the big single "Love Removal Machine" (with the same notes as the Stones' "Start Me Up") is a solid hook but nothing more (the video's intro pays homage to maestro Morricone's "The Good, the Bad and the Ugly", while the "talking 'bout love" chant echoes Van Halen).

Among the most successful tracks are certainly the second single "Lil' Devil", "Outlaw", the Steppenwolf cover "Born To Be Wild" and the frantic "Bad Fun". Lesser entries include "Electric Ocean", "Memphis Hip Shake" and "King Contrary Man", though they're still lifted by some of Duffy's guitar heroics, who, having set aside his trademark Gretsch White Falcon, becomes the absolute star of the show with a brand-new Gibson Les Paul. "Nobody becomes a legend without bringing rock to the people," the pair boast, having also overhauled their wardrobe, now strutting around smugly in boots, ripped jeans and leather belts. The feeling, though, is that lofty terms like "devil", "flower" and "peace" lose their original evocative power and get scattered about somewhat randomly, in an attempt to shuffle the deck and mask clear shortcomings (the cover, with its logo and metalhead poses, is the least communicative in their catalogue).

In April '87 (the same month Electric came out), Young Gods and Testament make their debut, Faith No More release "Introduce Yourself" and Whitesnake step up with their self-titled LP, yet none of them manage, as the Cult do, to tie together Cream ("Aphrodisiac Jacket" revives 1967's "Tales Of Brave Ulysses"), Doors ("Peace Dog" rough-handles the Morrison-esque "Peace Frog" from 1970) and Ac/Dc ("Wild Flower" lifts wholesale from Angus Young's "Rock And Roll Singer" but also bears a strong resemblance to Billy Idol's "White Wedding") all at once - and that's a merit in itself, since, however blunt and a bit tacky the method, it brings back to light a musical heritage that would otherwise lie buried. So if Love had been the album of revolution, Electric (which sells three million copies in total) is the album of revelation, thanks to which the Cult widen their fanbase and win over a large following in the United States, their adopted homeland where from then on they set up camp for good, blending seamlessly into the American street scene.

First, though, there's a new tour to wrap up, during which bassist Kid Chaos of Zodiac Mindwarp And The Love Reaction joins the lineup, while Jamie Stewart moves over to rhythm guitar: during the US dates, the then-unknown Guns'n'Roses serve as openers, while the Japan dates are cancelled due to the high costs involved (no promoter is willing to cover the roughly £30,000 needed just for the equipment). Either way, the shows are a triumph. Unfortunately, though, irreconcilable differences surface within the band, to the point that drummer Les Warner is fired along with management duo Grant/Edwards (who will later pursue legal action over unpaid royalties). Astbury, meanwhile, pays the price in stress and is hospitalized for nervous exhaustion (he will be discharged some time later).

1989: Bob Rock, America, Sonic Temple

Who would break a butterfly on a wheel?

Not me, my precious child

("Soul Asylum")

In 1988, as mentioned, both Ian Astbury and Billy Duffy relocate to Los Angeles, where, surrounded by a new entourage, they lay the groundwork for their fourth album Sonic Temple, which takes shape between September and November in the bunker of Little Mountain Sound Studios in Vancouver, Canada, owned by veteran sound engineer Bob Rock, who replaces Rick Rubin in the control room and takes over production duties, together with his trusted collaborator Bruce Fairbairn. A couple of demos are put together, on the first of which the spot left vacant by Warner is filled by future Kiss member Eric Singer, while on the second Chris Taylor takes a turn. The final recordings, however, are entrusted to Mick Curry, Bryan Adams' drummer at the time, while Stewart abandons rhythm guitar and returns to his usual spot on bass.

Sonic Temple hardens the sound even further and completes the shift from the gothic-rock of their early days to a heavy-blues-metal fusion, from indie-alternative phenomenon to stadium beasts - in short, from the UK to the US (where it's certified platinum and reaches number ten on the Billboard Top 200, still their highest peak to date). Unlike the previous Electric, this album (released April 10, 1989) has a bolder edge and more personality, benefiting several songs that this time really land and become among the Cult's most famous, for instance the gripping lead single "Fire Woman", the spaghetti-western "Medicine Train" (whose line "a desolation angel shooting from a hip in the sonic temple" gives the album its title), the mighty "Sun King" (the cinematic-atmospheric overture is a constant across almost every track on the record) and "American Horse" (marked by semi-rap verses reminiscent of "We Will Rock You").

"Bob Rock is an alpha male, partly leader, partly father figure," explains Duffy, captured in an epic pose against the red backdrop of the cover. "'Sonic Temple' managed to retain a European sensibility while avoiding getting bogged down in clichés, it was less misogynistic than our other records. Ian had written some lyrics in Paris or while travelling, and I brought back the wah pedal to restore that roots sound, in the style of Mick Ronson or Jimmy Page." Don't be fooled by the addition of a keyboardist, John Webster, to the lineup: the more sentimental tracks still have a tough, cocky approach, stuff that makes seasoned pros like Bon Jovi, Poison ("Every Rose Has Its Thorn") and Mötley Crüe look like boy bands by comparison.

The power ballad isn't really in the Cult's DNA, but sifting through their chromosomes, out pops "Edie (Ciao Baby)", one of their most emotional and intense songs and perhaps the only truly memorable hit from this frenetic American phase (the lyrics tell the story of Edie Sedgwick, the Warhol model and actress who died young of a barbiturate overdose just four months after marrying Michael Post, whom she'd met in the halls of a psychiatric unit). "Sweet Soul Sister" (filmed at Wembley) is the other standout and lyrically weighty track: it was inspired by the story of Black activist Angela Davis, a militant Black Panther and Communist Party member long held in US prisons (previously Yoko Ono and John Lennon dedicated "Angela" to her, and the Rolling Stones "Sweet Black Angel"; here Astbury translates her deeds into a brazen j'accuse against the Americanization of European culture).

More restrained are "Soldier Blue" and "Automatic Blues", while the hidden gem is the poetic anthem "Soul Asylum" (its proud Zep-like march recalls "Kashmir", though it's a shame it loses some steam over its 7:26 minutes). Finally, keep an ear out for Iggy Pop's cameo on "New York City". The album closes with "Wake Up Time For Freedom", its looping refrain belted out in four-part harmony.

Altogether that adds up to another three million copies counting “Templo Sonico,” the Spanish-language edition with which they stormed the Latin American market (the single “Sweet Soul Sister” hit number 1 in Brazil).

The following world tour with new drummer Matt Sorum turns into yet another mayhem, fired up in Europe au pair with Aerosmith, while in the United States the Cult open for Metallica. After a show in Atlanta in February 1990, though, comes the sad news of the death of Ian's father, who had long been ill with cancer: the remaining scheduled dates are cancelled, and the band's already chaotic internal situation grows ever more unstable. Tired of playing peacemaker, James Stewart retreats to Canada to be with his wife and carries on without great ambitions in the Untouchables (alongside him is Adrian Smith of Iron Maiden), while the freshly recruited Matt Sorum, spotted by Slash at one of those very concerts, joins Guns'n'Roses.

Meanwhile Ian Astbury isn't sitting idle, and in 1990 he also organizes, together with artists of the caliber of Soundgarden, Iggy Pop, The Charlatans and Ice-T, the two-day, non-stop “Gathering Of The Tribes,” held in Los Angeles and San Francisco in front of 40,000 people and considered a forerunner of Lollapalooza, founded the following year as a non-profit venture. In 1991 Oliver Stone offers him the role of Jim Morrison in the film “The Doors,” but unhappy with the screenplay, Ian turns down the offer and leaves the part to Val Kilmer, who beats out other notable names in the casting (among them Tom Cruise, Johnny Depp, John Travolta and Michael Hutchence of Inxs).

1991: Ceremony

All the temples stand in ruin

reaching out to the gods in the sky

while the Earth beats to the rythm

my Indian lover's high, high, high…

(“Indian”)

With the band in pieces and reduced in practice to a duo, the Cult are now left with just the hardcore Astbury/Duffy pairing, but artistic differences sharpen and relations are anything but idyllic, soured further by Ian's heavy substance abuse and mounting alcohol problems, as he sinks into a severe depression. The two are rarely seen together in the same studio, yet work nonetheless begins on a new album with the help of Todd Hoffman on bass and James Kottak of Scorpions on drums, later replaced during the actual recording sessions by Mick Curry and Charley Drayton, joined by a thick crowd of performers (Suzie Katayama on cello, Bentmont Tench on organ and Scott Thurston on synthesizer).

Produced by Richie Zito, Ceremony bears the marks of this uncertain climate; on top of that, its release was repeatedly postponed (if not outright cancelled in Turkey, Thailand and Korea) due to a lengthy legal battle faced by the band, the bone of contention being the unauthorized photo of a Native American child on the cover and the 61 million dollars in damages demanded by the parents, Tom and Jennifer DuBray, who claimed that their young son Eternity was deeply disturbed to see his own image on MTV being burned at the stake (alongside those of John Lennon and Martin Luther King) during scenes in the “Wild Hearted Son” video. The Oglala of South Dakota associate the gesture with death, so at just eleven years old the boy refuses to take part in tribal rites and is afraid to leave the house alone. In short, “a death sentence before he even had a chance at life,” according to his father.

Coming back to the music, though, Ceremony certainly deserves another chance: released on September 23, 1991, it sold a million copies despite negative reviews, which is still a decent result given the troubled genesis and the simultaneous explosion of grunge (on September 24, just a day later, “Nevermind” by Nirvana came out, and on October 8 “Badmotorfinger” by Soundgarden). Stylistically speaking, no major changes are introduced to the evolutionary logic that had led to Sonic Temple, resulting in a solid, well-crafted opening trio of tracks that seems not at all overshadowed but rather spurred on by the Seattle phenomenon: the title track “Ceremony” (a single for the Spanish market), the raw “Earth Mofo” and “Wild Hearted Son” take up the noise-rock challenge head-on, but “White” is the real gem: nearly eight minutes of Vedder-esque journeying through the white purity of nature (“Snow is crystal/ the fire is cold/ I sit back/ watch the sun turn gold”).

The tracklist doesn't skimp on other standout moments, including the intimate ballad “Heart Of Soul,” the aching acoustic numbers “Sweet Salvation” and “Indian,” the stop-start piano-rock of “If” (complete with Freddie Mercury-style vocal flourishes) and the noisier “Full Tilt,” while the Native American theme wilts into staleness and repetition on the self-important “Bangkok Rain” and “Wonderland.”

In short, not the best Cult record, but certainly one worth reassessing — or at least that's what the band's die-hard fans think, warmly welcoming the Ceremony Stomp Tour as it rolled through the arenas (with Michael Lee on drums, Kinley “Barney” Wolfe on bass and John Sinclair on keyboards). That same year a second touring edition of “A Gathering Of The Tribes” lands in the UK, dedicated to the memory of former bandmate Nigel Preston (who had died of an overdose a couple of weeks earlier, three days short of his twenty-ninth birthday), but this time it's a flop, despite the presence of Pearl Jam and Primus, and the event is called off early.

To pad out the earnings, along comes the greatest-hits collection Pure Cult: For Rockers, Ravers, Lovers And Sinners, which in 1993 debuts at number 1 on the British charts, driven by the single (and only new track) “The Witch,” while “Zap City” — an old B-side of “Lil Devil” reworked around that time for the soundtrack of the horror-action film “Buffy The Vampire Slayer,” starring Sarah Michelle Gellar — is left off the tracklist. Live activity unfolds in Greece, Slovakia and Turkey, with Craig Adams of the Mission on bass, Scott Garrett on drums and Mich Dimkich on rhythm guitar; that same lineup then arrives intact at October 1994, when, with Bob Rock's contribution, the sixth studio album is born, opening up a new era.

1994, grunge, the black sheep

With the stardom epic now closed, the Cult's career continues with records of catastrophic commercial performance, still unknown to most today, but worth pulling out of the drawer and examining under the microscope for a clear, objective look. The first of these is the eponymous The Cult, released on October 12, 1994, still on Beggars Banquet in Europe and (for the last time) Sire Records in the United States.

Every shift in the musical landscape brings with it a certain competitiveness and pressure to adapt for those used to writing with now-obsolete trends — it happened in the late '70s when punk served as the antidote to progressive rock, by then on its last legs and swallowed up in the vortex of its own ambition and pretension, and it happens again in the '90s, when people turn in equal measure to grunge and thrash metal, opposite in philosophy though they may be. The Cult have always steered clear of retraining courses, preferring to dodge easy pop temptations even at their moment of greatest glory, choosing instead to go all-in on a genuine, sincere rock revival, however dated, without stripping away any of their own ideology in service of the almighty dollar. With this album, though, for the first time they break out of their electric-temple comfort zone toward modernity, and it's no leap into the void: this latest refresh shouldn't be seen as an anomaly, but rather as the logical continuation of a path that never actually stopped.

Inexplicably overlooked by critics, "Black Sheep" (nicknamed that way because of its cover image, depicting a rare four-horned Manx Loaghtan specimen from the Isle of Man) is in no way the black sheep of the band's discography; rather, standing at the edge of the post-Ceremony abyss, it doggedly rolls up its sleeves and seems to recover a lively colour.

This surprising dose of humility brought Astbury back down to earth, giving rise to deep, intimate, personal lyrics that abandon exotic fascinations and delve into everyday life, with verses touching on delicate, often autobiographical themes, such as the premature death of Nigel Preston ("Naturally High") and other artists, starting with Kurt Cobain ("Sacred Life"), the sexual abuse suffered in Canada ("Black Sun"), suicidal thoughts ("Joy") or the wayward years spent in Glasgow ("Coming Down (Drug Tongue)"). The sonic blueprint is practical and contemporary: the "soft lights/sudden deflagration" compositional scheme of the disarming "Gone" (thoroughly successful) is a staple of the era (just ask the Stone Temple Pilots of "Empty" or Rage Against The Machine of "Darkness", both featured on "The Crow" soundtrack), while "Naturally High" and the singles "Star"/"Coming Down (Drug Tongue)" owe a great deal to the U2 of "Achtung Baby" (the same riffs as "Mysterious Ways", "The Fly" and "Zoo Station" — the sly ploy, though, doesn't quite come off).

Among the genuinely bright spots are the gutsy "Real Grrrl", the hallucinated "Joy" (which anticipates the filthiest Stones of "Anybody Seen My Baby?") and the ballad "Sacred Life", a sweet epitaph for burnt-out youth.

Abbe Hoffman was so young, don't you know your king is gone?

River Phoenix was so young, don't you know your price is gone?

Kurt Cobain was so young, sad to see this poet’s gone

Andrew Wood was so young, it’s hard to feel this priest is gone

("Sacred Life")

In the throes of an identity crisis is the resigned "Universal You", one of the rare cases in which songwriting credits are granted to a third party beyond the usual duo (in this instance, Craig Adams); in the throes of withdrawal is "Emperor's New Horse", about Ian's reckless drug use, while the more classic-rock "Be Free" seeks the path to detox. "My mother sniffed glue, and from her I inherited that narcissistic, self-destructive ego typical of musicians who die around 27. But then I visited monasteries in Tibet, an ashram in India, the reservations of Arizona, and embraced an austere way of life; I had children, and now I'm clean." A melancholy close comes with the iconoclastic reprisal "Saints Are Down", the strongest track of the bunch ("Saints are down, your saints are down and they're not coming round, they're not easily found and they're buried in the ground").

Missing the Top 20 in England and peaking at 69th in the US (with the Number One spot in Portugal as scant consolation), The Cult wasn't ready to throw in the towel, and the band tried to build momentum in Europe with the Beauty's On The Streets Tour (joined by James Stevenson of Gene Loves Jezebel), then in South America in spring with the Black Rain Tour — but after a stop in Rio de Janeiro (March 1995), the shows were cancelled due to "unspecified problems".

First break: Holy Barbarians, Colorsøund

The truth is that the atmosphere within the band had become untenable, owing to the frequent rows between Duffy and Astbury that had by then become routine: Billy was too in love with his guitar, proposing a scaled-back format partly to make up for the lack of results, while Ian was too egocentric and visionary, unwilling to compromise and preferring a clean break. It took just a couple of months to absorb the blow before the two tried to get back in the game, with mixed fortunes. Astbury shut himself away strumming in his Los Angeles basement with his friend Patrick Sugg (guitarist of Lucifer Wong), surrounded by Beatles vinyl and Everton F.C. memorabilia — he's a die-hard fan of the club. In no time at all they put together a demo, after which the vocalist decided it would be better to re-record it in Liverpool, close to home, where he also brought along Cult drummer Scott Garrett and his brother Matt Garrett on bass.

The four renamed themselves Holy Barbarians (after a 1959 novel by Lawrence Lipton) and churned out Cream, which is actually the name of a club in town they frequented during the sessions. The album came out in May '96 to a warm critical reception, praised for its rough sound steeped in psychedelia; the tracks, however, are rather flat and uniform, except for the genuinely lovely "Opium", along with "Dolly Bird" and "Magick Christian", which still manage to stir some emotion.

Struck by Brett Anderson's biography, Ian tried to emulate him, but the electro-Suede-style singles "Space Junkie" and "Brothers Fight" only catch fire intermittently, while the rest of the tracklist ("Bodhisattva", the title ballad "Cream" and "She") settles into a new-generation country-folk, good enough to keep the vocal cords warm. Holy Barbarians disbanded after a tour of Europe and North America; things went decidedly better for Duffy, who in the meantime had joined forces with Mike Peters of The Alarm, Craig Adams of The Mission and Steve Grantley of Stiff Little Fingers.

Under the moniker Colorsound, the four released an excellent, eponymous LP in 1999 — a shame that, in this case too, it turned out to be just a passing episode, because "Alive", "Fade In, Fade Out, Fade Away" and "Under The Sun" are finely crafted rock-wave showpieces. "State Of Independence" is a showcase for Peters's vocal talent, while "Heavy Rain" instead turns the spotlight on Adams's bass; "Time", "Revolver" and "Live Through You" play up Billy's ever-dominant machismo. A notch below are "This Life" and "Fountainhead", while the self-celebratory live reworkings of "Strength" (The Alarm) and "She Sells Sanctuary" (The Cult) are well worth appreciating.

The supergroup fell apart almost immediately, and Duffy kept himself in shape with a couple more side ventures, playing a few European festivals with Vent 414 (with Miles Hunt of The Wonder Stuff on vocals and Pete Howard of the Clash on drums) and lending a hand on Japanese artist J's "Pyromania" (1997): the guest appearance gave the Cult some incidental publicity in the Japanese market, and Beggars Banquet took the opportunity to put out (there and in the US) the best-of High Octane Cult — without, however, asking permission from those directly involved, who dismissed the move as "pretty sad". Besides the biggest hits, the compilation includes the previously unreleased "Beauty's On The Street" and "In The Clouds", recorded without the involvement of Astbury and Duffy, who steered clear of any talk of a possible studio return, much to fans' disappointment.

For better or worse: reunion rehearsals

Five years on from the last The Cult record, the band returns to action at least on stage, which bodes well: in 1999 Matt Sorum is called back into service for a series of events, the first of which takes place in June at the Alpine Valley Music Theathre in Wisconsin, as part of the Free Tibet festival, a sort of Live Aid with funds earmarked for the Nepalese cause that year held simultaneously in the United States, Amsterdam, Tokyo, Sydney and Taipei (also involving Beastie Boys, Run Dmc, Blondie, Wu-Tang Clan, Björk and Tracy Chapman). What follows is a sold-out, thirty-date Cult Rising Tour of the US, crowned by eight consecutive nights at the House Of Blues in Los Angeles (with Martyn LeNoble of Porno For Pyros on bass), and then in 2000 comes the single "Painted On My Heart" (written by Diane Warren about heartbreak), which lands on the soundtrack of the action film "Gone In 60 Seconds".

In the summer of that year, after a long gestation, Spirit/Light/Speed finally sees the light of day, Astbury's solo album, which the singer had begun planning under the title "Natural Born Guerrilla" between '97 and '98, right after the Holy Barbarians split: produced by Chris Goss (the man behind Kyuss, System Of A Down and other stoner acts), the album offers plenty of worthwhile material that was criminally overlooked, such as the single "High Time Amplifier", the devilish "Back On Earth", "Tyger" and the instrumental gem "Shambala R.F.L", all in the vein of a sinuous and approachable industrial/trip-hop, lightened to a mere whisper of a voice on "Devil's Mouth" and "Tonight Illuminated", both delivered with delightful interpretive sensitivity. The stylized cover art and "El Che/Wild Like A Flower" pay tribute to Commander Che Guevara, while "Metaphisical Pystol" recites, in spoken-word form, essays by philosopher Alan Watts ("Myth And Religion" and "Democracy In Heaven"). "It's Over" and the Cult's own "The Witch" restyling are lesser efforts, but still pleasant enough.

The new millennium, then, opens with encouraging signs and seems to reawaken the band's dormant verve: tempers cool too, so in November Astbury and Duffy, unlike what happened with High Octane Cult, give their blessing to the release of Pure Cult: The Singles 1984-1995, which dusts off practically every single (accompanied by a DVD) and earns major recognition in Canada, where it is certified platinum. A few days later comes the companion release Rare Cult, a seven-CD box set covering rarities, outtakes, B-sides and remixes, important above all because it contains the Manor Sessions of the old "Peace" (which later became Electric), otherwise unavailable. The two also lend themselves, alongside Aerosmith, Stone Temple Pilots, Train, Creed and Perry Farrell, to the Jim Morrison tribute "Stoned Immaculate: The Music Of The Doors": as Cult, they take on a cover of "Wild Child", while Astbury alone delivers a fine reinterpretation of "Touch Me", backed by surviving Doors members Ray Manzarek and Robby Krieger.

All these moves serve as a prelude to the band's reunion, which had been in the air for some time, crowned by the seventh album, released on June 20, 2001, sealing it officially. "I wanted to call it 'Bring Me The Head Of Dave Grohl', referring to the Foo Fighters frontman," Ian recalls. "It all started after some not-so-kind comments he made in Alternative Press about the Cult, after coming to see us one night on a dare, saying it made him want to shoot himself. I have no problem with him, it's just that we were hurt by that statement, especially since it came from an artist we admire. He knew nothing about us, where we come from, or our choices, nor about the journey we've been on."

That journey continues with Beyond Good And Evil, which ultimately takes its title from Nietzsche's 1886 treatise "Beyond Good and Evil". Produced by Bob Rock in collaboration with Mick Jones of Foreigner, it's the band's first album of new material in six and a half years. Sorum returns on drums (his studio debut with the band), Martyn LeNoble and Chris Wyse alternate on bass, while guitar and vocals are of course handled by Ian Astbury and Billy Duffy, who rediscover their chemistry and co-write every track (except "Breathe", written together with Mick Jones and Marti Fredriksen) — songs that, while they don't exactly "make you want to shoot yourself", don't inspire cries of genius either, except among a handful of devoted collectors, given that the measly haul of just 500,000 copies sold leads Atlantic Records to pull the airplay and withdraw the record from the market.

There are no outright throwaway songs here, if only because the sounds and effects nod respectably to the era, following stylistic lines that brush up against the heaviest grunge of Alice In Chains or the nu-metal of Korn, Slipknot, P.O.D. and Limp Bizkit, but the single "Rise" (#41 in the US), "Ashes And Ghosts" and "Shape The Sky" lack melodic punch and hardly stick in the ear. "Take The Power" manages it, but only because its chorus is identical to Lenny Kravitz's "American Woman". Also worth saving are "American Gothic", "War The Process" (which revives Mountain's 1970 "Mississippi Queen") and the sweet ballad "Nico", which does have lyrical depth worthy of their best days (a tribute to the Velvet Underground's muse).

As for the rest, driving drums and hysterical guitars fail to redeem "The Saint" and "My Bridges Burn" from monotony, nor do the washed-out backing vocals on "True Believers" and "Breathe" help, closing out with little appeal an album (#37 in the United States) nonetheless voted, for whatever that's worth, "Comeback Of The Year" by Metal Edge readers. Over here, though, promotion is scarce, since on top of the Atlantic Records veto comes the attack on the Twin Towers, which restricts air travel and forces the band to cancel the European leg of the tour. Anxiety and fear grip the US audience all the more, and the indoor shows (again with Aerosmith) turn out to be something of a disaster (documented in the DVD "Live Without Fear", filmed on October 4, 2001 at the Auditorium Grand Olympic in Los Angeles).

Doors of the Twenty-First Century and Circus Diablo

The commercial impasse doesn't break, and in 2002 Astbury once again puts the Cult on indefinite hold to try his hand as vocalist of the 21^st Century Doors, but his reincarnation as the Lizard King brings a great deal of legal trouble to its creators Manzarek and Krieger, repeatedly sued by Jim Morrison's family, former Doors drummer John Densmore, and Stewart Copeland, who was also involved in some sessions and let go without much explanation.

In the end, it takes a Los Angeles court judge to put an end to the grotesque affair, forcing the group to change its name. Manzarek/Krieger, D21C, Riders On The Storm: whatever you call it, it amounts to a series of shows that resurrect the band's legacy, the most important of which was captured on the DVD "L.A. Woman Live", allowing fans, thirty years after the aborted tour, to hear songs from the 1971 LP "L.A. Woman", never performed live due to Jim Morrison's sudden death.

Ian leaves an unmistakable mark, fulfilling his dream of embodying his idol, and energized by the experience, in 2005 he gathers the Cult to plan the Return To The Wild World Tour, which in 2006 brings them back on stage after roughly three and a half years away. Sorum, meanwhile, has moved on to Velvet Revolver, and is replaced on drums by ex-Testament/White Zombie drummer John Tempesta. The warm-up takes place on "The Late, Late Show With Craig Ferguson", followed by the official kickoff in March 2006 at the Fillmore in San Francisco, followed by various dates in Canada, central Europe (Poland, Serbia, Bulgaria) and South America, all recorded on-site by Instant Live and sold at the end of each show. Among the setlist gems: "Brother Wolf, Sister Moon" (performed live only once since 1986) and "Hollow Man" (absent since 1987).

Far from worn out, the indefatigable Billy Duffy, newly a father to little Shiloh, manages to carve out space that same year with Circus Diablo (alongside Bill Morrison, Ricky Warwick, Matt Sorum and Brett Scallions), but their much-hyped eponymous album fails to deliver, degenerating into a wretched teen pop-punk in the vein of Blink 182, Good Charlotte and Sum 41 ("Hello, Goodbye" and "Red Sun Rising" generate some mild interest, being less saccharine and clingy).

The Cult return: from 2007 to today

Despite the half-missteps and one too many sour notes, the Cult saga doesn't stop, and in February 2007 Ian Astbury declares he wants to break off the agreements made with Riders On The Storm to focus exclusively on his own music. First a new European tour is announced, supporting the Who, opening in Rotterdam on June 5 and running through the summer, then comes a deal with the metal label Roadrunner Records, which on October 1 releases Born Into This, the eighth studio album, recorded between London, Los Angeles and Buenos Aires.

Produced by Martin "Youth" Glover of Killing Joke, the record doesn't change gears much from the murky Beyond Good And Evil, but it finds a more cohesive and homogeneous blend, thanks to minimal instrumentation that makes otherwise lacking tracks pleasant enough to the ear on the whole (standouts include the airy "Citizens", "Illuminated" and the bonus track "Stand Alone", with rock-solid rhythms and tender-hearted openings à-la Manic Street Preachers). Duffy indulges in lean, essential riffs, setting aside any intrusive guitar-hero flourishes ("I Assassin", "Diamonds" and "Savages"), while Astbury reinforces the band's creed by pairing them with solid vocal lines (the hefty title track "Born Into This" and the electric "Dirty Little Rockstar"), and the job is done, without too many surprises. Worth a listen is "Holy Mountains", a lovely semi-acoustic little ballad somewhere between Johnny Cash and Soul Asylum's "Runaway Train".

Even in this case, though, the numbers aren't great (in Italy the album peaks at number 63, and elsewhere it fares even worse), and after the world tour Roadrunner drops them. Undeterred, the band plays it safe with a remaster of Love (the omnibus 4-CD box set bundles together B-sides and demos), which, a year after the 25th anniversary of its original release, brings their masterpiece back on the road across the US and UK, wrapping up on 10 October 2009 at the Royal Albert Hall in London (recordings of every show were handed out to the audience on flash-USB drives).

The Love Live Tour continues in 2010 through Australia, New Zealand, Japan and the US again, after which the band lands at "Sonisphere" in England (where they share the bill with Iggy Pop & The Stooges) and at Pinkpop in the Netherlands.

As for new material, on 14 September the band unveils the first recording in the innovative "capsule" format, produced in partnership with Aderra Media Technologies. It's an EP available across several formats (MP3, dual-disc CD/DVD and 12-inch vinyl), but only in a limited edition and for a limited amount of time, essentially containing two songs, "Every Man And Every Woman Is A Star" and "Siberia", plus excerpts from the Love Live Tour and a short film, "A Prelude To Ruins", directed by Ian Astbury and Rick Rogers. Conceived by Chris Goss, the package is presented to the press as "a mix of violent guitars, emotional vocal performances with high melody and driving rhythms". In an interview with Planet Rock, meanwhile, Billy Duffy talked about the "capsule" concept and how it differs from the way the band has released music in the past. "I think you'd have to be living under a rock not to realize the business has changed. In the internet era people, not all of them to be fair, but a lot of them, are comfortable with downloading, and the fact that there are almost no record shops left to buy music from says a lot about how habits are shifting. In the past we had to land a deal, write material, etc., but this time Ian strongly felt he'd rather record two, three, four tracks and put them out there while they're still fresh, instead of spending ages rehearsing a whole album. That was his feeling and our label New Wilderness's too, and in a way I agree with it — you can call it a 'capsule', an 'EP' or whatever you like, but people's attention spans are getting shorter and you need to move fast".

The band takes a liking to the format and on 16 November 2010 releases a second capsule via Aderra's webstore featuring the track "Embers"; then, on 21 January 2011, they play a show at the Hammersmith Apollo supported by their friend Chris Goss's Masters Of Reality, through which they rekindle their relationship ahead of the ninth album, Choice Of Weapon. First, though, there's room for "Weapon Of Choice", a digital-only prequel made available on iTunes for a couple of months starting 16 October (containing, in embryonic form, the tracks that would become the backbone of the record). "These songs were turned over and flipped upside down, forged through long rehearsals and writing sessions, and born out of both personal and professional challenges", says Ian, adding: "Chris created the ideal environment, we shut the doors and started exploring spaces we hadn't visited in a while".

Promotional and technological gimmicks aside, the actual album comes out on 22 May 2012 via Cooking Vinyl and draws on the efforts of an entire career. They needed a jolt, a sharp move to come back out swinging with a record that sounds prophetic from the title alone, where flashes of '77 punk shine through (for instance in "Honey With A Knife" and "The Wolf"), reinterpreted in a style not unlike a more guitar-driven Neil Young. "Elemental Light" and "Wilderness Now" pay homage to the old goth scene from different angles — the former dramatic and theatrical, the latter dusky and twilit, closer to Red Temple Spirits.

The ghost of Sonic Temple looms fearlessly over the ballads "Life>Death" and "This Night In The City Forever", dedicated to a friend who recently took his own life, while the band's skill and tightness turn into pure Stooges-like adrenaline on the brilliant singles "For The Animal" and "Lucifer". True, "A Pale Horse" and "Amnesia" lean a little too heavily on craft alone and could come across as filler, but overall Choice Of Weapon earns a solid passing grade and then some, rekindling the band's credibility.

In 2013 Electric/Peace is released in the US, finally gathering all the material tied to that release (issued and unreleased alike) into a single body of work; Duffy then kicks the machine back into gear, and on 5 February 2016 the tenth album, Hidden City, arrives, the closing chapter of an informal trilogy launched by Born Into This. Released by Cooking Vinyl and Dine Alone Records, it's the first record since the 1994 self-titled album without bassist Chris Wise, replaced here by Bob Rock (helming production for the fifth time) and Chris Chaney of Jane's Addiction. This time there are no Apache symbols or enigmatic figures on the cover, just a splash of vermilion blood on a white lily, sealing the inescapable bond between pain and purity.

The album, built on contrasts, amounts to a summation of all the strengths of a career that, after more than thirty years, still moves forward without any real, explicit template. Lyrically it's an intimate record, with the wounds left plainly on display. Astbury calibrates power and expressiveness perfectly wherever his voice needs to soar, while elsewhere he turns into an intimate crooner. Duffy, for his part, does what he's always done best, crafting highly effective riffs, though with more discipline than usual — credit also goes to producer Bob Rock, who has put together a record that's never needlessly overloaded, bringing in piano and keyboards too (played by Jamie Muhoberac, previously enlisted by Fleetwood Mac, Chris Cornell and My Chemical Romance) without betraying the classic Cult sound recipe. John Tempesta now celebrates ten years with the band, while the bass of newly recruited Chris Chaney carries real presence and character, especially on the standout "Hinterland" (not far from certain Primal Scream moments, or the Simple Minds of "Lovesong").

Love turns to hate when the heart loses faith

Fear turns to blood, turns to dirt on a grave

("No Love Lost")

"No Love Lost" can easily lay claim to modern-classic status (still looking back to Alice In Chains and the heavy sound of Beyond Good And Evil), while the following "Dance In The Night" is more closely related to the New Order of "Get Ready" and to early-Nineties U2. The shadow of Jim Morrison returns to haunt the ballad "In Blood", where piano, guitars and synthesized strings converse, each patiently taking its turn. Everything falls perfectly into place on the Lanegan-esque sonic landscape of "Birds Of Paradise", while "G O A T" fits a little more awkwardly into the overall picture, with a less dense, drier, more stripped-down sound (very much in the Electric vein).

The mood shifts once again with "Deep Ordered Chaos": Paris is under attack a year after the Charlie Hebdo massacre. "I'm an European, patience is my daughter, is this the western dream? Defend our liberty!", Astbury sings quietly, nearly fifty-five years old and still with a story to tell. "Avalanche Of Light" lands on a particularly satisfying rock chorus, while "Lilies" wraps itself in an unusual gypsy guise, built around acoustic guitar and electric piano.

Closing out the circle are the other by-numbers rocker "Heathens", with a whiff of latter-day Rolling Stones, and "Sound And Fury", a slow, vulnerable piano love song with strong echoes of the Seventies Bowie template.

After years of uncertainty, Hidden City marks an artistic resurrection (well received in the UK too, where it reaches a respectable number 19), and it's a fact that probably doesn't escape Dave Grohl either, who at the NOS Alive Festival in Lisbon in July 2017 (Foo Fighters and Cult share the bill with Depeche Mode, Kills and Imagine Dragons) takes the chance to make peace with the band. "He came to the dressing room and walked up to me saying 'Hi, I'm Dave Grohl. I'm not really sure what happened in the past, but it's a pleasure to meet you'", Ian recalls, bearing no grudge: "I shook his hand — in music there's room for everyone".

Asked about the future by Guitar World in April 2018, Billy Duffy answers with a laconic "Never say never", while Ian Astbury offers a few more details to journalists at L.A. Weekly and Atlantic City Weekly, letting slip a promise. "We're working on it, we have a deal with Black Hill Records and a handful of songs, but it's still a long way off...". And it's Black Hill Records itself that, in October 2022, releases Under The Midnight Sun (2022), its cover emblazoned with the Roman numeral eleven, a symbol of intuition and heightened perceptive sensitivity that not only tallies up the albums released so far but, in a way, also hints at the contents of a record that, even if only in flashes, lives up to its promise. After all, over the course of a respectable career now spanning forty years, Ian Astbury has accustomed us to lyrics steeped in spirituality, philosophy, occultism and religion, capable of renewing the saga's allure and keeping listeners engaged all the same. This time the target in his sights is the midnight sun, a phenomenon witnessed in June '86 in Finland when the Cult took part in the Provinssinrock Festival. Post-punk echoes from the pre-Electric past surface right from "Mirror", which opens the record by setting the pieces on a sonic chessboard, turning its short runtime (just 35 minutes) into its unexpected strength. The powerful guitar riffs of "Outer Heaven" weave neatly into John Tempesta's frenzied drumming, against the backdrop of a proverbially melodramatic baritone that will also serve as the leitmotif of the rough-edged "A Cut Inside" and of "Vendetta X", the latter tinged with electro textures and indebted, in its intro's arpeggios, to Blue Öyster Cult's "Don't Fear The Reaper".

"Impermanence", with its goth flavor, is the track closest to the band's roots; for the rest, the most obvious influences are the same ones that shaped their moods in the second half of the Eighties: in the orchestral ballad "Knife Through Butterfly Heart", Zeppelin-esque flourishes already tested on Sonic Temple resurface, while the ghost of Jim Morrison hovers omnipresent over the ode to polar light that gives the album its title ("under the midnight sun with creatures of the wild/ lost in love's illusion all will fade in time"). Finally, there's the claustrophobic plea of lead single "Give Me Mercy", worthy of the most restrained Nick Cave and probably the only track destined to be remembered, but since The Cult's goal has never been radio glory, overall Under The Midnight Sun confirms positive signs of a band waking back up.

Contributions by Alessandro Liccardo ("Love", "Hidden City") and Giorgio Moltisanti ("Choice Of Weapon")

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