Depeche Mode Ultra - Reviews from various news papers and magazines (Jaakko's Page Depeche Mode, 1997)
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DEPECHE MODE
Ultra
MUTE STUMM 148
In the run-up to this release, Dave Gahan - never one to do things by halves - collared anyone willing to listen to "confess" his lurid tales of junk and rock god egotism. Despite Martin Gore's claims that he's never used his frontman for lyrical inspiration, Gahan's years of chemical maladjustment are reflected in Ultra's resolutely "downbeat" moods and words. In addition to this, Gore's dicky-heart scare on the band's 1993-94 world tour, Andy Fletcher's nervous breakdown and the departure of electro-texturalist Alan Wilder mix blood with Gahan's problems to create an album of dry, dislocated, burnt-out and sometimes beautiful songwriting.
At a time when America is becoming fixated with "electronica" - everyone from Chemical Brothers to The Orb and "90s futurists" Smashing Pumpkins - Depeche Mode's return to the fray is well-timed, although, wisely, they have opted out of touring for the moment. Furthermore, in stark contrast to the stadium-sized percussion loops and grungey power of their previous album, 1993's Songs of Faith and Devotion, Tim Simenon's sparse production on Ultra is noticeably less immediate. Gone are the big, roguishly aggressive hooks, replaced by industrialised trip-hop beats and widescreen spaces in the sound. On first hearing many of the songs appear strangely unedited or incomplete, as if they've chucked out a set of demos on an unsuspecting public. Tricky, whose Nearly God project covered a Gahan song, is an obvious influence.
Fortunately, Dave Gahan's singing lights the noir-ish moods to reveal Gore's melodies amid the claustrophobic dirgery, in particular on the ballads The Love Thieves and Sister of Night. Mid-tempo tracks Barrel Of A Gun and It's No Good are as hard as anything the band have written since ditching their initial teen-pop blueprint. Laughs are thin on the ground, although Gore unintentionally lapses into mirth-inducing "feline" wordsmithery on the lyrically comic, musically excellent The Bottom Line.
Although Ultra ranks alongside 1986's Black Celebration as their darkest album to date, it sounds lived-in and dirty rather than a bit pervy and self-consciously bleak.
Rating: 4 stars out of 5 ("Excellent. Definitely worth investigation")
Reviewer: Steve Malins
DEPECHE MODE
Ultra
(Mute)
It's almost impossible to ruminate on Depeche Mode without taking into account Dave Gahan's drug overdose and near-death experience. It's always sad when an artist's lurid personal life spills over and clouds the music, but what do you expect when you encourage a cult of personality?
Depeche Mode's 12th album finds them with nowhere left to go but inside their own heads, in introspection. They've been around the world enough times, lounged by swimming pools in the LA chemical sunset, played stadium-sized concerts to bright-eyed young things, been on first-name terms with stimulants, and yet, what keeps them in the public eye is still the music - of which this collection of melancholy songs, attempts at modernity, and lyrical grandstanding is a fine example.
The trouble here, in a modest kind of way, is that Gore's penchant for snappy tunes seems to have deserted him. The Mode's career has seen them metamorphose from a synth group into what some might unkindly call a cut-price U2, but one constant has been the tunes. Perhaps sensing which way the prevailing musical winds are blowing in Britain, the band have roped in Tim Simenon (of Bomb the Bass) to add a faux hip-hop sheen to their songs, which means, for a large part, that melodies have been sacrificed - except in terms of Gahan's voice, which seems croonsome, relaxed and contented.
The beats are great, though - that is, when they surface among the sound experiments, ambient interludes and - no kidding - a jazz pastiche. Although most songs proceed at mid-tempo, no expense has been spared for crunchy beats topped up with drifting keyboard wibbles and - what would formerly have been sacrilege - weirdly toned '80s-style guitar parts. 'Useless' is the perfect example - a navel-gazing look at a star trapped in a padded cell, set to a tune that's locked to rock. On a more sombre note, 'The Bottom Line' muses on destiny to an electronic approximation of country music, while Martin Gore emotes, and inadvertently links the past Mode to the present with choirboy vocals (the backing vocal loop brings a definite sense of deja vu).
'Sister of Night' takes a more sinister route and deals with the power of addiction. Some might see it as a cryptic lovesong to a deadly drug, but it could just as well be sung to a person. As, indeed, could the propulsive 'Barrel of a Gun', complete with its distorted vocal, or the plaintive, naked and (an exception!) very tuneful 'It's No Good', even though it carries a decidedly serrated edge that feels like obsession. For sure, 'Ultra' wouldn't be complete without drawing from the stress of touring - a typical get-out clause when mega-bands have to write songs to a deadline - and 'Freestate' is suitably agonised. Yet Depeche Mode's main achievement this time around is an intimacy, of sorts. The listener doesn't feel like they're stuck in a stadium hearing lofty pronouncements made at a great distance
Score: 7/10
Reviewer: Dele Fadele (honest!)
DEPECHE MODE
Ultra (Mute/all formats)
Seventeen years together, 30 million albums sold, and here comes another to crank the profit margin one notch higher. Except this time, it's not _just_ another Depeche Mode album, because if it were it wouldn't arouse such ghoulish fascination. 'Ultra' is more than that, it's the culmination of a festering melodrama that could have resulted in death, but in the end settled for a near-fatal heart attack and some lengthy cold turkey.
This album is at least partly the product of one of the most harrowing rock'n'roll sagas in recent memory. It's the tale of an unassuming quartet transformed into a colossal financial machine designed to bring gravitas to the masses: four cherubs from Basildon who were lauded as deities in America - only to discover they couldn't handle it.
Kinkier than U2, but not as perverse as Nine Inch Nails, Depeche Mode spent the early part of the '90s driving their juggernaut of angst across the States in an increasingly frenzied attempt to obliterate all memory of their early career. And it proved startingly successful, because when the time came to start recording this album they had transformed beyond all recognition: they'd become farcical Sunset Strip burnouts.
Singer Dave Gahan was hauling his body around LA shooting it full of heroin, coke and water, Alan Wilder had acrimoniously quit the band, and everyone else was back in London trying to write new material. As backgrounds to writing albums go, this was one of the most traumatic. Yet the result is not a sleazy electro classic, but a near replica of past achievements. 'Ultra' is neither an 'Exile on Main Street' orgy of sprawling excess nor an introspective of personal tragedy - and suffers because of it.
That, however, shouldn't be any surprise. Gahan might have lived the life, but Martin Gore wrote the songs - and before Gahan went AWOL, this was meant to be the most ambitious project yet. He might have been initially inspired by the no-smiles austerity of Kraftwerk and DAF, but this time around he intended to make an album that encompassed an entire century's worth of music, everything from blues and gospel right through to country.
There's not much evidence on Ultra, however, that such a grandiose scheme ever got off the ground. For all the crackling ambient synths and treated guitars, this is a perversely _comforting_ Depeche Mode record. The choice of collaborators is impeccable (Can drummer Jaki Liebezeit plays on 'The Bottom Line', Anton Corbijn did the cover and producer Tim Simenon added the contemporary hip-hop sheen), but the music remains as creepingly familiar as ever. There is no dramatic reinvention, and as such we're left with an album that's every bit as flawed as its predecessors.
If these songs are about Gahan's decline as seen through Gore's eyes, then they're written in such blank and generalised terms as to be almost worthless as insights into his condition. As usual, Gore's songs feed us a revolving roster of crying souls, burning bodies and martyred lovers - and, as usual, it's vaguely intriguing, but hardly essential listening. Indeed, the inclusion of a jazz pastiche entitled 'Jazz Thieves' tells you much about the sort of album that Gore has constructed.
Still, once you've acclimatised to the absence of documentary distress and radical innovation, there's plenty of scope to admire Gore's typically gloomy preoccupations and gleaming, hi-tech song structures. 'Barrel of a Gun''s brutal dissection of addiction, the plaintive steel guitars of 'The Bottom Line' and the scuffed beats and thudding cacophany of 'Useless' are all the result of Depeche Mode's ever-expanding awareness of their craft and their darkly sophisticated use of technology.
But it's still all to clinical. Issues are skirted, poetry is attempted and we're left clutching another instalment of stadium-orientated angst, at a time when we were expecting reflective intimacy. The needle rarely comes anywhere near this record: four years away and you'd never know anything had gone wrong. This just sounds like business as usual. Against all the odds, 'Ultra' _is_ just another Depeche Mode record. See you at Madison Square Garden in six months then. (6) [out of 10]
James Oldham
----------------------------------------------
"It ain't easy being an '80's icon. When the very name of your band inspires memories of Ronald Reagan and Martha Quinn, it's almost impossible to remain relevant - unless you're not afraid to explore new terrain and take artistic risks. While U2, for instance, have done this partly by incorporating electronic effects into their music, Depeche Mode have gone the opposite route. With 1990's Violator and particularly 1993's Songs of Faith and Devotion, the prior decades's most arena-friendly techno-pop outfit began relying more on real insturments - guitars, primarily - to lend emotional urgency to its stark, computer-generated anthems.
On Depeche Modes' new album, ULTRA, guitars are again prominent - moaning sensuously in the gently funky "Useless," groaning darkly in the eerily driving "Barrel of a Gun," wailing over bittersweet strings in the plaintive "Home." Songwriter Martin Gore has plenty of dark passion to document, having endured the tsoris of singer Dave Gahan's heroin-related suicide attempt, in 1995, and near overdose last year, as well as the recent departure of multi-instrumentalist Alan Wilder (a number of guest artists help compensate for Wilder's absence, including former Living Colour bassist Doug Wimbish and pedal steel guitarist B.J. Cole). Perhaps as a result, there are no snappy singles a la "People are People" or "Enjoy the Silence" here. But moody, pulsating ballads such as "The Bottom Line" and "The Love Thieves" are ideal vehicles for Gahan's brooding baritone and for the band's ever-increasing sense of tender intuition."
3 out of 5 stars (INXS 2 out of 5 stars)
"Depeche Mode Gets Personal"Date: Sun, 13 Apr 1997 14:07:59 -0400 (EDT)
From: BONG - The DM List
Subject: Finally a good review
A local newspaper here in So. Cal (Orange County Register) gave Ultra a great review. Here's what they said about it:
I abrevated the songs and album titles
If nothing else, DM is defiantly contrary. Back when guitars were all the rage, they stayed stubbornly electronic. Now that machines are the next big thing, the bands mixes in more hard guitar chords into "Ultra" than they;ve had for years.
The result is a deft, stirring album, containing some of the band's best songs, with hits "ING" and "BoaG" amoung them.
The band has always been able to put out personal touches into what is by definition often a cold genre.
Less bombastic and more intimate than the big hits the band is known for - "PJ", "NLMDA" - "Ultra" takes a personal approach. Songwriter Martin Gore says it plays a morality play; singer Dave Gahan says he and Gore have such a similar background that the songs can't help but sound like the tribulations the band has gone through in the past few years.
"SoN" could be about either a women or a drug. "Useless", "ING", and "BoaG speaks of betrayal, broken friendships, broken relationships, broken lives.
Yet it all ends up with the uplifting "Insight", where the singer has a flash od clarity and something is learned through all the damage and heartache. If you want to buy Gore and Gahan's line that they just happened to write this album at this critical juncture in the band's life - life well, be my guest.
But they shouldn't shy from that. In an era when so much music comes from manufactured angst, the band's real-life dramas have given a genuine spark to its work since "BC". That Gore writes this "morality play" without being condemming or preachy shows how he's grown as a subtle lyricist since his "People are People" days.
There's a bit of wasted space and filler - two listed instrumental tracks as well as one hidden instrumental. But overall the band's fans - more importantly, nonfans - will find an album that shows growth through adversity.
He gave the album 4 out of a possible 5. Looks like one of the best reviews I've seen so far.
** 1/2 DEPECHE MODE, "Ultra," Mute/Reprise
By SARA SCRIBNER
It has been a long haul for this 16-year-old English synth-pop band. Over the past few years, Depeche Mode has peaked by filling the Rose Bowl and plummeted to stardom's darkest depths, bottoming out with the departure of Alan Wilder and singer Dave Gahan's heroin addiction and sad, headline-grabbing OD and suicide attempt. It is truly remarkable that this album happened--period. The against-all-odds, underdog aura that surrounds "Ultra" makes you want to love it as much as, say, Steve Earle's noble resurrection. Despite a talented roster of guests--including production wizard Bomb the Bass (a.k.a. Tim Simenon) behind the boards, ex-Living Colour bassist Doug Wimbish and Can percussionist Jaki Leibzeit--it never approaches anything that inspirational.
Nothing much has changed, except Simenon's emotive, multilayered, high-tech sound, which would be far better suited for a subtler band but tends to wash out any hooks on this gloom-and-doom-y album. "Ultra" never surpasses the seductive dungeon feel and gripping, tormented lyrics of its first track, "Barrel of a Gun."
Unsteady, lyrically weak, but occasionally interesting (especially on the eerie, cultish "Sister of Night" and "It's No Good," a nearly nubile, bittersweet reminder of the band's happier days), "Ultra" won't woo any new fans grooving on electronica's latest wave. For now, however, it will cheer longtime supporters happy to have a band called Depeche Mode at all.
DEPECHE MODE
ULTRA
Now a three piece, the deluge of press coverage about the Basildon boys comeback has yet to mention the music on their 9th studio album, preferring to concentrate on Dave's drug nightmare.
All of which is a shame, because this is as moody and slick as their Violator pinnacle. Their progression through the decade sees them skipping the songs of faith sounds and going back to the drum machines and synths of 1990
I just can't get enough (!)
5(out of 5!)
reviewed by Adam Keeble
The Associated Press
``Ultra,'' (Mute/Reprise Records) - Depeche Mode
Depeche Mode's first album in four years, ``Ultra,'' is being touted by publicists as the band's comeback.
The British group certainly has had its share of problems since releasing ``Songs of Faith and Devotion.'' During that time, Alan Wilder quit the band after 13 years and vocalist Dave Gahan nearly overdosed and then attempted suicide.
Yet for all the talk of something different, Depeche Mode has fashioned another album that features Martin Gore's brooding lyrics with the same synthesizer-heavy sound the band has been producing since the early 1980s.
The occasionally schmaltzy lyrics are still there, especially on ``Home,'' written by Gore, but obviously a vehicle for vocalist Gahan.
``And I thank you/For bringing me here/For showing me home/For singing these tears/Finally I've found, that I belong.''
It's as though the group expects its listeners to rise to a standing ovation and applaud that Gahan has finally kicked his heroin and cocaine habit.
And yet ``Ultra'' - like most of Depeche Mode's albums - isn't a complete disappointment.
Its energy comes when the band sticks to what it knows best, mainly danceable, electro-pop tracks, such as ``It's No Good,'' ``Barrel of a Gun'' and ``Useless.'' However, those songs are few and far between.
If only Depeche Mode would learn to lighten up. Now that would be a comeback worth talking about.
By David Kligman, Associated Press Writer.
``In the Name of My Father (The ZepSet)'' (MJJ Music) - The Jason Bonham Band
As the son of John Bonham, Led Zeppelin's late great drummer, Jason Bonham has the lineage to pay homage to arguably the greatest rock band of the 1970s.
Problem is that The Jason Bonham Band's ``In the Name of My Father (The ZepSet)'' wears awfully thin awfully fast.
The album is a collection of 10 classic Zeppelin tunes, including a 19-minute medley of ``Whole Lotta Love'' and ``Kashmir.'' It was recorded live at the historic Electric Ladyland Studio in New York, complete with audience hoots between songs.
The tracks are faithful adaptations and even include a few highlights, among them ``The Ocean'' and ``Ten Years Gone.'' But the rest of the set is marred by Charles West's histrionic over-the-top vocals, especially on ``Since I've Been Loving You.''
Jason Bonham is an adequate drummer, but West is no Robert Plant. And that begs the question: Why pay for mediocre covers that may sound OK in concert but ultimately are inferior to Zeppelin's original songs?
By David Kligman, Associated Press Writer.
``Rambler 65'' (Rhino) - Ben Vaughn
Midway through ``Rambler 65,'' Ben Vaughn announces that ``rock is dead.'' This disc reminds us how much fun rock used to be.
Vaughn recorded all 13 tunes in his 1965 Rambler American, and the result sounds fresh, yet reminiscent of a time when car radios played songs with melody, musicianship and an edge.
This is the eighth and most unusual album from Vaughn, who composes for the TV series ``Third Rock From the Sun.'' He set up a control board in the front seat, positioned himself in the back and played virtually all the instruments: a ballpark organ on ``Boomerang,'' a shimmering Tommy James guitar on ``The Only Way to Fly,'' thunderous percussion on ``Too Much Sorrow.'' There are also drum machines, synthesizers and a psychedelic sitar.
``Everything's a first take because I just wanted to get the hell out of the car,'' Vaughn said.
The sound quality, generally, is great - especially on a car stereo. Intentionally distorted vocals on several cuts weren't the best idea, but they do contribute to the retro feel.
It's established immediately on a Nick Lowe-style country rocker with the opening line: ``Seven days without love/makes one weak.'' Another highlight is the ballad ``Beautiful Self Destruction,'' which miraculously offers a fresh perspective on that well-worn rock 'n' roll topic - drug abuse.
And then there's ``Rock Is Dead,'' a three-minute slice of pop paradise. The song would be hilarious if it weren't so true: ``The radio's got nothing but sports and news/no more Jim Dandy coming to the rescue/you've got to fend for yourself instead/now that rock is dead.''
As a bonus track, Vaughn dug into the archives for a radio jingle advertising a '65 Rambler, complete with screaming DJ - further evidence that American culture peaked more than 30 years ago.
By Steven Wine, Associated Press Writer.
``Die Meistersinger von Nuremberg'' (London/Decca) - Sir Georg Solti conducting the Chicago Symphony Orchestra and Chicago Symphony Chorus.
There is no perfect recording of ``Die Meistersinger,'' Wagner's only comedy, but this is as close as they come on the major labels, right up there with Eugen Jochum's recording in 1976.
The cast is as strong as there is these days: Karita Mattila (Eva), Iris Vermillion (Magdalene), Ben Heppner (Walter von Stolzing), Jose van Dam (Hans Sachs), Alan Opie (Sixtus Beckmesser), Rene Pape (Veit Pogner) and Herbert Lippert (David).
Performed in September 1995 at Orchestra Hall in Chicago, ``Die Meistersinger'' became the first Wagner opera Solti recorded twice. It marks Solti's 50th year with London/Decca, which will celebrate his 85th birthday this October by releasing Mozart's ``Don Giovanni.''
``A couple of years ago, quite by chance, I heard Pogner's first-act monologue on the radio and I found it so beautiful, so moving, that tears came into my eyes and I felt this urgent desire to perform the work again,'' Solti says in the liner notes. ``In recent years, I have conducted more Mozart and Verdi than before, and as a result my approach to Wagner has changed. ... I feel that it should be light, that it should be approached almost like chamber music.''
Norman Bailey sang Sachs on Solti's first recording, and his approach was not well received by many critics. Van Dam is good as Sachs, but does not quite have the imposing sound Dietrich Fischer-Dieskau had on the Jochum recording.
Heppner's Walter is preferable to the Jochum, which had Placido Domingo. Heppner's sound is vibrant and ringing. He also recorded Walter for Wolfgang Sawallisch and the Bavarian State Opera Orchestra on EMI (with Cheryl Studer as Eva and Bernd Weikl as Sachs), sang it at the Metropolitan Opera two years ago and reprises the role next season.
Jochum's recording is more moving in several places, but Solti achieves a more polished, beautiful sound, holding down some of the propulsiveness for which his Wagner is known.
While some may prefer historical reissues of live performances, such as Friedrich Schorr's Sachs, the sound on them cannot compare with the sheen on Solti's recording.
While not perfect, this recording should age well.
By Ronald Blum, Associated Press Writer.
Copyright 1997 The Associated
Press. The information contained in the AP news report may not be published, broadcast, rewritten or otherwise distributed without prior written authority of The Associated Press.
It is ironic that Depeche Mode has survived long enough to stand at the forefront of not one but two waves of electronic music--first, in 1981, with their debut Speak and Spell, when the genre was called new wave; and today, when electronica has seeped into so many genres that it's tough to nail down a name for the sound. The truth is, in the seventeen years they've been hawking their gothic dance-pop, Depeche Mode has never gone out of style. Their last album, 1993's Songs of Faith and Devotion hit No. 1 on the pop charts and, to date, the band has sold a total of more than thirty-million records worldwide. Ultra, D.M.'s first album in four years, is an excellent entry in the new canon of electronica, and it should only enhance the band's already solid commercial appeal.
Of course, it must be noted that Ultra's very existence is something of a minor miracle; the four years since Faith and Devotion have seen the departure of band member Alan Wilder and singer David Gahan's near- fatal battle with heroin addiction. But out of such darkness and uncertainty, the remaining trio of Gahan, Martin Gore, and Andy Fletcher has emerged a stronger unit. Adhering to Depeche Mode's traditional dark, low- to mid-tempo rhythmic scale, principal songwriter Gore and producer Tim Simenon (Bomb the Bass) have crafted an impressive collection of moody adventures exploring the melodic soundscapes of electronic pop. The murky, distorted guitar line that scrapes across the edgy opener, "Barrel of a Gun," segues into the elegant romance of "The Love Thieves," which in turn bleeds into the warmly submissive "Home." All the material here is held fast by the constancy of Gahan's richly plaintive baritone. But later in the disc, it's the unexpected and disparate elements--the bluesy, ZZ Top guitar line on "Useless," BJ Cole's pedal-steel guitar on "Freestate," the vibraphone tones on "Jazz Thieves," the jazzy bass track on the chilling "The Bottom Line"--that keep the listener off balance and the album refreshing.
Sure, the overall tone here still echoes vintage eighties wave, but Ultra avoids sounding dated or tired by layering a visceral rock edge around its synthesizer core. As the electronic music trend comes full circle, Depeche Mode continues to find ways to breathe intrigue and artistry into an old clich?.
--Bob Gulla
Melody Maker finally got its fat arse round to printing some stuff about DM this week. I wish they hadn't bothered now. Here's what they said about last Thursday's bash:
DEPECHE MODE's party was awash with stars of the Eighties. Our man on the spot, who was mistaken for TIM SIMENON and nearly got a shag out of it, spied GARY NUMAM, PAUL YOUNG, SAM FOX, PERRY out of THE CURE, THE REAL TIM SIMENON, LEROY out of THE PRODIGY, NICK CAVE, KRIS NEEDS (who was DJing, natch), ANNIE NIGHTINGALE, ALAN McGEE, NEIL TENNANT, APHEX TWIN, CATHY DENNIS, all of JAMES, STEPHEN HAGUE, GALLON DRUNK, ELKA, JERRY SADOWITZ, UNDERWORLD, PRIMAL SCREAM, ANTON CORBIJN, DUBSTAR, JON PLEASED WIMMIN, and Christ, just take it from us, it was a nightmare getting served. 'PECHE played four songs at some point in the night, but not very many people noticed, possibly on accound of the free beer, but probably because they weren't very interested. You can't have your ligging spoiled by some pop band creating an unholy din can you?
Finally, there's a review of ULTRA. If you like the album and are a bit sensitive then DO NOT READ ANY FURTHER!!!
There's a hand-drawn colour picture of Dave with Martin and Fletch in the distance. It is not particularly nice. For example, round Dave's neck there is a dotted line with "Cut here" written on it. There's also a 'Dave loves Vince "Clark" and Michael "Hutchens"' tattoo drawn on his arm.
Big Caption: THE DAVE TODAY
Smaller Caption: And they're still going, through the stardom, the addiction and the perils of 12 albums. But are DEPECHE MODE still any good?
DEPECHE MODE
ULTRA
Mute (12 trks/60 mins)
Long distance love never works out. At first, it's all letters echoed in the twitch of loneliness. Bonds across distance that take the map of separation and fold it into a tiny togetherness. But soon those letters start to get "lost in the post" and the telephone lines twist into circles, defining their own independence. One becomes two.
Which is why Depeche Mode shouldn't have made this album. A bad album. A lazy, disposable album.
She waits by the phone. Four years by the phone. He dials, pauses, and then says: "I'm fine". His chocolate voice is as charming as ever but even his thoughts have grown remote.
Which is why Depeche Mode shouldn't have taken so long to send the reminder that they invented everything special. And then invent nothing new. Rhythms and sounds that would destroy the Chemical Brothers' ambitions, but remain a mere reminder of their own.
He sends the first letter not to get lost in the post. 12 paragraphs.
All laboured and hollow with other people's emotion. He says: "I can hear your soul crying". She reads on, patronised. He says "Let your feelings grow". She wonders whether she'll have to wait another four years to read his emptiness. His evasion.
Which is why Depeche Mode shouldn't have written lyrics so tritely dismissive of new thought. "Freedom's a state". Freedom's in a state. "Emotional emancipation". Emotional stagnation.
She remembers old times, young times, through the filter of jaded memory. Wonders whether she felt any more for him when he was around. Decides that he's better off away.
Which is why Depeche Mode should have written just one song as pure and fluid as "Halo", "Everything Counts", "Never Let Me Down Again", "Flies on the Windscreen", "Somebody". Treasures carried off by the cuckoos which occupy their evacuated nest. The linear tinnitus of "Ultra" makes ears ring and Depeche Mode's past success becomes overgrown with the moss of failure.
Which is why David Gahan will never recover. He was away too long.
Somewhere he became a fool. Trapped into self-pity. Self-absorption.
Self-delusion. Which is why Martin Gore, the broken mother, will waste the remainder of his career writing lullabies about his son's promise.
Sweeping up his singer's blood-flecked detritus, sterilising the room with a mist of astringent optimism. She remembers the pain of wanting him back. She still hurts. But she doesn't want him back any more.
ROBIN BRESMARK
DEPECHE MODE BARELY BACK AMONG THE LIVING ON 'Ultra'
ULTRA
Depeche Mode
Mute/reprise 46522
Reviewed by Robert Johnson
Depeche mode is lucky just ot be aloive after the twi njolts it suffered in 1995 - crooner David GAhan's suicide attempt and the departure of keyboard player Alan Wilder, who had been in the band since 1982.
The fact hta tUltra even exists then, should be enough to cheer the British groups worldwide legions of fans. It'll have to be. Slow dark and Boring. "Ultra" the bands first studio Album sinces "Songs of FAith and Devotion"(1993) suggest that Depeche Mode may be intact but not yet whole.
Gahan, who went into drug rehab after his suicide attempt (he opened a two inch gash in his wrist with a razor blade)m sings with renewed vigor on "Ultra." But musical director/songwriter MArtin Gore gives him little to work with. Depeche Mode hasn't been a particularly happy bands since Martin took over song writing chores from Vince Clarke after the bands first album, but "Ultra" is spectacularly Morose and plodding.
REduced to a trio of Gore, Gahan, and synth player Andrew Fletcher, Depeche Mode and producer Tim Simenon called in a throng of backing players - ex-living Colour bassist Doug Wimblish, pedal steel player B.J. Cole, three percuscconists, two drummers, a keyboardist programmer, strings and some guy creded with "system 700." None of the guists manages to (or is allowed to) shake things up much, however.
There are some occassional bits of texture to break up the draggy proceedings - the curelike groove of "it's No Good;" the abrasive guitar fragments that starts "Useless" And at times, the mood is intoxicatingly hypnotic. But after a while someone should have snapped his fingers to bring Depeche Mode out of it's trance.
two stars
----
First off i have to say this guy is a moron. Not that i think that everyone in the entire world should LOVE depeche Mode cuz that would be sheeplike however, this guy doens't know what he's talking about. Also, Why is it neccessary to go on into gory details about Davids suicide attempt when reviewing hte album? And to say that Ultra is boring! IS this guy listening to the same album i am? I wonder how many seconds of the CD did he play before writing his review? There is Further proof in this article that the reviewer is an idiot, he gave Queensryche 3.5 stars.. guess we know what kinda music he likes eh? anyway just thought i'd send it on for everyone to read.
Rebecca
"I'm always willing to learn if you've got something to teach"
-Martin L. Gore-
Date: Sat, 24 May 1997 00:11:38 -0700
From: Chaakoo
Subject: [bong] yet another Ultra review
This one was taken from SonicNet. Check out their site, some interesting stuff...
May 9th 1997
"Ultra Tepid Scene"
By Tony Fletcher
Can we as listeners separate the finished piece of product that is the new Depeche Mode album from the personal trials and tribulations that so rocked the group's world (in a strictly non-musical sense, you understand) these past four years? If Dave Gahan's heroin addiction is now a thing of the past, along with Martin Gore's grand mal seizures, Andy Fletcher's nervous breakdowns and the entire soul and body of drummer/programmer AlanWilder (whose departure has reduced Depeche Mode to a trio), then does it matter as long as the song remains the same?
It does. It matters because with its last outing, Songs Of Faith and Devotion, Depeche Mode seemed hellbent (for leather) on becoming a genuine rock & roll band despite already being one of the biggest groups on the planet. It matters because that record, its clunky guitars to the fore, did not sell as well as its predecessor Violator, a point duly taken on board judging by Ultra's return to past pastures. It matters because in its quest for hedonistic credibility (as if the frilly shirts, makeup and the leather skirts of yore provoked the group members to prove something in the masculinity department), Depeche Mode put new meaning into the phrase "tour till you drop," ultimately concluding eighteen months on the road with the most embarrassing egotistical statement since U2 made Rattle And Hum, a live album of Songs of Faith And Devotion, notable only for Gahan's increasingly Steve Tyleresque attempts to whoop the audiences into fervor.
But it matters more so because Dave Gahan then took this entire grunge infested star trip to his small-town suburban mind and embarked on a personal odyssey of addiction that any student of musical history, the vocalist included, should have seen was likely to end in someone's squalid death; that it merely left behind two divorces, a couple of OD's, a suicide attempt and a newly rehab-ed and drug-free Gahan pleading with the kids not to cop his bad habits is actually quite remarkable. It matters because Ultra has problem written all over it, from its birth in excess and addiction, to its trip through seven recording studios in three countries, to the assistance of three drummers on the one song with live percussion. And it especially matters because Ultra's lyrics seem emphatically inspired by its circumstances.
Given all this, the fact that Depeche Mode made an album at all is a remarkable achievement. Unfortunately, Ultra is an unremarkable album. One might have hoped that the aforementioned perilous circumstances would have spurred Martin Gore into a significant change of direction (indeed, word has it that he initially planned to write an album encompassing all styles of twentieth century music), but faced by the challenges of attempting to resuscitate a band that appeared to have dug its own grave, he has settled for a consolatory return to the Depeche Mode of old.
This is not to suggest that Ultra is, in any respect, a bad album. For fans who frown on experimentation, it may even come as a relief. And certainly it is far superior to Songs Of Faith And Devotion. Gone with the bad habits (we hope) are the gratuitous attempts to rock out under a barrage of guitars; Ultra has only one heavy moment, the opener "Barrel of A Gun," and that draws instead on the group's own past as electronic pioneers to create an effective semi-industrial barrage akin to Nine Inch Nails. For the most part, Ultra is given over to the kind of textures Depeche Mode can produce in its sleep: foundations of sparse electronic drums underneath washes of digital keyboards that, if pining for Alan Wilder's studio-wise input, do a good job of hiding the fact. (Credit this to producer Tim Simenon, and his own considerable track record with his group Bomb The Bass.)
The pace, too, varies little throughout. Although Depeche Mode has been responsible for many memorable moments on the American alternative dance floor, but there are few such candidates here, the group seeming most comfortable in the mid tempo range from which they can easily pull back a notch or two to effect a mournful ballad. Each of the nine songs and two affiliated instrumentals (a disappointing output given the time spent in the studio) has been polished until it positively glistens -- and yet Ultra is not without a considerable helping of soul, much of which comes from the vocal performances and the words therein delivered.
Depeche Mode being one of few longstanding groups whose singer consistently emotes the words of another band member (The Who and Rush are two of the only other examples that come to mind), it is impossible to listen to Ultra without searching for hidden meaning. When Dave Gahan sings "I can hear your soul crying, listen to your spirit sighing," on "Freestate," for example, are we to suppose that that is anything other than songwriter Martin Gore's own views on Gahan's internal problems after fifteen years of friendship? When Gahan sings of himself as a "twisted, tortured mess, this bed of sinfulness" who has been "staring down the barrel of a gun," on the opening cut, what else are we to imagine but a picture of the once so pretty boy sticking needles in his arms and daring death in the face? In such circumstances, the redemption offered by the finale, "Insight," is quite emotional: "This is the first chance to put things right... the fire still burns."
The temptation to read the band's recent dances with the devil into every hook, line and syncopated drum beat has to be tempered by knowledge that Gore has always written about the darker side of human relationships. And that one of the boldest statements about addiction, "The Bottom Line," is sung by Gore himself. Indeed, in Gore's tender delivery of his usual self serving of two songs, he indicates that as long as he alone survives, there will always be a Depeche Mode -- at least on record.
Ultra is a satisfying triumph of spirit over adversity. But that's the most satisfying thing about it. Unfortunately, its commercial potential is seriously hampered by the absence of truly great songs -- especially compared to the group's considerable back catalogue -- and its prospects of winning new fans limited by its refusal to take risks. Against the odds, Depeche Mode is still here. Where to now is anyone's guess.
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hmm...aargh! I was going to say a few words about this review but decided not to...screw it! Im tired of complaining! But that damn Steven Tyler comparison...
asif
m.s. and did I mention how much I adore Ultra? Hehehe...
Depeche Mode
"Ultra"
Rating 6/10
It seems Depeche Mode will never get any respect. They've stood their ground, proudly waving the tattered flag of electronic music through a decade of hip- hop and the Seattle invasion. Now that the electronica wave is crashing upon us, nobody seems willing to give Depeche Mode credit for sticking to their guns. They're still considered something of a new wave joke in critics' circles, and that's a shame. Their latest album, Ultra, is produced by Tim Simenon of Bomb the Bass -- an interesting combination, to be sure (Simenon has always seemed like a Depeche disciple anyway), and the collaboration has resulted in Depeche Mode's most sonically irresistible album to date. The booming percussion and warped synths of "Barrel of a Gun," for example, are far superior to anything U2 has concocted for their recent overrated forays into the dance genre. Unfortunately, the rest of the album does not fare so well. With the lone exception of "It's No Good," Ultra may sound impressive, but the songwriting is decisively lacking. Martin Gore's lyrics haven't evolved much since he hit his stride with 1986's Black Celebration -- it's all self- loathing and nasty love stories once again. Ultra might be considered something of a missed opportunity (witness the explosive successes of '80s clones like Space and White Town), but at the very least it proves that the well isn't yet completely dry.
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ahhh...thats just swell...
asif
Depeche Mode
Ultra
Everyone is obviously aware by now of the Dave Gahan heroin/overdose/suicide attempts story of the last couple of years, so we'll leave it alone. What is relevant is the first album in five years from a three-piece Mode, and a return to a more traditional keyboard driven sound.
Ultra kicks off with first single "Barrel of a Gun," an abrasive, distorted affair that sounds like a reflection on Gahan's dark period, though Gore, as usual, would deny this. It's atypical of the rest of the album, as lead-in singles have tended to be for Depeche (vis: "Personal Jesus" from Violator, "I Feel You" from Songs of Faith and Devotion). The album as a whole is a surprisingly slow affair, with a sparse, unlayered sound that may partly be due to main musician Alan Wilder leaving the band.
There's some solid Depeche Mode to be found within the new album. The second single "It's No Good" is a classic single of the "Enjoy the Silence" school - lyrically weak as usual, but with superb vocals and the typical irresistable hook. "Useless" employs real guitar, drums and bass to achieve the least synthesized sound on the album. "Insight" is a Gore/Gahan duet of sorts, similar to Violator's "Waiting For The Night", with the added bonus of a superb chorus. Martin Gore takes two vocals, as usual, with "The Bottom Line" and "Home", both rather typical Gore affairs - "The Bottom Line" is similar in style and instrumentation to his solo Counterfeit E.
Stylistically, Ultra is closest to 1990's Violator, and the band themselves have suggested that it would be a more logical follow-up than the now apparently accepted unsuccessful deviation into bombast that was Songs of Faith and Devotion. One striking difference from previous outings is Gahan's voice. Apparently so wrecked by heroin and its associated abuses that he had to get a vocal coach, Gahan has discovered a more expressive style than the deadpan baritone of old, and more disciplined than the unpleasant wail frequently employed on Songs of Faith. The only song that remains from the original recording sessions during the height of Gahan's troubles is "Sister of Night", seemingly about drugs, and rather chilling given the circumstances under which it was recorded.
Nothing particularly ground-breaking then - a small step sideways, if you like. Depeche Mode are back to playing to their strengths, however, and this album finds them back on form for what may be their swansong, if recent interviews are anything to go by. Ultra has overtones of Violator, Music For The Masses, even the bleaker Black Celebration in places. Mode fans will rejoice - this is an excellent Depeche Mode album. Others will ignore - about par for the course.
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I hope you all are begining to despise rock-critics as much as I do...first album in 5 years? This is getting absurd...deadpan baritone?
asif
m.s. also check out trouserpress_com for reviews of every dM album. There basically more negative reviews, but I seem to enjoy the bad one more than the pleasant ones these days! The more dM get bashed, the more I seem to love them! Bring on the negative reviews! Im ready!
Here's the review of Ultra from Addicted to Noise:
What a long, strange trip it's been. From their lowly incarnation as awkward synth-pop wannabes fronted by a chubby Elvis lookalike in the 1980s, Depeche Mode finally became, by the time I saw them for 1993's tour for the piece de resistance of their oeuvre, Songs of Faith and Devotion, the ultimate '90s Rock Band. Combining dirty rock guitar riffs with their by-now trademark dark brand of pulsing synthesizers, the newly svelte, goateed and swaggeringly macho David Gahan's impassioned singing and energetic stage presence proved the perfect vehicle for Martin Gore's fey, intellectually kinky songwriting. Like some wild amalgam of the Doors, Kraftwerk, David Bowie, and Albert Camus...
Music Central critic: 2/5
Musical Central readers: 4/5
Considering the personal trials besetting the members of Depeche Mode in the last few years, it's not surprising that Ultra finds the veteran English band in a somber, reflective mood. However, considering the emotional contentiousness the trio experienced while singer David Gahan hit bottom with drug overdoses and suicide attempts, it is surprising that songwriter-keyboardist Martin Gore's songs remain so enamored with the chic superficiality of gloomy synth-pop and the pompous emptiness of lyrics that describe darkly romantic scenes as clunky and vapid as the worst passages of Anne Rice.
Ultimately, what Ultra underscores is that Gore is a shallow songwriter with a knack for catchy hooks. No matter how obvious his arrangements may be, they nonetheless have managed to cast a seductive power on the dance floor. But little of Ultra moves to a frenetic beat. Instead, the band aims for a slower, more unsettling sound that strips away the rhythmic pulse and the pop-driven accessibility that has been the group's primary drawing point.
The band's debut single, "Barrel Of A Gun", is the fastest moving tune on Ultra, and therefore it's not indicative of the simmering sound that characterizes the majority of the album. The song, which is closer in spirit to early-'90s Depeche Mode than to the rest of Ultra, still exposes Gore's lyrical triteness; phrases like "twisted, tortured mess" and "this bed of sinful masses" indicate how Gore relies on provocative yet pedestrian passages and how his stringing together of such phrases never leads to anything insightful or meaningful. When Gahan, who has recovered from a well-publicized bout with addictions and self-destructiveness, sings, "Whatever I've done is staring at the barrel of a gun," it appears as if Gore is trying to deal with his longtime partner's problems directly, but it comes off as a somewhat macabre manipulation of an individual's dangerous struggles and of an audience's interest or concern. Because the song treads on piquant ground without offering any perceptive insights or personal truths, it comes across as exploitative, just as the band did when writing so vacuously about sadomasochism in "Master & Servant" or about religion in "Personal Jesus".
On occasion, producer Tim Simenon (of Bomb The Bass) wraps the band's emphasis on sustained electronic chording, clanging percussion, and lyrical hooks into a languid, lush soundscape that achieves the kind of heightened romanticism Depeche Mode strives to attain. Too often, though, his desire to add a profound layer to music so simple and contrived only adds to the hollow core of the compositions.
In the past, Depeche Mode has proven incredibly resilient. Of all the new-romantic bands to rise in the early '80s, there was little to indicate that remaining Depeche Mode members Gahan, Gore, and Andy Fletcher would still be considered a cultural force 15 years after their debut album. Their high-flying success in the late '80s and early '90s depended on their connection to theatrical, angst-driven vampire youth, who dwell largely in the American suburbs. In the four years since Depeche Mode's Songs Of Faith And Devotion, most of that crowd has moved on to Nine Inch Nails and Marilyn Manson, who give the same dark posturing a more ominous and theatrical spin. It will be interesting to see if Depeche Mode's newly ponderous romanticizing - which has more in common with Tears For Fears than with anything committed by Trent Reznor - remains as popular now as in the past.
Michael McCall
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Asif, suburban youth who has moved on to Marilyn Manson!! Hahahahaha!!
m.s. you can cast your vote as well...