Frank Black and the Catholics’ eponymous debut makes a welcome return to vinyl for its twenty-fifth anniversary courtesy of Demon Records and, for those who missed out on the boxset, it’s a hell of a tempting package. Not only does it look the part, but the pressing is superb, making this something special for fans of this period in Frank’s storied career.
The Package
Released as a single black vinyl, Frank Black and The Catholics comes housed in a single sleeve. However, where the box set edition came with a printed liner, this edition is housed in a black, poly-lined sleeve, with a 4-page, 12” booklet adding liner notes and lyrics. Additionally, an obi strip reminds us that this is a half-speed master, and adds track listing and additional, albeit brief, detail. Finally, there’s an over-sized sticker on the cover promoting the fact that this is an anniversary edition. It’s a nice package, as we have come to expect from Demon Records, and a worthy tribute to a cracking album.
The Album
Originally released in 1998, Frank Black and The Catholics saw Black give the excellent band with whom he created The Cult of Ray its own identify, before launching a career that resulted in six consistently brilliant albums. Recorded live to two-track tape, initially as a demo, Frank and his band were so taken with the results that they realised they simply couldn’t be bettered, an approach responsible for a good deal of the band’s unique character over the years.
From the outset, Frank’s quirky sense of humour and pop nous is evident, while the live approach to recording lends the set a familial vibe, especially when studio chatter can be heard in the background. Opening track All My Ghosts sets the scene, with the sound of guitars being plugged in giving way to a gritty alt-pop anthem, complete with pounding rhythm, jangly guitar and vocals that range from that oh-so-familiar drawl to semi-spoken passages. With Lyle Workman laying down scruffy lead and David McCaffrey’s backing vocals in play, it kicks off the album perfectly. Next up, Back to Rome has a nagging, insistent beat and a singalong vocal, the band sounding relaxed in each other’s company, resulting in a musical camaraderie not dissimilar to Neil Young and Crazy Horse. It’s that atmosphere as much as anything else that makes the songs stand out, and the band barely draw breath as they plunge headfirst into Do You Feel Bad About It which, oddly enough, sounds like The Pixies covering The Smiths, largely because of the Morrisey-esque way Frank rushes through the line “this parting of the ways”. Dog Gone has a lazy vibe reminiscent of Everclear and Pavement, a sense aided by the clean guitars the band deploy on the track – and it offers up some lovely melodies too. Next up, the album gets its highlight with the effervescent I Gotta Move, which hints at where the Pixies would go on their reunion albums. It’s followed by the surprisingly visceral riff of I Need Peace, which roars out of the speakers, before edging into the sort of skronky alt-pop that you can imagine would be the result of Neil Young jamming with Thurston Moore.
It’s the second side where things start to get a little… odd. While The King & Queen of Siam remains in largely familiar territory, albeit with an angular post-punk sensibility that sees guitars scratching across the song’s surface, its follow up – Six-Sixty-Six – is swaggering alt-country, with Clint Eastwood attitude and a wry sense of humour. Then there’s the mid-tempo rocker that is Solid Gold, a surprisingly heavy track that really gets the juices flowing. Emerging from sparking feedback, it’s a pulverising piece of music, given greater weight when considering the track that precedes it. Steak ‘n’ Sabre slips sideways, the music slow paced, but gloriously contradictory, and then there’s Suffering, a wild-eyed and irrepressible punk rocker that reminds you just how intense Frank can be when the mood takes him. The album closes on a calmer note, with the country-ballad The Man Who Was Too Loud, which relates the story of a guitar player who “cared about the old people’s and the little children’s ears”. It’s a beguiling finale that leaves you wanting more and, fortunately, Frank Black and The Catholics would deliver, just a year later, with the quite excellent Pistolero.
There’s something indefinably wonderful about the work of Frank Black and The Catholics. Less confrontational than the Pixies, although prone to rock out when you least expect it, and possessed of a remarkable musical connection that sees the band take in country, punk, pop, rock, and blues, the Catholics were simply a great band, and this eponymous album showcases them at their very best from the get-go. Like Tonight’s The Night, there’s a sense that you’re listening to the album exactly as it unfolded in the studio – a rarity in these days of digitally enhancing everything – and it’s all but impossible not to fall in love with the album as a result. 9/10
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