Frank Black
The Cult of Ray
1996, American Recordings
I don’t know why Frank Black parted ways with his longtime label, 4AD. If he’s ever commented on it, I haven’t seen it. All I can say is that his first album for Rick Rubin’s American Recordings–home at the time to the likes of The Black Crowes, Johnny Cash, and Slayer–feels like (and was) his last-ditch effort at a solo hit in the dying days of “Alternative Rock”. The mood is punchy and aggressive and Black leans hard into his sci-fi guy persona.
As weird as they are, his previous two solo albums are all about pop. They come in candy-colored packages and boast bright production with several tracks ready for radio. They never caught on in a big way, but they have their cult (count me among them) and they’ve aged well.
They also come off like their own little era that burned itself out quick.
Or, to put it another way, how do you follow up Teenager of the Year, a double-length oddball epic that starts with Pong and ends with apocalypse?
The best way is to not even try. Answer that album’s layered, synthetic production with more simple, raw production. Answer its twenty-two tracks with a tight thirteen. Answer its complex maze of topics with a batch of songs that roughly break it all down to kids and UFOs and one mother of a lead guitar.
That’s The Cult of Ray.