What is it about dirty old men, anyway? In 2007, Nick Cave gave up the ghost of youth, declaring an out-and-out midlife crisis with Grinderman, a brilliant, crude, stripped-down quartet. Made up of members of his Bad Seeds, the nascent group's self-titled debut was naked about its grotesqueries, as Cave futzed with a guitar for the first time, wailed about the "No Pussy Blues", and sucked in his gut with hopes of getting laid.

It was an inspired late-career move for the then 50-year-old, invigorating and recalibrating the piano-affixed, doom-saying troubadour. Critics fell over themselves proclaiming the return of the former Birthday Party frontman's skuzzy side. A year later you could hear the punk reverberations in 2008's Bad Seeds album, Dig, Lazarus, Dig!!! But Grinderman, though fierce and often hilarious, weren't exactly a great band. Young bands-- no matter how old-- have to learn new tricks, and this one had to find interesting ways to be messy. Grinderman 2 is a sequel of sorts, but mostly an improvement. The band has widened their sound and sexual pursuits, but also poked around at the edges of decrepitude. What does life look like on the other side of crisis?

Well, it's schizophrenic and sloppy. Those feral urges are still there; consider the album cover's lupine avatar. But Cave and the band-- who typically improvise structure and lyrics-- have kept the themes consistent across nine songs. And they're not terribly different from what interests him on albums with the Bad Seeds: God, Death, and America are gospel. But sexual filialness-- Cave seems to be calling himself "Daddy" and yowling at his child-lover a lot here-- takes an uncomfortable precedence. "Worm Tamer" and "Heathen Child" are almost comically lascivious. "I stick my fingers in your biscuit jar/ And crush all your gingerbread men," he moans, aping Howlin' Wolf on "Kitchenette", one of the album's best songs. And later, "What has that husband of yours ever given to you?/ Oprah Winfrey on a plasma screen." That's a great line, the sort of insinuating thing that might get Cave into bed with a frustrated housewife, but it's also miserably desperate, self-deprecating stuff.

Cave has been leading a full life lately, finishing his second novel in 2009, composing scores for John Hillcoat's films, and writing a few screenplays of his own. But he has rarely been as experimental and unafraid as he is here. The pastoral "Palaces of Montezuma" is a "We Didn't Start the Fire" for heroin addicts, haunted by visions of Miles Davis, Marilyn Monroe, JFK, and "a custard-colored super-dream of Ali McGraw and Steve McQueen." It's unhinged and unerringly beautiful. So often, Cave is wise about the state of it all; he seems to know he's on the wrong side of things-- life, love, fear-- but he won't give up the fight.

Like much of Cave's work, there is an ominous sense of dread always creeping. But unlike previous work, there's a speed and intensity to Grinderman 2 unheard before. From the chugging build of "Mickey Mouse and the Goodbye Man" through the psych-haze of "Bellringer Blues", there are few opportunities to catch your breath. "Evil" even lurches toward death metal. "What I Know" is a rare and tender respite from the fury; it's a plaintive ballad to precocity, process, and nothing. "Oh I know, yeah I know," Cave intones, never quite revealing what it is. There isn't much to the song-- a stray, buzzing crackle; a far-off wordless melody; a quietly strummed guitar. It's just a simple moment in a savage life.

Quote va Pitchfork

"Classic rock supergroup defies the odds to deliver a great debut LP."

Greg Moffitt 2010-09-20

The term ‘supergroup’ is something of a golden albatross. On one hand, it tells us here is a band of established, successful musicians whose combined talents will undoubtedly deliver the sonic equivalent of The Second Coming. On the other hand, it tends to arouse astronomical expectations which are almost never met. Wade through a few albums by Emerson, Lake & Palmer, The Firm, Traveling Wilburys and Power Station, for example, and you’ll get the picture.

Although ambivalent about the supergroup label since their inception last year, Black Country Communion feature a formidable line-up of familiar names with a century-plus of experience between them. Joining vocalist/bassist Glenn ‘Voice of Rock’ Hughes (Deep Purple/Black Sabbath) are former Dream Theater keyboard player Derek Sherinian, drummer Jason Bonham (son of late Led Zeppelin sticksman John) and guitarist Joe Bonamassa, currently one of the top bluesmen in business.

As pools of talent go, this one’s deep, and the old saying "If a bomb went off in that studio, etc" definitely applies. With direct links back to the mighty motherlode of Zeppelin, Black Sabbath and Deep Purple, it’s no big surprise that BCC have delivered a dozen shots of timeless, classic rock. It’s ballsy, bluesy, even soulful at times, and with none of the bleached-out blandness that ego-clashes and endless compromises can bring. It’s no secret that things weren’t always super-smooth between them, but they got over it, got on with it, and the result is simply stellar.

Drawing on all that experience without sounding like you’re long enough in the tooth to have all that experience to draw on is a magical thing. Hughes in particular is on fire and in better voice than ever. Somehow – God alone knows how – wasted years of cocaine and Mars Bar binges (don’t ask) haven’t trashed any part of his anatomy required for singing. Blazing performances aside, the key here is the songs, which are wonderfully crafted. The title-track is an attention-grabbing opener, while current single One Last Soul is simply outstanding, but there’s really nothing here that shouldn’t be. These guys have defied the odds to deliver a collection that’s all gold and no albatross.