Live Review : The Sisters Of Mercy + A.A. Williams @ The Albert Hall, Manchester on March 7th 2020

There was a lot of discussion in the virtual ROCKFLESH office (essentially a messenger thread) about whether we should be covering this show at all. There were those that argued that Goth was separate to our world and those (me) that put forward the alternative opinion that Goth and Metal have had an entwined relationship over the decades and whilst separate genres, do have a symbiotic connection. There has been metalheads that have dabbled in the forbidden (and better dressed) pleasures of goth (including myself) and goths that have crossed the divide over into metal. The Sisters Of Mercy are themselves an interesting proposition, a band that hasn't released any new material in thirty years, yet still attracts a reverential following. You see the Sisters are ground zero goth. The Cure maybe have a significantly bigger following, The Mission may have a much larger back catalogue and Nick Cave may have gone and become a national treasure, but the Sisters of Mercy are still the core definition of goth. 

The Albert Hall with it's high ornate ceiling and grand sweeping balcony provides the perfect venue for a goth gig, not that the audience look particularly goth. There are snatches of lace, eyeliner and opera jackets, but in the main it is middle-aged domesticated former goths. They are adorned in jeans and faded Sisters t-shirts that are a couple of sizes too small, as opposed to the frilly shirts and vintage corsets of their youth. Tonight is very much a brief nostalgia trip before they return to their high convoluted executive jobs on Monday. Opener A.A. Williams fits with tonight’s goth aesthetic. She is haunting and ethereal. Sort of All About Eve’s Juliette Regan meets PJ Harvey. She also can play guitar, brillianty. The spiraling atmospherics are pin-pricked with soaring solos that would not feel out of place on a Floyd album. All in all they are a solid and fitting support. Yes their stuff meanders and in places seems to going the sum total of nowhere, but when it is this enjoyable you may as well lay back and savour the journey. 

As start time approaches there is a feeling anxious anticipation about the place. This is a band that means a lot to the people here, but to be honest recent reports haven’t been kind. There really hasn't been a classic line up of the band since Andrew Eldritch and Wayne Hussey fell out in 1985 about who got first dibs on the hair spray. Since then it has been a revolving door of hired hands backing up the mainstays of Mr. Eldritch and Dr Avalanche (its quite hard to fall out with a drum machine). This iteration of the band hasn't exactly been setting the world alight and there are whispers of dialled in, sloppy performances. Therefore there is a collective sense of relief when opener 'Lucreatia My Reflection' turns out to be brilliant. Yes, the lack of a bassist means that Patricia's pulsating rhythmic lines are conspicuous by their absence, but it is still very good. The band feels tight, taught and well rehearsed. Andrew Eldritch is positively low-key in his performance. Yes he is the Sisters, but for most of the show he is a hidden figure, shunning the spotlight and preferring to lurk in the shadows at the rear of the stage. His vocals are also down in the mix and often shared with (and in places over shadowed by) Ben Christo and Dylan Smith. However every now and again his distinctive dark baritone delivery does shine through.

In terms of material, it really is a game of three halves. There is the new unreleased stuff that frankly is met with shuffling feet and general indifference (aside from the hardcore devotees up front who greet everything with fevered rapture). Then you have the album tracks from the three long players, where half the audience lustfully bellow along with passion and pathos and the other half look slightly confused like they are not quite getting the joke. And then we get the hits, and the place kicks off big time. 'Domain/Mother Russia' is an emotional communal sing-along full of memories of spending the eighties sulking around graveyards drinking cider and 'First, Last and Always' brings back memories of lost first loves (ironically it appeared on mix tapes that I made for at least three of my teenage crushes). The thing about tonight is that even though this is essentially a Sisters of Mercy cover band with Andrew Elderitch playing a supporting role, the songs are so so good that it can’t help but be a hell of a lot of fun.

The whole thing is sort of let down by the encores. 'More' and ‘Temple of Love' are both sprawling epics. Collectively they clock in at over fifteen minutes and are cornerstones of not only the Sisters of Mercy’s repertoire, but any list of songs that defined the alternative eighties and nineties. They are both amazing tracks that should be given space to breath and spread out in the full magnificent beauty. Tonight however both are seriously truncated and in the case of 'Temple of Love’ brutally under cooked. The delivery feels rushed and irreverent, like the band can’t wait to get them done and dusted and get back to the dressing room. Closer 'This Corrosion' fares better. It feels as vital and as impressive as the first time I heard it on a tinny personnel stereo in 1987. We are all done and dusted by half nine and whilst their discography is not vast, there are still plenty of classics that could have bulked out the set by another half an hour. Overall though this isn’t a disappointing night and that is because what they did play are all stunningly good songs. Yes they haven’t got the other-worldly larger than life persona that defined them in the eighties but they can still drive home a stunning tune and sometimes that is all that matters.