Slowdive‘s second album, Souvlaki (originally released in 1993), didn’t make much of a splash at first, but everyone pretty much now agrees that it was, and still is, a shoegaze classic.
“Alison” starts off the album in one of the best ways you can start a shoegaze record – with a song about a pretty girl and getting high. You’d think a song called “Machine Gun” would roll out the heavy walls of guitar feedback, but instead they up the hypnotic synths and let Rachel Goswell‘s morning mist vocals about succumbing to a flood come to the front.
It’s no secret that Goswell and Neil Halstead broke up not long before the band started the writing sessions for this album, and Halstead’s heartbreak is all over the album in his vocals, lyrics, and guitar work. He wrote “40 Days” while on a two-week break in Wales to come to terms with it. The song is a bit loose and jangly with Simon Scott‘s drums doing a little shuffle here and there.
“Sing” and “Here She Comes” were cowritten and produced by none other than Brian Eno. The band, and especially Halstead, wanted Eno to produce the whole record, but he declined. He contributes synths to “Sing,” a song about loneliness with Goswell’s vocals making you wonder if she was reconsidering the breakup. “Here She Comes” is about the hope of finding warmth in the arms of a lover, but knowing it could be a long winter before that happens.
“Souvlaki Space Station” is more psychedelia than shoegaze, and goes to show Slowdive can pull off either genre at will. Despite being one of their biggest hits among fans, bassist Nick Chaplin and guitarist Christian Savill, didn’t think “When the Sun Hits” should be on the album. It hits all the “wall of sound” notes you want in a shoegaze track, and they’ve changed their mind on it since.
“Altogether” has Halstead watching Goswell from a distance, knowing things probably aren’t going much further between them, and the sad guitar work on it only emphasizes that belief. “Melon Yellow” continues this distancing (“So long. So long. It’s just a way to love you.”), with Halstead’s voice sounding far away and Scott’s drums almost mournful. The closing track, “Dagger,” is about, as Halstead put it, “a fucked-up relationship.” It, like many songs on the album, refer to Halstead watching Goswell as she sleeps, perhaps telling her what he couldn’t bring himself to say while she was awake and admitting “You know I am your dagger. You know I am your wound.”
It’s a heavy record, and not just from the sound. It’s gorgeous and sad, so, yeah, a shoegaze classic.
Keep your mind open.
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