The Gutter Twins
Saturnalia
(Sub Pop, 2008)

Mark Lanegan and Greg Dulli are two of rock’s darkest souls, carrying forth through their respective music the weight of personal and professional survival and all the pain, darkness, and addiction that oftentimes haunts world-weary artists with illustrious careers. Theirs is a very natural collaboration, as it’s clear they both like and respect the crap out of each other. The material that is introduced on their first album, titled Saturnalia, is completely unique to this project, even though Dulli and Lanegan have worked together in the past. “Saturnalia” is the name of an ancient Roman festival that climaxes with the slaves trading places with their masters. That alone should lend an indication as to the theme of this album: moody, deliberate, personal, and dark.

Saturnalia is intricately constructed, each song awash in careful instrumentation, affecting vocals, and heavy, deep lyrical content. The musical marriage of these two forces is a fruitful one—their voices are perfect counterparts for one another. Lanegan’s growling baritone and restrained stoicism is an anchor for Dulli’s sometimes self-indulgent candor, and in this case, they work together to craft this thing, this Saturnalia of sound. A cast of instruments includes piano, organ, cello, mandolin, mellotron, and more, but the songs are weighted by dark guitar riffs and their respective vocal strengths. Not surprisingly, this material, while all new to them, does at times get stamped by the weight of their respective careers that forged such influential paths in the ’90s—the previous decade is nipping on the heels of a few songs, but Dulli and Lanegen manage to stay ahead of it by introducing some essential elements into the mix, keeping it fresh enough but still centered by their musical aptitude. I can proclaim it with confidence: the Gutter Twins are a success.

The album is searching in its darkness, and as it offers up such ominous commentary it never strays far from the visceral force of our humanity. It’s a reckoning of sorts to some of the demons that lurk within, and upon the album’s closure, you understand this forage isn’t unsettled; rather a cathartic unveiling has been achieved. The opening song, “The Stations”, is thoroughly indicative of the rest of the album—emotional, harmonious, dark, and intricate. The lyrics suggest an otherworldly pain and fear that’s being addressed throughout the composition: “I hear the rapture’s coming; they say he’ll be here soon / Right now there’s demons crawling all around my room / They say he lives within us; they say for me he died / And now I hear his footsteps almost every night.” Spooky.

The following “God’s Children” is a haunting, guitar-driven track that has a ’90s alternative rock undercurrent, and “All Misery/Flowers” is driven by Lanegan’s striking baritone, which I am in love with. “The way I burn is a son of a bitch,” he states, and there’s a screech-like wail that kicks in the background near the end of the song. “The Body” has an electro edge, a dreamier and more ethereal track that contrasts slightly with the overall grave tone of the record. “Idle Hands” has a slew of guest vocalists and a heavy guitar riff that is balanced by the organ and cello. “Circle the Fringes” is really dark and dreary (shocker): “They won’t wait in line to see me float / Asleep above the waves / They don’t wait in line to bring me up / I’ve seen enough today.” “Bete Noire” is a great song, perhaps my favorite on the record, with a simple drum beat and Lanegan’s voice at times rising but never faltering in its gravity: “Come on in and how hard I can’t recall / I climb and I stumble and I fall / Rains of sins, echo us to fall / What’s left is a shadow of it all / Better run now honey, now / Run your race to ruin.”

“Front Street”, the closing track, is a trenchant, stirring sentiment, with Dulli and Lanegan both taking on the pain of this composition, which is moving in its representation of defeat—words like these come from the darkest of recesses. These lyrics… wow. They are intense and incredibly collected, restrained, painful, and broken—the stuff Lanegan and Dulli are made of. The words take some time getting through, as some are difficult to decipher, but it sure does paint a picture: “Come feel me / I am only one / When it comes apart / We gonna have some fun son” and “I ain’t slept since Monday / People to use / Lovers to break / Handful of pills / No life to take / Bridge of 100 and 50 foot drop.” And then, “But there was a day that I could say that I love you / Oh one evening I could through the long view / Lifted you up and you turned it around.” It’s a sobering and eloquent song.

And that’s the essence of Saturnalia. A portrait depicting human damage, broken lives, lost hopes—all that angst-filled rock ‘n’ roll is made of. The two songwriters have indulged in seasoned reflection over their own tribulations and have cloaked themselves in it entirely. Dulli and Lanegan are full and comprehensive in their musicianship, and the way they’ve translated that depth to the Gutter Twins is beautiful in its misery.

Listen: Various Tracks [at myspace.com]