Propaganda
Bureau B Records
If only public opinion could be swayed by the mesmerizing spread of Propaganda, the long-awaited, eponymous new album from the arty synth-dance duo of Ralf Dorper and Michael Mertens. Accustomed to lengthy periods of dormancy, Propaganda’s signal was strongest in the early ‘80s, when they were the poisonous, dark-wave apple of cutting edge label ZTT Records’ discerning eye. It’s waxed and waned ever since.
A Secret Wish swanned about gracefully when released in 1983, their groundbreaking debut LP taking a bow as one of electronica’s most elegant and innovative ballets, its global success seemingly preordained. Mertens’ classical background as a Dusseldorf Symphony Orchestra percussionist and Dorper’s subversive electro-punk inclinations with Die Krupps dovetailed beautifully, their next creative summit yielding the fluid currents of 1990’s 1234 in a second act of daring experimentation and surprising collaborations with the likes of David Gilmour and Howard Jones.
More stylishly contoured sounds roll through Propaganda’s lush and absorbing third full-length effort, a dramatic rebirth for the German pair, who’ve proven adept at avant-garde sound sculpture and cloaking themes of pleasure and pain, alienation, and socio-political anxiety in sonorous, unsettling mystery. The dulcet sophistication of singer Thunder Bae practically sinks into inky atmospherics, as echoes of their initial, fully realized forays into shadowy synth-pop are heard in the cinematic “Love:Craft” and the slightly sinister trip-hop noir of “Purveyor of Pleasure,” which is flooded by episodes of shining radiance. They’ve learned some new tricks, too.
Distorted, robotic vocals introduce the creeping, rhythmically smooth opener “They Call Me Nocebo,” vaporous washes pouring down as finger snaps and a trickle of guitar appear out of nowhere. Meanwhile, the slow-motion effervescence of “Tipping Point” and the firm, elastic bounce of a breezy “Vicious Circle” contrast airy buoyancy with agitated, worried lyrics. More epic in scope, the oceanic “Dystopian Waltz” is murky and orchestral, with deep-diving swathes of strings and stormy crescendoes carrying the widescreen ambitions of Propaganda with troubling fear bubbling underneath. Revisit early Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark and latter-day Depeche Mode for blueprints of Propaganda’s plans, but perhaps they’ve been listening surreptitiously to The Notwist, as well.
