Gods of shoegaze end the long wait

If God waited too long to come back, even He might face some critics.

So it is for gods of shoegaze My Bloody Valentine, who reenter the void after 22(!) years of silence with their third full-length album “MBV.”

Three albums over the span of 25 years. Not exactly prolific. Was it worth the wait? Granted, a lot of people had probably given up on the possibility of a new My Bloody Valentine release in their Christmas stocking, ever. Rumors of a “new album” have come and gone with the passing seasons and decades; some say a drum-and-bass MBV release was scrapped at the last moment about 12 years ago; since then, there was some tantalizing news when the Valentines began touring, playing new material, recording again.

Initial spins of “MBV” indicate it’s a sonic continuation of 1991’s “Loveless.” That woozy headfirst dive into shoegaze hooked a lot of listeners: the iconic blurry album cover is probably listed in the dictionary next to the word “shoegaze.” The first two tracks have the same churning whorl as “Loveless”; lead songwriter Kevin Shields’ whammy bar is in almost constant motion here, rendering the listening experience much akin to hearing a 33 rpm LP in which the center hole is slightly off-center; by the second cut it feels like the portable turntable is also running down its battery. But underneath the sludgy mix you can make out some promising melodies. Shields hasn’t lost his unique pop sensibility, however askew and warped.

It opens with She Found Now, a flowing tide of bowel-shifting fuzz bass and bent strings speckled with sweet vocal exhalations and guitar chimes. It’s pretty.

Track 2, Only Tomorrow, sounds like it could have emerged from the early MBV release “Isn’t Anything” with its stop-start drum pattern and, again, churning whammy bar. It pounds like nitrous oxide for the ears. A guitar cuts up through the mix at around 4:30 and charts a repeating glam riff that takes the song to its coda. This qualifies, in Shields’ book, as a “hook.” You will be humming it or nodding your head to it in no time.

But 10 minutes in, “MBV” starts to awaken doubts: is this really all the band has in its paintbox, after all these years? Have they not moved on since 1991?

By Track 3 things start taking some interesting turns. The loping drum pattern of Who Sees You encodes a typically lurching vocal line, Shields going for those lilting, odd-key changes, and then the whole thing is lifted by a majestic, quivering guitar motif that soars into ether — until it stops dead.

Shields, an American who has recorded with the Dublin members of My Bloody Valentine since 1983, has said at times he experiences hypnagogia, that strange neurological experience in which you can’t really tell if you’re asleep or awake. That adequately defines the sound of MBV, with its shimmering surfaces, propulsive waves of distortion and prettified melodies floating on top.

Track 4 is a breath of air after the dirge, a layered keyboard exercise called Is This And Yes. A perfect time to chill out and regroup, Bilinda Butcher’s cooing vocalizing lying abed the pulsing organ tones, while below soft tom-toms invite you along for the ride. It sounds like one of those late ‘60s Beach Boys instrumentals, say from “Friends.”

Track 5 (If I Am) contains a soft wah-wah pedal warping and woofing as delicate guitar lines emerge. It fits the pattern. Like previous albums, “MBV” was recorded completely on analogue equipment (two-inch 24-track tape), with drum tracks laid down and stripped off repeatedly. A sort of palimpsest of sound is the result.  

Track 6 (New You) sounds like a single, if such a thing were ever expected of MBV. My wife said, listening from an adjacent room, that it sounded like indie pop band Ivy. She’s right. This is probably the closest thing to a pop song MBV has done, and it sounds gorgeous. A bouncy tremolo guitar line snakes through the track, and the refrain is infectious.

In Another Way, Track 7, reminds one of Deerhoof before descending into an echoey hole guided by a repeating guitar riff. Track 8, Nothing Is, chugs along like a Bo Diddley song remastered in the bowels of purgatory. It’s the only instrumental, though arguably most of the lyrics are hard to decipher in any literal sense. Track 9, which closes the album, soars on wings of flange, grafting a variation on the keyboard pattern from Is This And Yes with a skittery, drum-n-bass pattern, much as “Loveless” closed with Soon, a nod to the then-current dance scene.

Though this review is a blow-by-blow, “MBV” is not the kind of album you experience as separate tracks. In a way, it’s wallpaper music. Disturbing wallpaper that you can nod your head to, while going about your business. Or you can sway to it. MBV has always been about creating a separate space, a context in which its sound makes perfect sense.

Like past albums, one must sit with “MBV” a while to discern its many layers. I’m reminded of certain Stanley Kubrick movies that take repeat viewings to fully appreciate. And it does grow on you.

A cascading juggernaut of sound pushes “MBV” along. You’re hearing equal parts Brian Wilson experimentalism and sonic bravado: Shields doesn’t seem to concern himself with anything beyond his own peculiar ear for things. Because of this, each new statement by MBV necessarily sounds like it’s on the cutting edge of something.

 And then, just as quickly as 46 minutes go by (or as slowly, depending on your reaction to the album), it’s over. And you’re left again with silence.

 They used to say God’s silence was deafening. A new album by MBV no longer carries such weighty impact, not even among diehards; the world has moved on. But MBV remain, stubbornly, beautifully, their ever-shifting selves. My Bloody Valentine’s sudden return to our earspace is a bit baffling, disconcerting, and somehow comforting.

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Download the album at www.mybloodyvalentine.org/