Depeche Mode - Spirit

The Guardian 80

A misguided endorsement from one of America’s most hated figures only serves to make the fury here sound even more righteous

From New Labour and Britpop to Donald Trump and Neil Young’s Rockin’ in the Free World, politicians’ attempts to co-opt pop music seldom end well. But spare a thought for poor old Depeche Mode, recipients of perhaps the least welcome political endorsement since Margaret Thatcher killed the burgeoning career of 80s hopefuls Thrashing Doves stone dead by saying she liked their video on Saturday Superstore. Last month, American neo-Nazi Richard Spencer – best known as That Guy Who Got Punched on Live Television – described them as “the official band of the alt-right”. A “lifelong fan” of Depeche Mode, he went on to suggest that “ambiguity” in their music implied they had “a fascist element”.

Related: Depeche Mode – 10 of the best

Related: No Richard Spencer, Depeche Mode are not 'the official band of the alt-right' | Martin Belam

Pitchfork 68

The 14th studio album from synth giants Depeche Mode begins with frontman Dave Gahan declaring that “We are not there yet/We have not evolved.” It’s the first of many admonitions Gahan issues on what turns out to be the most pointedly topical and compassionate effort in the band’s career. Over solemn piano chords and a lockstep electro groove that hints at the cadence of a protest march, Gahan laments how “we feel nothing inside” as we “track it all with satellites” and “watch men die in real time.” By track two, “Where’s the Revolution,” Gahan begins calling for out-and-out revolt, chiding the audience: “Come on people/You’re letting me down.” In his golden-throated baritone, Gahan reminds us that we’ve been “pissed on/For too long,” our “rights abused” by governments who “Manipulate and threaten/With terror as a weapon.”

Apparently, principal lyricist and songwriter Martin Gore is no longer content to focus all his attention on the spiritual searching that has defined Depeche Mode’s music for more than 30 years. Over that time, few artists have so artfully portrayed the inner dialogue between redemption and indulgence. By the band’s 1990 breakout Violator, Gore had basically invented his own syntax for the human condition as a purgatorial struggle between sinful pleasures and a yearning for higher peace. And Gahan, with his ability to invest urgency, soul, and a feeling of debauched weariness into subjects like S&M and tortured love, has never failed to translate Gore’s restless malaise to the throngs who fill stadiums to connect with it. Gahan turns despair into sex appeal unlike no other. But this time, he’s tasked with looking up from his satin, regret-stained sheets and making us believe that an aging rock star really cares about civil unrest.

Gahan delivers Gore’s state-of-world address for three songs in a row before going back to the band’s bread-and-butter obsessions. Later, though, on “Poorman”—which self-consciously references the spartan electronic gurgle of the Violator hit “Policy of Truth”—Gore and Gahan risk coming off as oblivious to the irony when they observe that “corporations get the breaks/Keeping almost everything they make” and ask, “When will it trickle down?” But Depeche Mode deliver anthems with such proficiency that sincerity barely matters. A song like “Where’s the Revolution” makes you feel like singing in response to today’s headlines. Depeche Mode still make universal, stadium-sized music that’s limber enough to fit through your bedroom doorframe, as if it had been conceived with your life in mind.

In some respects, though, their consistency works against them. The sixth album since the departure of multi-instrumentalist/arranger Alan Wilder, Spirit sees Depeche Mode once again shuffling through the most quintessential components of their sound. On “Cover Me,” Gore’s haunting Lanois-esque guitar twang allows you to close your eyes and picture yourself under the Northern lights Gahan sings about. But aside from “Cover Me,” Spirit lacks the ambience of Depeche Mode’s most atmospheric material. If only producer/mixer James Ford (Florence and the Machine, Foals, Arctic Monkeys) had disheveled the sounds a bit, Spirit could have better asserted its place in Depeche Mode’s body of work.

Instead, Ford—who is also one half of the electronic duo Simian Mobile Disco—mimics the vibe of the band’s iconic work with producer Flood. But even Flood didn’t imitate himself when he mixed the last DM album, 2013’s far more creatively resolute Delta Machine. Nevertheless, this is a band whose effortlessness can misguide you into thinking they’re not trying. Don’t be fooled. In the bridge of “Where’s the Revolution,” Gahan repeats the line “the train is coming, the train is coming... get on board.” You can draw inspiration from that lyric whether or not you take to the streets or petition your elected officials. Gore’s directive is less about activism and more about opening your heart so that it guides your conscience. For him, the term “spirit” has come to encompass politics, but it’s fueled by the same eros that’s driven the band’s music since day one. Which is why Spirit is so convincing in spite of its radical shift in tenor. For both the band and audience, that shift couldn’t have come at a better time.