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7th September 1991, N.M.E.
No doubt about it, Cranes upset people. Hence the 'Appaling' tag bestowed upon them by unimpressed NME staffers, hence the aghast response of certain colleagues at the revelation that, yes, I had managed to 'endure' Wings Of Joy in its entirety without getting the urge to throw the tape out of the window.
It's a shame they couldn't make it to side two, where Adoration lurks in all its poppy, melodic finery and Cranes flaunt a more sociable cheekbone. But there is much to displease the casual observer long before Adoration soars in. The Esperanto-style wailing of Alison Shaw for one thing; the plodding one finger piano parts for another; the stark, staring 'Goffic' instrumentation for yet another.
Cranes upset people because, hell, they sound so upset themselves. This is one long trans-Siberian train ride out of Pop Tune City and into grim, grey areas where few others care to travel. Monotonous creativity collides with doomy atmospherics and, oddly enough, Stock Aitken and Waterman have failed to return Cranes' calls.
No matter how high Alison stretches her larynx, an oppressive heaviness prevails. The likes of Tomorrow's Tears are enfused with a tragic grandeur, like a wizened, incontinent actress farting through her final days as part of the Society. Elsewhere, Wings Of Joy is simply tragic, as is the jerky - almost robotic - rhythms of Watersong, the plunging melodies of Starblood, or the woeful ballet noir of the outrageously incongruously - titled Hopes are High, an industrial nightmare where Alison sings the bruise.
Sure, molten guitars and mathematical formations comprise a formidable landscape, but Cranes aren't impenetrable - if you listen closely enough to Tomorrow's Tears you can even make out what Alison is gasping on about - they're just uneasy listening.
Ultimately, after all the media jibes, Wings Of Joy is an aural nervous breakdown. An album which sits in the corners at parties, shivering, inconsolable and utterly, terrifyingly alone. Play this record loud and scare the living crap out of the neighbours. (7/10)
Reviewed by Simon Williams.
© NME 1991
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