The latest collaboration from Isobel Campbell and Mark
Lanegan—late of Belle And Sebastian and Screaming Trees,
respectively—offers a combination that's instantly striking, though not
exactly new: the gnarled male vocal and its glassy female foil. Perhaps
familiarity makes that blend so resonant (the opener's title, "Seafaring Song,"
nods to tradition), or maybe it's just an aural parlor trick, but accompanied
by lonesome plucked guitar, a smattering of strings, and upright bass as it is
here, the mix is undeniable. The question: Can these two sustain interest over
an entire album (their second together), or, like so many of their predecessors'
contributions, will Sunday At Devil Dirt become mere ambience for the two things
most commonly done in bed? As the second song, "The Raven," comes in, featuring
Lanegan atop Campbell's wordless backdrop, it's clear that their chemistry not
only extends beyond the niceties of their voices intertwining, but overcomes
the potential for novelty inherent in their initial collaboration, 2006's Ballad
Of The Broken Seas.
When Lanegan leads, the combo truly sings, his
voice sounding inconceivably wizened against a backdrop of ghostly coos and
sighs from his partner, and instrumentation that goes one of two ways: spare
bluesiness, as on "Salvation," and bare-but-lush balladry, found on "Who Built
The Road." But Campbell's attentiveness to mood (and the force of her
counterpart's pipes) ultimately diminishes her spotlight; when she takes the
reins for "Shotgun Blues," her voice is thin, atmospheric wallpaper. Always a
gentleman, Lanegan does the heavy lifting—providing equal parts Tom Waits
pulp creepiness, Willie Nelson-like hard-earned truth, and Lee Hazlewood
come-on, allowing conductor-songwriter Campbell to nuance each song just enough
to avoid stagnation. And, for now, the bedroom.