Cocteau Twins – Treasure: One band’s trash is another fan’s Treasure.

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Artist: Cocteau Twins
Album: Treasure
Year: 1984
Grade: A-

In Brief: For my money, Treasure is the most enduring of an altogether solid run of albums that the Cocteaus put out in the 80s. It’s a polarizing pick, for sure – the reverb-heavy sound and gibberish lyrics can be overbearing for some listeners, and even the band had some misgivings about it in retrospect. But if you’re looking for a good mix of surreal experimentalism and solid hooks and melodies, of ambiguous, foreboding darkness and ethereal lightness, then I think Treasure might be up your alley. It’s still hard for me to believe that something this strange and wonderful actually came out all the way back in 1984.

I’m halfway through my “review one album from each year of the 80s in depth” project now, and I have to say that choosing an album to spotlight each month has been harder than I expected it to be. At first, my assumption was simply, “Go with my favorite thing released each year that wasn’t made by U2“, since I’ve already reviewed the entire U2 discography. When I made my “Raddest Albums of the 80s” list in January and described each choice in brief, I pretty clearly had Bruce Springsteen‘s Born in the U.S.A. in a higher slot than anything else released in 1984, so I figured that one was a lock for my deep-dive this month. And then I got closer to it, and I realized… wow. There is a lot to dissect there, and as much as I love that album, it’s an outlier in what little I’ve explored of the Springsteen catalogue so far, in that I enjoy a lot of the musical choices he and his band made that weren’t common across the rest of his work in the 80s. I’d still like to go back and analyze it more deeply at some point, but at the moment, I feel massively underqualified to do that.

So, uh… what else came out in 1984 that I really liked as I was binging my way through the decade last year? Well, the aforementioned U2 put out The Unforgettable Fire in ’84, which was honestly a much stronger record than I gave it credit for being when I reviewed it nearly twenty years ago. Missing Persons went through what many would consider a sophomore slump with Rhyme & Reason, but I actually enjoyed that record far more than their debut. The always dependable Pat Benatar turned in one of her best of the decade with Tropico. In the land of early alternative Christian rock, The 77s showed massive improvement on their second release All Fall Down. All of these would have been worthy candidates. But I think the most appropriate choice for 1984 would be the Cocteau Twins, whose third record Treasure was a real turning point in a discography that was already shaping up to be quite intriguing. Much to my utter surprise, the Scottish goth rock/dream pop act with the angel-voiced singer who could hardly be bothered to sing in any discernible human language most of the time wowed me rather consistently during my whirlwind trip through the music of the 80s. I had already known their potential to whisk me away to other realms with their sonic decadence thanks to their 1990 release Heaven or Las Vegas, which still remains my favorite of theirs overall. But Treasure is a worthy #2 in their discography. It feels right to put the spotlight on the Cocteaus right now, both because they’re one of my favorite 80s acts overall, and because since singer Liz Fraser and guitarist Robin Guthrie were an item at the time, they fit into my unplanned but somehow poetic series of “bands with couples in them” that I’ve been reviewing all month. With all apologies to Bruce and his formidable songwriting talent, it just feels right to me to be talking about the Cocteau Twins and their otherworldly sonic sculptures right now.

What’s wild about Treasure is the extreme dissonance between the critical acclaim it seems to have consistently gotten, its enduring status as a favorite among the fanbase, and the band members’ apparent disdain toward it. I should say 2/3 of the band – thus far I haven’t been able to dig up anything negative that Liz Fraser has said about it, but Robin Guthrie certainly didn’t mince words, referring to it as “an abortion” and as an example of them going through a period of “artsy fartsy pre-Raphaelite bullshit”. Bassist Simon Raymonde, who at the time was new to the band, has been only slightly less unkind, calling it “our worst album by a mile”, and pointing out that it was made under time constraints and they felt rushed as a consequence. The kicker is that there’s really no one outside the band to blame for any of that, other than perhaps the deadline by which label 4AD expected it to be delivered, as the trio produced the record themselves. They had the lofty notion of getting Brian Eno and Daniel Lanois, a dream team that at the time had just wrapped up producing the aforementioned U2 album which had taken that band’s sound in a more atmospheric and impressionistic direction, to produce Treasure. But Eno was so convinced that the band had already carved out a strong identity for itself, that he didn’t want to get in the way, and he recommended that the band self-produce and stick to their own instincts. Making this sort of atmospheric music, which was heavy on reverb, guitar delay effects, and drum programming, was no small task in 1984. The band seems to have adopted an ethos of throwing out the manual when it came to the complicated (and I imagine quite bulky and expensive) studio equipment they were using to enhance their sonic palette, meaning that pretty much every piece they composed together was an uneasy experiment. Fraser, for her part, was dealing with unreasonably lofty expectations following all the critical praise she’d been receiving up to that point. which led to a bit of songwriting paralysis after which it was ultimately decided that maybe certain songs or sections of songs didn’t need discernible lyrics that could be scrutinized, and that placeholder vocal sounds were enough to convey the intended mood. Hard as it may be to believe, there have been Cocteau songs with actual English lyrics – maybe just phrases here and there, maybe in some cases all you can make out is the title of a song being sung as a refrain, but there actually was some thought put into it behind the scenes, even if it sounds like a lot of the vocal sounds were improvised on the spot. Honestly, I can understand why the band would look back at this stressful period of their lives and decide that the record which came out of all that turmoil isn’t the best example of what they can do creatively, given adequate time and room to breathe. They’d go on to sound much more comfortable in their own skin on Blue Bell Knoll four years later, which is often acclaimed as a career highlight along with this record and Heaven or Las Vegas. But the tension is part of what makes Treasure tick – the almost uncomfortably loud drum machines, the moments of hazy dissonance and gothic gloom that hearken back to their first two records, the vocal passages that are so drenched in echo that even if there had been discernible lyrics, you’d never stand a chance of making them out. Treasure is a fascinating snapshot of a band at a crossroads between their old and new identities. For me, having fallen in love with their goth-oriented early work rather easily, and already knowing at this point that I adored them in full dream pop mode, enjoying Treasure seemed like a no-brainer. I feel like the band members eventually came to peace with this, and acknowledged this record’s status as a fan favorite, so I don’t feel like I’m violating their wishes by liking it or anything. But I’m also glad that they didn’t have to make all of their records in the same sort of intense crucible where Treasure was forged.

INDIVIDUAL TRACKS:

1. Ivo
If you’ve never had the pleasure of hearing the Cocteau Twins before, then I sure think this song would get you off to a lovely start. While it’s drenched in the sort of echoey, alien atmosphere you’d probably have expected from reading about them, Liz Fraser’s angelic voice comes slicing through the haze with startling precision – just because there aren’t “real” lyrics thankfully doesn’t mean that the vocals get shoved into the background of the mix, which is a problem I sometimes have with bands in this genre. The drum programming, while clearly dated, is a very sharp element in the mix, too, its icy coldness playing off of all the fluffy elegance around it. The most grounding factor here is the acoustic guitar, surprisingly enough, which makes its way through a decadent chord progression full of minor chords and major sevenths in the verse, only to switch to a simple but effective two-chord hook in the chorus. Yes, there’s actual structure here – melodies you’ll remember and actually want to sing along to, even if what you’re singing is just your best guess. (Looking up people’s attempts to transcribe these “lyrics” is pretty hilarious – “Peach love, peach loss, Pando, Pompadour”. That can’t be what she’s actually singing, but then anyone else’s guess is as good as mine.) Every single track on this album has a one-word title, and they seem to be named after people or places, many of them with fantastical-sounding names. But “Ivo”, whose name we hear again and again in the chorus (it’s probably the only bit of the lyrics everyone can agree on!), is actually a real person – Ivo Watts-Russell was one of their label bosses at 4AD. Apparently Fraser was originally singing something more like “Beep-Bo” and then she realized his name fit – so we’re right back to the actual inspiration for this song being complete nonsense. All is as it should be in Cocteauville. (Wait, that doesn’t sound quite right… Cocteauland, perhaps? No, wait… Cocteaupia!!!)
Grade: A+

2. Lorelei
This mid-tempo song with its pumping and sometimes stuttering drum programming, which is easily one of the catchiest tracks in the Cocteau twins catalogue, was “a minor dance hit during the mid-1980s”, according to Wikipedia. I’m still not sure I understand what that means… was “dance” its own radio format back then, or were clubs actually paying this? I’m not sure I could imagine actually dancing to it, but then it’s not like dance clubs of any flavor are my scene, so I’ll leave that one to the experts. This is a soothing and yet paradoxically urgent song, thanks to how effortlessly Fraser goes back and forth from her warm cooing in the verses to a slightly more shrill, stuttering vocal affectation in the chorus, even breathing rhythmically at a few points like she’s about to hyperventilate. There are times when I complain about vocalists who sing actual English lyrics, but just end up repeating small snippets of them – to me it feels like a song that could build on its premise never gets off the ground, but then I get into arguments with people who tell me “think of the voice as an instrument”, and I feel bad for not being able to see it that way. When the human voice is unburdened by the need to communicate meaning in English or any other language, though, this ceases to be a problem – all the layering and breathing and doubling back upon itself and other tricks that Fraser is doing here really serves a purpose similar to a guitar or keyboard playing the lead melody on an instrumental track. To be clear, there are actual guitars and keyboards here as well, though in this case Robin Guthrie’s electric guitar just sort of looms in the background, like a two-note siren continually wailing in the distance, along with the soft but distant texture of Simon Raymonde’s bass. The keyboards have this almost regal-sounding, bell-like texture to them, sort of like the bells you’d hear in a few classic Enya songs – except those songs hadn’t even been recorded yet. (If that isn’t enough of a perplexing mixture of sounds to pique your curiosity enough to make you want to go out and hear this track for yourself, then I have truly failed as a writer. Either that, or your tastes are just way different from mine.)
Grade: A

3. Beatrix
Is that a sitar that I hear? Eh… my money’s on it being a synthesizer that was kinda sorta approximating a sitar in the best way that synthesizers could in 1984. But the fact that it’s not the real thing, and also that it’s drenched in reverb, just adds to the uncanny ambiance of the composition. That instrument, Liz’s voice, and some subtle bass notes are pretty much all your hear for the first portion of the song, then some Christmas-y sounding bells and a bit of light percussion come in. But if you’re expecting this one to pick up steam and do anything climactic like the last couple tracks have, you’re gonna be a bit disappointed. It seems like it might get there, and then it just sort of… ends. It’s one instance where, lovely as the sound of it is, I can see why the band felt like they rushed things a bit on this record. This one could have used a tad more finesse to really bring it home.
Grade: B

4. Persephone
If you’re on the fence about whether you can tolerate the Cocteau Twins at their most sonically extreme, this song might serve as a good litmus test. The drum programming is… well, I’m not gonna mince words, it’s a bit harsh, and it’s right up there in your face throughout the entire track, and at a few points it jackhammers its way through the most robotic of drum fills. The guitar licks, swaying in time with the forceful 6/8 rhythm, almost feel like they’re trying to bring a bit of blues influence into the mix. And Liz’s powerful wail, which at several points wavers back and forth between two notes, almost makes me wonder if a young Dolores O’Riordan had been listening in before she joined up with The Cranberries. And if that isn’t enough, eventually her voice gets double-tracked, with the verse and chorus sections overlapping, making it feel like you’re wandering through one of carnival mirror mazes and you can’t figure out where the real Liz Fraser is actually standing. And you know what’s really wild? I think she’s singing actual English lyrics this time, at least for part of the song. The phrase “Is what it takes” repeats throughout the chorus, and then there’s something about a timepiece and… OK, I’m not gonna pretend to understand this, but it’s nice to make out real words every now and then. All of the disparate elements in this song are all so weird in the way that they come together that I can’t help but love it, but I imagine some people’s reaction to it would be like my reaction, as a non-drinker, to a mixed drink made with several exotic hard alcohols all thrown together. It’s potent, and it’s bound to be polarizing. By this point, having already binged their 90s albums and also having decided I was on board with their more ominous, goth-influenced, early material, it was easy for me to like this because I was clearly drinking the Cocteau Kool-Aid. (Coctaid? Gah, that sounds terrible! How about, uh… Coctail. Yeah, that sounds way classier.)
Grade: A-

5. Pandora (for Cindy)
“What language is this?” That’s the question my wife finally thought to ask when I subjected her to this album in the car, I guess because the heavily layered, syncopated, alliteration-heavy gibberish here makes it more obvious than even your average Cocteau Twins track that this ain’t English. (Here’s a sampling of a transcription I found while looking up the guitar chords: “Phoebe you present, Friday noon, for philosophy, whose Friday night, a fast guitar/If you forget, send a cat, okioki, Palooka, one of Xavier’s.” Usually if I want this sort of hilarity, I just leave my TV’s auto-captioning on during one of those Whose Line Is It Anyway? sketches where they’re all shouting maniacally over one another.) I had to explain to her that these people are from Scotland and they speak English in their everyday lives, but their songs often consist of nothing but made-up words. I’m not sure she knew what to think of that. Like I said, this is polarizing music – definitely not for everyone. But this song, you guys… mmmmmmmm, it just gets my mouth watering and my heart all aflutter. I’m a sucker for major seventh chords, as I noted earlier when discussing “Ivo”, and this song doesn’t even really do anything complex with ’em – it’s mostly just an F major seventh and a C major seventh over and over, each noted arpeggiated softly on a guitar with the most tranquil effects pedal known to man applied to it, accompanied by light, almost jazzy drumming, while the vocal onslaught comes raining down from all sides. There are actually a few instrumental breaks where they just ruminate on those chords for a while – this song’s definitely on the longer side as a result, but I’m in such a state of bliss that it could go on forever and I probably wouldn’t mind. I went to a Charismatic church for part of my formative years, so I’m really tempted to make a “singing in tongues” joke here, but that doesn’t quite do it justice. I know that by this point, Fraser was already sick and tired of her voice being compared to angels and/or God, but honestly? Whatever the afterlife turns out to be like, if this were the song playing to greet new arrivals, I’d be like, “Yeah, that tracks.”
Grade: A+

6. Amelia
By now you should be up to speed with the Cocteau’s sonic palette for this album – heavy drum programming, usually in 3/4 or 6/8, moody chord progressions, often slipping into minor key (or in this case, even throwing a few unsettling temporary key changes into the mix), very watery-sounding guitars, Liz Fraser wailing a lot of made-up words, lather, rinse, repeat. This track is mostly guilty of sticking to that formula, so it doesn’t stand out to me as much as the entire front half of the record did, but there’s a feeling of emptiness and desolation to certain parts of it that is hard to describe. This is definitely more of a post-rock mindset, rather than the usual “Hey, we’re opening up side two of the album, better hit ’em with something up-tempo!” approach taken by a lot of rock bands in this era.
Grade: B

7. Aloysius
This is one of the album’s more upbeat tracks, both in terms of tone and tempo, though it has a light enough touch at first that I don’t notice immediately. The guitars have a much brighter texture to them, and the delay effects use reminds me of a sound that became more commonplace in alt-pop and “college rock” around the late 80s and early 90s – it’s one of those sonic tricks that always whisks me away to my secret little happy place. Liz is leaning harder on the cheerier side of the voice and not sounding as sinister as she sometimes can. Several of her notes in the chorus seem to end sharply rather than sustaining, which almost reminds me of a chorus of birds peeping softly. Through the layering of what I’m assuming are multiple vocal takes, her voice becomes like a soft bed of leaves or flower petals to walk on as you explore this song’s mystical secret garden. It’s friggin’ gorgeous, is what I’m trying to say.
Grade: A

8. Cicely
This one brings back the louder drum programming style heard in “Persephone”, actually using a very similar pattern, but it seems a little less harsh this time because it’s balanced out by the very calming sound of what I’m assuming is a vibraphone. The bass notes underpinning it seem to have more of a warm, gooey ambiance as well. And yet just when I start to feel a sense of security, there’s this ominous, dissonant background noise, possibly the sound of someone scraping guitar strings and running it through some sort of a filter, running slowly up the fretboard to build and release tension. I love the weird little details that come out of the woodwork when you really listen intently to a Cocteau Twins record. Lazily saying “It all sounds the same” is for amateurs (but who am I kidding, I was one of those not all that long ago).
Grade: B+

9. Otterley
The quietest song on the album seems like it’s barely there at first – just a series of very slow, arpeggiated guitar chords, each reverberating gently off into the night sky before the next one starts, with only whispered vocals and the sound of waves for ambiance. It brings to mind the image of walking on a very cold and yet serenely beautiful beach late at night. It’s almost new-agey sounding – or at least, it would be if the vocals were trying to whisper something subliminal about us being at one with the waves or something. The Cocteau Twins are less straightforward than that, of course, so you can hear whatever you feel like you want to hear in those whispers. It’s the mood that gets me more than the meaning – listening to this song feels like I’m being tucked in and sung a calming lullaby to distract me from the fact that I’m holed up in a cabin on a deserted beach somewhere hours away from civilization. I wouldn’t want the entirety of a Cocteau Twins record to sound like this (it’s why I didn’t connect as much with their follow-up album Victorialand, though most of that one wasn’t quite this ambient), but as a pause in the action, this is really quite arresting.
Grade: B

10. Donimo
The closing track is, for my money, the finest grand finale that the Cocteau Twins ever put on a record. (UUUUUUUGGGHHHHHHH, how could the very people who made this not like it as much as I do?!) Now to be fair, I certainly didn’t get that impression on first listen, when a good two of its six minutes were spent hanging on a single ambient chord, creating a sense of sterile stillness as Liz sings Latin-esque words in a solemn tone. (I’m convinced that she must have picked up the word “Domine” from singing in a church coir, and this is her nonsensical version.) Leaving us hanging on such an austere final note certainly would have been a startling choice to end the record – but suddenly, a few minutes in, there’s this sudden outpouring of celestial joy as the drums and guitars kick in, her voice suddenly ringing out from the rafters as this climactic and yet inherently peaceful melody begins to repeat. And just when I think the song is going to stretch out into a long, polite fade after that point, they give us another climactic hit just for good measure. Somehow the deferred gratification makes it that much sweeter. It’s like one of those euphoric moments near the end of a classic Sigur Rós song (a band that the Cocteaus likely influenced), except that you don’t have to wait like eight minutes to get there. And there you have it – I may have dodged the challenge of reviewing an album that was so densely packed with strong lyrics that I was afraid I couldn’t do it justice, but I think I’ve managed to wring a heck of a lot of meaning out of an album that has almost no discernible lyrics whatsoever.
Grade: A

WHAT’S IT WORTH TO ME?
Ivo $2
Lorelei $1.75
Beatrix $1
Persephone $1.50
Pandora (for Cindy) $2
Amelia $1
Aloysius $1.75
Cicely $1.25
Otterley $1
Donimo $1.75
TOTAL: $15

BAND MEMBERS:
Elizabeth Fraser: Vocals, production
Robin Guthrie: Guitars, production
Simon Raymonde: Bass, production

LISTEN FOR YOURSELF:

MORE USEFUL LINKS:
http://www.cocteautwins.com/
https://www.facebook.com/ctwins