Cult of Youth's eponymous LP is the group's second full-length, but it might be better (especially for newcomers) to treat it as a debut. For one, it's their first album as an honest-to-goodness group: previous Cult of Youth recordings (including the official full-length debut, Dais Records' A Stick to Bind, a Seed to Grow, currently out-of-print) were exclusively the work of frontman Sean Ragon. On these earlier works, Ragon didn't invite comparisons to neofolk progenitors like Death in June and Current 93 so much as demand them. The combination of Ragon's strident and sepulchral vocals -- which could bear a striking resemblance to those of Swans' Michael Gira-- with vigorously-strummed acoustic guitars and semi-industrial backing beats often made for an arresting experience, but even those attuned to Ragon's particular wavelength might find the original version of Cult of Youth hard to take for more than a few songs at a time.
The four-person configuration presented on Cult of Youth goes a long way toward smoothing over those rough edges. During the album's first few tracks, it sounds like Ragon's simply found a way to successfully translate his previous work to a full-band setting. As the album progresses, though, it becomes clearer that this version of Cult of Youth (with the help of producer Chris Coady) has taken on an air associated with that small bundle of first-wave post-punk groups who opted to account for more rustic musics within their angles: think pre-Breakfast Club Simple Minds and (especially on "Through the Fear") or "Cattle and Cane"-era Go-Betweens. Replace Ragon's indomitable vocal presence on a song like "Casting Thorns" or "Weary" with a more soothing presence-- Marissa Nadler or Alela Diane, for example-- and you might think those songwriters were the ones responsible for writing the track.
The updated, re-recorded version of A Stick to Bind track "Cold Black Earth" provides a perfect contrast between Cult of Youth's past and present. Originally, the song featured a multi-tracked Ragon bellowing the would-be anthem in a stiff and martial fashion, accompanied only by guitar and bass. On the new album, the track is given a propulsive rolling drum beat, which inspires Ragon (now singing by himself) to speed up his pace and lighten his touch. The addition of well-placed violin flurries (courtesy of Zola Jesus string arranger/full-time Cult member Christiana Key) also helps, turning a lugubrious dirge into something much more spry and palatable. However, those afraid Ragon has lost his edge amidst these more flattering surroundings don't need to worry: If anything, as his unhinged performances on "The Dead Sea" and "Weary" illustrate, he's more willing to risk absurdity as a vocalist now that he has a more robust musical backing to soften the blows. That goes double for Ragon and friends as musicians: It's hard to not listen to the band take the "The Lamb" from its modest acoustic introduction to its expansive semi-psychedelic end and think of what Cult of Youth could accomplish once they reconvene to make their second album.
