Cocteau Twins Lose Their Angry Roots

The Cocteau Twins built their reputation on being a gothic-ambient, primarily electronic band. Their incomprehensible but passionate vocals struck a chord in the hearts of an unexpectedly large contingent of despairing Britons. Hence the cries of "Sellout!" when the group switched from the obscure 4AD to main-stream Capitol Records, and the winces of fans when 1993's lovely and melodic Four-Calendar Cafe attracted comparisons to the Sundays and the Cranberries. The Cocteau Twins' two latest EPs, released within weeks of each other, take the Twins' unique, subtly emotive sound in a new direction altogether, with uneven results.

These two EPs are far from identical. Twinlights, the first, is almost totally organic. The group's trademark musical sound, the eerie, echoing swirl of Robin Guthrie's distorted guitars, is replaced with fragile picking on an acoustic guitar. Though the occasional soft chime of a synthesizer filters in, the tone is a far cry from the abrasive synth of their first few albums. "Half-Gifts," the final track, even features a four-part string section.

Twinlights also continues vocalist Liz Fraser's recent trend toward a less embellished singing style. Considering her assertion that abuse in childhood led her to sing in nonsense syllables, one can only be glad to see her emergence into the realm of the intelligible. Yet Fraser's voice has now lost its most striking asset, an "I'm either verging on a nervous breakdown or about to explode with joy" quality. Her singing on this EP is on a par with the pretty but insipid vocals of the Sundays' Harriet Wheeler -- without the cynical edge of humor that makes Wheeler palatable.

Even the track "Rilkean Heart", with gorgeous vocal harmonies and exquisitely timed instrumental accompaniment, is marred by Fraser's lyrical weaknesses. The song manages to sidestep the bottomless well of self-pity into which most breakup songs plummet, but Fraser still sounds as though she's reading from a self-help book: "I looked for you to give me transcendent experiences... I'm so sorry."

Twinlights' pinnacle is its remake of the obscure "Pink Orange Red." Like 1984's "The Spangle-Maker," their most accessible and popular song to date, "Pink Orange Red" never really resolves. The first minute of the song consists of Fraser's tentative vocals hovering over three muted piano chords. Fragile acoustic finger-picking and the barely audible pulse of synthesized strings are slowly woven in while Fraser's voice soars to subtly cathartic heights. The song ends by spiraling into a minute of vocal trilling that calls to mind the continuous, fluttering fall of autumn leaves.

The second album, Otherness, is a return to the drum machines and synthesizers of the Cocteaus' first albums. Yet in tone, the EP is light-years away from those days of bristling desperation. "Feet Like Fins" is the most egregious track in this regard. It sounds a thousand other New Age tracks -- the silvery synthesizer line sticks to three notes, Fraser keeps to a mere two, and the song contains of the same four measures repeated over and over. "Violaine." the one track on the EP with personality, has its sublime moments. In the chorus, Fraser's voice finally breaks through its recently adopted sweet and inoffensive veneer.

Whether that single glimmer of passion is worth trudging through fifteen minutes of auditory rice pudding is debatable. At four tracks each, the cost-benefit ratio of both EPs may be too high for all but the most die-hard obsessives -- who probably already own both of them. Since two songs from each EP are slated to be on the soon-to-be-released full-length album Milk and Kisses, the best bet is probably to wait until then.

Yet those yearning for a return to the emotive power of 1984's quietly heartbreaking Treasure will likely be disappointed with the upcoming full-length album. Word is that Fraser considers Milk and Kisses a psychic return to the soothing days of her childhood, as hinted at by its uncharacteristically sentimental title. Judging from Fraser's statements and the material on these two EP's, the Cocteaus seem to have succumbed to the disease that terrifies every Prozac-wary auteur -- a thirst for happiness.