This became the guiding direction for
Up In It (SubPop, 1990). At times, the Afghan Whigs still sound like a cross between the
Replacements and
Dinosaur Jr
thrown into a sulfuric acid solution (Hated, perhaps their masterpiece), and they still indulge mercilessly in their infernal rock-and-roll (Southpaw), but their new modus vivendi is characterized by a more controlled noise. This does not mean, however, that their ballads have lost intensity—as Retarded and I Know Your Little Secret demonstrate, they remain the most electric and desperate.
Masters of a brutal “voodoo-grunge” (Amphetamines and Coffee), the Afghan Whigs also express themselves with equal ferocious ease in White Trash Party, a frenetically funky piece, and the Beefheart-inspired blues of Son of the South. The animalistic violence in their sound is also evident in the single Sister Brother and its censored video.
Congregation (SubPop, 1992),
however, pays the price for the shift toward white soul. Compared to previous albums, it feels sterile and banal. Elegies like Turn on the Water update Mascis’s style to Westerberg’s maturity but with too little vigor. Autobiographical confessions in tracks like the heartfelt Conjure Me and Dedicate It certainly portray Dulli’s twisted personality, but they lack originality, sitting midway among various confessional ballad genres. The more experimental tracks, I’m Her Slave and Miles Iz Ded, remain peripheral episodes for now.
The EP Uptown Avondale (Subpop, 1993), devoted to covers of soul classics, seemed out of context.
It marked instead the new course of Dulli, as demonstrated by
Gentlemen (Elektra, 1993),
simply better arranged (backup singers, mellotron, cello), reaching a baroque apex in the instrumental Brother Woodrow. Be Sweet, Debonair (with strong funky guitar strumming) and the desolate My Curse (sung by Marcy Mays of Scrawl) have a suggestive power that transcends class, sex, and age—but the main attraction appears to be the masochistic fantasies of the young Cincinnati dandy.
The frantic Now You Know overflows with resentment (“now I can pimp what's left of this wreck on you”), and in Fountain and Fairfax Dulli’s sardonic, perverse side emerges—the showman who proclaims his fatal destiny in the title track and rants in the crescendo of What Jail Is Like with operatic intensity. This is Dulli’s darkest album, almost an antithesis of everything rock and roll epitomizes. Rick McCollum’s guitar is becoming his alter ego.
The formula repeats somewhat tiredly on
Black Love (Elektra, 1996),
, another parade of tales of failure, regret, and catharsis, now shouted with the force of a dying man (Crime Scene Part One, My Enemy) or paced with the anger of a street thug (Honky’s Ladder). Going to Town and Blame Etc. employ funky and soul clichés, sounding at times like the demonic Stones of Play With Fire. All the songs are uniformly mediocre—not cobbled together, just lacking inspiration and content. The album opens on the final notes of Gentlemen, suggesting continuity, but the trajectory is completely different. The proverbial balance between soul and grunge has collapsed in favor of the latter. “A lie the truth... which one should I use?”—perhaps it’s time Dulli decided.
After two albums so sincere yet so bleak, essentially two acts of self-flagellation, Dulli was hospitalized in New Orleans for nervous depression. When he emerged and the Afghan Whigs reformed, Michael Horrigan replaced the drummer.
1965 (Columbia, 1998) celebrates the reborn Dulli with a profusion of horns, keyboards, and strings, and the most libertine lyrics of his career. The arrangements are licentious, the lyrics lascivious: Something Hot, a sultry, Prince-like soul track; Uptown Again, a noisy power ballad—both juvenile pranks compared to Gentlemen’s grandeur. Dulli—the perverse corrupter—dives into the sensual, malevolent atmospheres of 66 and the Freudian nightmare of Omerta, underscored by near free-jazz brass.
The album echoes the 1960s rhythm and blues endlessly: Crazy repeats a Hendrix-like “drugged” riff and climbs over a pastiche of Rolling Stones–style violins (Satanic Majesties). John the Baptist constructs a demonic harmony, overlaying a plantation-preacher chant (a sacrilegious Nick Cave), obsessive funky tribalism, a shrill brass fanfare, and a gospel choir (with an almost bebop instrumental coda). These are complex, articulated tracks that highlight Dulli’s skill as a sonic architect. This is yet another transformation of this singular character: first a grunge shouter, then a maudit songwriter, and now a refined producer. The closing instrumental, The Vampire Lanois, a gothic-toned free jazz uproar, suggests his future could well be leading an instrumental ensemble.
Greg Dulli had the potential to become one of the most delicate and intelligent singer-songwriters of his generation, but instead he is seeking the path to “superstardom” through a violent, coarse sound, risking turning himself into a kind of Bruce Springsteen of melodic heavy metal.
Destined for a promising future as a soul singer-songwriter, Dulli ended up in the wrong scene (hardcore first and grunge later) even if he arrived there at the right moment.
Greg Dulli's first project after Afghan Whigs was the Twilight Singers, and it
revolved around the form of the rhythm'n'blues ballad.
Twilight (Columbia, 2000) was recorded (mainly in 1997)
with the help of several friends, including
Screaming Trees' Barrett Martin,
Satchel's Shawn Smith
and the duo Fila Brazillia. Dulli sounds like an elderly soul singer who
has discovered modern dance rhythms
(Twilite Kid, That's Just How That Bird Sings).
Greg Dulli uncovers his soul in a more sincere way on
Plays Blackberry Belle (One Little Indian, 2004 - Birdman, 2005), whose
orchestral arrangements do not detract from the passion and self-flagellation
(Number Nine).
The Twilight Singers' third album, She Loves You (One Little Indian, 2004), was a terrible collection of covers.
Greg Dulli's Amber Headlights (Infernal, 2005) actually contains
unreleased music of the Twilight Singers.
Powder Burns (2006) was the proper release of the band,
a rather uneventful one.
The EP A Stitch In Time (Little Indian, 2007) contains a duet with
Mark Lanegan, Flashback.
Greg Dulli's other project is the Gutter Twins with Mark Lanegan.
The Twilight Singers' Dynamite Steps (Sub Pop, 2011) sounded like
an album built around two collaborations:
Be Invited with Mark Lanegan and
Blackbird And The Fox with Ani DiFranco; with the rest being mere
filler.
The Afghan Wigs returned with
Do to the Beast (2014), that contains songs like Algiers and These Sticks worthy of Dulli's solo albums if not of the band's classics,
followed by the mediocre In Spades (2017).
