As the opening chords of 'War (The Process)' swirl around the speakers, it's like being back at the end of the 80s. When the man sometimes known as Ian Astbury opens his mouth and lets out that familiar banshee howl, that feeling is tripled. Welcome to The Cult 2001 - meet the new boss, same as the old boss.
Ditching the trippy electronic psychedelic feel of 1992's 'The Witch' and 1994's self-titled album, this is The Cult stripped back to the sound that once filled stadiums. But how does that stand up in today's world of rap-rock and nu-metal.
The opening bombast of 'War' and 'The Saint' show that The Cult aren't making too many concessions to fashion - bar a slightly heavier guitar sound. Tambourines, screeching guitar solos and Astbury's quasi-spiritual lyrics are all present and correct.
The grinding riff of 'Rise' threatens to take the band into contemporary waters but is tempered by that familiar Duffy rhythm sound. 'Take The Power' also features some Rage Against The Machine-style high-pitched scraping but, as ever, Astbury relies on his soaring voice to convey the message.
The opening riff to 'Breathe' almost sounds like those legendary chords to 'She Sells Sanctuary' at half speed before mutating into another stamping stadium rocker. It's hard to know if these flourishes are a conscious nod to the past or not.
The gentler 'Hey Nico' comes as something of a ray of light after the unrelenting dark heaviness of the opening five songs, as well as serving a reminder that The Cult can also do more heartfelt material, and lyrically bears comparison to their famous eulogy, 'Edie (Ciao Baby)'.
The detuned guitars are back on 'American Gothic', as Astbury shrieks "Black star/White light". 'Ashes & Ghosts' features a spoken-word introduction before once again the guitars kick the doors down. 'Shape The Sky' is pure classic Cult, with Duffy's spiralling guitar phrases and Matt Sorum's thunderous drumming leading into an anthemic chorus.
'Speed Of Light' has Astbury screaming at "Black California" while 'True Believers' is another paean to all things peace and love. The closing 'My Bridges Burn' is yet another rock monster, just in case you'd missed the point, with Astbury singing the title's lyrics with a fervour that suggests that this really is the last chance saloon.
And, at the end of it all, it has to be said that The Cult have made their "big black panther" of an album, with few concessions to the here and now. Whether they can co-exist with today's nu breed is another question entirely, but 'Beyond Good And Evil' just about overcomes its sameyness and provides enough flashes of what made them special in the first place to justify their continued existence.
