Among the "positive punk" bands of the 1980s there was one that stands out to me as being so far from normal musical expression nearing Residents levels of errie and charasmatic weirdness. This group is the Virgin Prunes, most famous perhaps due to their U2 connection (the Prunes' guitarist Dik has a brother known as the Edge and Gavin Friday was good friends with Bono). The band's large lineup consisted of the both the members mentioned in the above caption and before in this paragraph and a third vocalist named Dave-Id, although the vocal responsibilities seem to be mostly handled by Guggi and Friday. Their lineup seems to be more fluid than other bands adding to an art collective feel that makes them more unique among more bandy groups like the Mission or the Cult and bands that were obstensibly solo projects like many Industrial "groups".
The album starts off with a favourite of mine, that being two tracks that are ostensibly one song, Ulakanakulot and Decline and Fall, which are chilly and evokative of winter landscapes with spacy arrangements far from any familiar rock song. Decline and Fall also sets the listener up for the experience of Virgin Prunes lyrics which are bizarre and dark, for me Decline and Fall is probably the most inpenetrable. Sweethome Under White Clouds is next with both vocalists delivering the lyrics in full throated ritualistic yells. The song reminds me of ceremonial music made by the Indigenous people of my area. This combined with lyrics about home and natural beauty makes me think this song is satirizing American orientalism towards Indigenous peoples of the "Americas" with lyrics of manifest destiny set to pseudo Indigenous music, however this is only my interpretation. Equally as chilly feeling as Ulakanakulot is the next track, a personal favourite, Bau Dachöng. Mysterious lyrics and composition reminiscent of early Bauhaus' dub reggae-ish ode to (dead) Bela Lugosi (albeit more dreamy, danceable and weird than Bauhaus's entry), Bau Dachöng adds to a feel of ritualism and thick atmosphere. Lyrics are a psychedelic stream of miserable consiouness and mention the album's mysterious and possibly suicidal title in an apathetic yet affecting voice. Baby Turns Blue follows. Up until this point hypnotic basses reminiscent of black music were a major theme adding much of dancability to If I Die, these are now turned up to the level of energetic funk complete with choppy guitar chords. The lyrics deal rather opaquely with heroin addiction and consummerism with the quoetable demand "Give me money, give me sex, give me food and cigarettes!" as part of it's refrain. A little relief from the doom and gloom comes next with what seems to be a pretty competent Bruce Springsteen parody in Ballad of a Man which tells of a man who is happy to live "day by day". Even when "Spanish Johnny" comes around looking for someone to rob, our protaginist refuses and while Spanish Johnny goes to jail our hero still lives happily "day by day". Caucasian Walk is next and is forgetable. Certainly a suitably weird and aggressive track to suit any hairspray addicted deathrocker's fancy and I always have trouble not singing along with the screamed refrain of "like a crazy singer in a band that's lost the words CAUCASIAN WALK! CAUCASIAN TALK!". Despite it's energy, Caucasian Walk comes the closest to a weak link in I Die, by no means a bad thing however. The album finishes with one of the better album finishers next to Fields of the Nephilims "Last Exit for the Lost" off Nephilim, that being Theme for Thought. A spacy cacophany floats in and out over a repatative bassline and lyrics similar about conflict between an overbearing society and a stuborn individual punctuated by a doom metal-ish guitar riff and Guggi reading a morbid poem by Oscar Wilde. An early tv performance had the two singers alternating places at the microphone with sitting at a cafe table with two women in true theatrical style while the horrified audience watched speechless. All in all ...If I Die, I Die is as solid as a block of ice and about as cold. It is a singular experience in a way few other albums are which may seem trite or shallowly disingenous to one who has now listened to the whole thing, it is an album I recommend wholeheartedly and then some.