Album Review: Creeper - Sanguivore II: Mistress Of Death

Identity is an important concept in life. We define ourselves according to our tastes and beliefs, and we then project what we think we are out to the world, hoping other people will understand what we are trying to share. We like to think of our identity as a fixed constant, inherent and indelible truths that will not change on whims. That is not always true, and sometimes our identity is that we don't have a core identity. As the great Peter Sellers once said, the reason he was able to play so many characters was because he had no personality of his own.

Creeper is a musical version of that quote. Over their first three albums, they tried on different guises, exploring sounds that had little connective tissue between them. Their debut was a nearly perfect emo/pop-punk record that hit right as the new wave of that music was cresting. Their second album 'borrowed' from classic rock, with songs that very obviously cribbed bits from both Meat Loaf and Bruce Springsteen (on the accompanying EP). Album number three went full Goth, revealing the difference between being slightly gothic and being full-on Goth. There is overkill, and Creeper ended up covered head to toe in blood.

The problem with all of this is that after three full records, I can't tell you who Creeper are. There is a sense of drama in common, but otherwise Creeper are a group of theater kids running through sketches one after the other, with no framing device to explain. Sketch comedy is a viable artform, but it doesn't provide insight into the performers the way other formats can. Likewise, Creeper have tried on costumes, but have shown us next to nothing of who is wearing them.

Album number four is different, in that they are not making drastic changes. This record is a direct sequel to their Goth album, which is a daunting reality, as that one was easily the worst of their play-acting trilogy.

Creeper plays right into my hands with the opening spoken word piece, but in a way that also makes their penchant for 'homage' too obvious to not feel a bit like identity theft. The narrator sets the stage for vampiric fun, but in the course of doing so  uses the phrase that sometimes "going all the way is just the start". That, for the uninitiated, is a line from a Jim Steinman song that is only known to the hardcore. While the reference is nice, it feeds into the feeling I've always gotten from Creeper that they're more interested in amusing themselves with 'borrowed' in-jokes than in making honest music of their own.

The good side to this album is that for a while these concerns can be put away. The early singles "Blood Magic (It's a Ritual)" and "Headstones" are both more fun than anything Creeper accomplished on the first chapter of this story. Those songs are campy as all hell, especially when the title to the latter is delivered as an oral sex allegory, and too damn catchy for their own good. That is what Creeper needs to lean into, because if they are going to write about campy subjects, they need to do it with tongues fully in cheek. Which set of cheeks is up to them, as both can work.

As soon as that sense of fun dissipates, the album bogs down, and bogs down hard. "Prey For The Night" is the same mediocre goth tones as the last album, while "Daydreaming In The Dark" is rock only in name. The chorus is so billowy and soft it's hard to keep my attention focused long enough to try to figure out what the backing vocals are trying to say through the rather blurred performance. Reading the title, I thought it was going to borrow from Springsteen's "Dancing In The Dark" in the same way they used "Because The Night" to make their own "Midnight", but alas, that was not the case. For as much as we sometimes rag on Springsteen around here, he at least knows how to use his genre experiments to explore different sides of his personality.

"Razor Wire" is sung by Hannah, which is a refreshing change from Will's deep goth affectation, and comes with a jazzy cabaret feeling. It doesn't mesh at all with the rest of the album, especially with the sax solo that might be the best thing about the entire record, and it continues to evoke questions about exactly what Creeper is trying to do. One moment they want to have stupid fun with sex puns, the next minute they want to be scary vampires. One moment they're playing energetic rock, the next minute they're dragging along as if the batteries on an old AM radio are beginning to fade and die.

It would be too on-the-nose to say Creeper is dead to me, but they are reaching the point where I don't see the point in continuing to give them chances to disappoint me. Now, it feels like every good song they write is either a fluke, or a deliberate troll to trick me into listening to their 'artistic' drudgery. There's a rhetorical question about what the sound of one hand clapping is, and I think we can twist that in a more Creeper-ish direction; which is the dominant feeling if one is flexible enough to suck their own dick?

That question is more interesting to ponder than this album is. Please, please, please let this be the end of this phase for Creeper. I can't take any more of this shit.