Somewhere in a narrow, forgotten alley, nestled in amongst the back streets of old Paris there is a small, decaying cinema. Behind the ticket window sits a middle aged woman, the traces of her younger beauty still visible through the cracks in her make-up as she replays her childhood dreams of stardom. The mute usher, his uniform pristine, glances across at her but she is filing her nails. She looks up at him but he is polishing the buttons on his jacket. It is a dance they go through every evening. No word is spoken, their eyes never meet. Moving further within, images flicker across the screen, casting the silhouette of a lone figure. He is their only customer today, and yesterday, and the day before. He is not there for the film, he is waiting for someone. He has been waiting for thirty-six years, ever since the film opened in March 1968, but he is still alone. Finally, loneliest of all is the film itself. Mysteriously robbed of its soundtrack before a soul could ever watch it, it has played every night at this neglected theatre, unable to speak, unable to communicate its message, never heard, rarely seen, it cries out in silent anguish for the words to make its misery heard.

The first three of them we can't help. Sorry. But the good news for the film is that we've found its soundtrack and it's called "Misery Is A Butterfly" by New York's favourite illegal immigrants Blonde Redhead. The move to 4AD completes a shift from screechy no-wave punk noise towards the icy, melodic, desolate, string and synthesiser driven romanticism that provided much of the dynamic to 2000's "Melody Of Certain Damaged Lemons". In fact, take all the songs from "...Lemons" with the word "Damaged" in the title and then feed them through a Grasshopper 5000^TM Mercury Rev Instant Orchestra Generator and this is the album you'll get (this is a good thing).

The result of all this is both bleak and cathartic, with a stronger feeling of cohesion gained at the expense of the intensity and gut-wrenching passion of their earlier material. It's beautiful, but also tired and resigned, like an exiled and nearly bankrupt Russian princess or like the doomed composer Gustav von Aschenbach in Thomas Mann's "A Death In Venice" (Mann's "Magic Mountain" is also referenced on track nine of the album). Fans of the first few albums may shake their heads in disgust and members of Jet probably need not apply but anyone who likes their literary art-pop served ice-cold would do well to sign up now. -Ian Martin, Apr.03.04

Misery Is A Butterfly