For once an album's subtitle ("The Songwriting Genius Of Luke Haines and The Auteurs") is wholly justified. Certainly you may scoff at the idea of an orchestral 'Greatest Hits' (don't make us laugh: Luke Haines having hit singles? The very idea!), but despite steering a particularly reckless, sometimes foot-shooting course thoughout the latter half of the '90s, The Auteurs left behind a bloody good-looking corpse and four absolutely superb albums.
And ten years after they delivered their "first masterpiece" (Haines' words, though I entirely concur) in "New Wave" and with Haines still knocking out excellence almost at will in either solo or soundtrack guise (not to mention in tandem with the ace Black Box Recorder), now seems as good a time as any to re-evaluate what in effect is a pocket, orchestral version of 'Luke Haines: the early years.'
And it's predictably magnificent. There's no sign of either original bassist Alice Readman or drummer Barney Crockford (instead on-off Black Box Recorder drummer Tim Weller and an eight-piece orchestra do a sterling job), though it's good to see cellist James Banbury still heavily involved and while the idea of a Tindersticks-ified Auteurs might initially scare you, then fear not, as "Das Capital" (well what else WOULD he call it?) merely reminds you what an under-rated bunch The Auteurs really were.
The likes of "Showgirl" and "How Could I Be Wrong" sounded brilliant in their initial shapes, but here they take on the epic quality they've always yearned for, while the intoxicating "Lenny Valentino" was enormous even without the strings, and here its' whiplash drama is only heightened. Indeed, when Haines sings: "Well the Pope renounced you as the real one, Lazarus decided to rise", the shivers come up your spine like never before.
Elsewhere, "Starstruck" is re-invented beautifully with tip-toeing strings and rippling harp; the deceptively gentle "Unsolved Child Murder" has you singing along with the awful "If I die before my parents' die" refrain before you realise what the hell you're doing and "Future Generation" (surely the ultimate Haines anthem) rightly wraps proceedings up, leaving you in less doubt than ever of the potency of Haines' early legacy. "The future generation will catch my falling star" he sings in his creepy, wraithlike voice and you'd be a foolish man to disagree.
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Wonderfully, he revisits the title track from his massively under-rated "Baader Meinhof" album but then goes one better by including three brand new songs that rank among his best. "Bugger Bognor" features typical Auteurs'-style lyrical barbs ("Our business affairs are at the receivers, our assets frozen...there's nothing between us") and is worth the price of admission for the great,"Ipcress File"-type vibrato guitar and the title alone, while "The Mitford Sisters" is an ambitious wartime drama, swept along by imperious strings and Haines as deliciously cynical as ever. I particularly love the line: "Darling, your voice is like the Home Service."
But the real gem is "Satan Wants Me". Swirling in with bells,tambourines and a Boney M-style string quartet, it's both dashing and hilarious. Indeed, as soon as Haines intones the opening line: "Alastair Crowley was rotting down in Hastings", you know it's gonna be a classic ride and over the following three and a half minutes Kenneth Anger, the Dalai Lama and Rasputin get namechecked before Haines signs off with the classic couplet: "L.Ron Hubbard, Anton LaVey got in the process, but couldn't play the blues like Jimmy Page". Rock's dalliance with the dark side (often in a 'Spinal Tap'-stylee) condensed and spat out brilliantly as only Haines can.
Although it may be reflected in his sales graphs, the idea of Luke Haines as a kind of glorious underachiever really gets my goat. His acid toungue and penchant for subversion seems to have sent the great unwashed packing, but really he's the thinking man's perfect pop star and continues to rarely put a foot wrong. "Das Capital" is a timely and superior retrospective of sorts to a stupidly under-rated talent. Do yourself a favour: get this and work backwards through his entire catalogue. Anything else is tantamount to a treasonable offence.
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