Album Review: Depeche Mode - Delta Machine

It opens with the stuttering, climatic Welcome To My World and closes with the electro desert ballad, Goodbye. In between those tracks, Depeche Mode show that the fire still burns, be it in a more contained and considerate sense. Throughout the album you wait, hoping that the walls fall down around you and that the fear – enticing, sinful fear – is instilled. But that dark cloud never rolls over.

Industrial lounge. Is that even a genre? Depeche Mode seem to think so. It's over thirty years since the Brits' debut record and in that time they've probably soundtracked S&M parties across every continent. And in amongst the sharp, crashing electronic percussion you still feel that sweat. On Slow, Dave Gahan sounds as slippery as a lizard, while a bending guitar line whips in and out in between his sexed-up musings. Even at 50 years of age he still manages to take you into the smokiest part of the bar. My Little Universe is musical Rohypnol, while the pulsing electro stabs of Soft Touch/Raw Nerve make you cringe like your body has just entered cold water. There's an album here that could turn into something stunning if directed by a couple of anthemic singles, all bold statements and bombastic choruses. But it never reveals itself completely, preferring to stay in a perpetual state of idle.

It's a drug bender that doesn't climax; background music that never stops you in your tracks. There's still a sense of depravity, but although Depeche Mode occasionally twist the screws enough to make you look over your shoulder, they never give you enough danger to turn and run.