Made Of Rain

Rain’s black-velvet melancholy makes it easy to pretend they never left.

Made of Rain manages to be both vaguely nostalgic and groundbreaking at the same time. There are no obvious rewrites of their old songs here, but between Butler’s easily identifiable vocals – vacillating between anger and vulnerability – and the curiously heady mix of hard rock guitars alongside sax, the sound is still clearly built on the classic foundations of the band.

The Psychedelic Furs needn’t have made anything this good. Many of these songs will grow in potency in a live setting (if we ever get back to that).

Comfortably their finest outing since 1982's Forever Now. [Sep 2020, p.113]

Those of a certain overcoat are assured a Proustian rush: distorted guitars, windswept austerity and Butler's rasp set to Triple Action Strepsil. [Jun 2020, p.95]

These are impenetrable walls of off-kilter guitars, skronking saxophones and icy synths, topped off with Richard Butler's mournful rasp. ... For the most part, Made Of Rain cleaves closest to the sense thrum of Talk Talk Talk. [Jun 2020, p.37]

Their best record since the last one you liked. [Jun 2020, p.88]

Unburdened by nostalgia, accepting the world as is while avoiding complacency, Made of Rain isn’t a comeback—it’s a new road.

Minor issues aside, Made of Rain is a fine and sometimes inspired comeback. It may not be Talk Talk Talk, Pt. 2 or Forever Now again, but it proves the Furs still have plenty of life left in them, and it's always nice to hear Richard Butler's voice no matter what the setting.

Replacing some ballads with more upbeat selections would help this disc’s flow; it gets slightly repetitious over its 50-minute playing time. Regardless, there are enough resilient moments to make this a welcome, if long overdue, addition to the group’s impressive catalog. Hopefully it won’t take another three decades for its follow-up.

It contains at least one additional near-classic. But it falls into a type of rut that only long-lived bands can travel: Its primary purpose seems to be justifying its existence with an almost obsessive show of confidence. Which is a fancy way of saying it tries a bit too hard for its good.