ccording to Metropolis, Civilization lays down the groundwork for a new era in industrial music. I consider this further evidence that label promo babble can be assumed to be as much poppycock as political campaign promises. The ‘new era’ for Civilization’s listener friendly, Blade Runner-pop was probably laid out by Nitzer Ebb somewhere around 1990. Another painful reality is that nearly the entire contemporary industrial/EBM (not my acronym) canon relies on a tweaked version of a formula laid out by one album released in 1989: Skinny Puppy’s Rabies. The tweakage in question has leaned in the direction of danceable listenability. Civilization is an accomplished pop record which exhibits masterful programming. Its tragic flaw lies within this expertise. So sleek and glitteringly seamless are the programmed beats, so well placed are the electronic squibbles and vocoded choruses that indifference, as if towards wallpaper, is all that’s left for the listener.

“Psychosomatic” is a surprising start with a funky, chopped drum loop. It’s a fleeting moment, and soon we slide into slick beat driven electronica. Many dance music makers will often point out that their music utilizes the naturally occurring biological rhythms of the body, and this is why it is so catchy. True. But did they ever stop and think that is also why it so forgettable; why it so easily blurs into the background and becomes little more than textural ambience? By the second track, the single “Maniacal,” things are on cruise control. Predictability rules the day. We know when the ‘harder’ beats are going to kick it, and, of course, the obligatory sweeping, tempo changing choruses (for the template for this see “Worlock” from the aforementioned Rabies). It becomes very difficult to tell the songs apart. One of the few notable deviations is the bubbling electro of “Strategic.” That lovely industrial trademark, a vocal sample (in this case ‘this is the most horrible place to live’) starts the track.

Vocal samples, such as this, are sprinkled through the album. I’m not sure what purpose they serve. Their use within the genre has rendered the practice beyond overuse, beyond cliché. Perhaps it’s ironic? Perhaps I should consider these spoken snippets as just another part of the lyrics—adjunct lyrics one could call them. The rest of the lyrics are staple goth: machines churning, life alienating. There are some ill-advised attempts at self-help and tough love motivation. “Transmitter (Come Together)” references, yes, The Beatles [?!], and encourages us to all join hands. “Dissident” encourages those that can’t ‘work it out’ to kill themselves. Listen kids: don’t follow this advice. Luckily, sentiments like these fall flat when gravelized through the vocoder anyway.

Bill Leeb and Rhys Fulber are accomplished songwriters and it shows, but they’re working within a mode that offers little to a sophisticated listener. Unfortunately, the music here wouldn’t sound out of place with a house diva, or maybe even a soft drink hocking blonde teenage girl, crooning atop it. Attention major label factory producers: start pilfering the Metropolis back catalogue for the newest catchy hooks and beats. Without the generically processed vocals some of this would make for quality house music. Besides, if you’re someone into the ‘EBM’ genre for its intrinsic value you probably downloaded this album from your favorite file sharing service six months ago.