Not only that, but it also contains some of most ambitious music Primal Scream had ever made. ‘Kowalski’, the album’s talisman, is the sound of evil-eyed krautrock psychosis, its samples about “blue meanies on wheels” and “speed meaning freedom of the soul” taken directly from Vanishing Point and perhaps fitting for a band enduring such well-publicised drug habits. But it’s far more than just substance-fuelled jamming: structurally confrontational and sonically adventurous, it’s shot through with the exhilarating paradox of feeling like it’s moments from self-combustion while simultaneously also throttlingly tough. The same applies to the strutting/wailing menace of ‘If They Move, Kill ’Em’, bolstered with authentic baggy swagger by Mani, freshly plucked from the ashes of The Stone Roses to give ‘Vanishing Point’ a definitive anchor. Even on the twin “conventional” rock songs, ‘Motorhead’ and ‘Medication’, a revving-motorbike carnality exists that pushes at the boundaries of how to produce numbskull rock’n’roll in the modern era.
And then there’s the calm: the album outro of ‘Get Duffy’ and ‘Trainspotting’ – the former all Lalo Shiffrin-indebted cool, the latter an actual film commission – both expand the edges of an already musically sprawling album such that ‘Vanishing Point’ starts to pick up where ‘Screamadelica’’s heady atmosphere left off. Centrepiece ‘Star’, too, ostensibly another soppy Bobby Gillespie ballad full of frail protestations and romanticism, still finds time to imagine itself more as a Chemical Brothers production than anything one might’ve expected as a follow-up to ‘Rocks’.
From the point of view of Primal Scream’s biography, ‘Vanishing Point’ at twenty looks like their most significant album. For one, it was the springboard to the band’s most artistically creative and fulfilling run of albums, laying the ground for the scabrous ‘XTRMNTR’ and ‘Evil Heat’ records, which today, together with ‘Vanishing Point’, make for as fine a trilogy of post-everything protest albums as one could hope for. For another, it was the first time Primal Scream had pioneered alone, without the guidance of an external producer. Sure, Andrew Weatherall is credited here on one track, but the band self-produce on all eleven, and the sense that this is their vision – particularly that of Gillespie and Mani – is palpable, from the album’s concept downwards. That confidence would embolden them for ‘Vanishing Point’’s follow-ups.
On a broader level, though, ‘Vanishing Point’ is also now an integral member of a gang of albums from the first half of 1997 in which established bands swam against the conventional musical stream, attempting to broaden the horizon after several years of Britpop parochialism. It’s easy to forget that Primal Scream were hugely popular – they headlined the pyramid stage at Glastonbury ’98 as part of their ‘Vanishing Point’ tour – and alongside ‘OK Computer‘, ‘Ladies And Gentlemen We Are Floating In Space‘ and ‘Blur‘, their fifth album demonstrated that supposedly traditional rock-band line-ups could once again make forward-looking, rather gravity-defying music that owed just as much to artistic ambition as it did to popular appeal.
Of those particular four horsemen, too, ‘Vanishing Point’ has arguably aged the best, perhaps because it’s the least defined: with inchoate swirls in place of anything more concrete, no direct heirs, and with the band themselves never attempting the same tricks again, ‘Vanishing Point’ now stands as something of a cut-off, timeless beacon – a standalone soundtrack to far more than just a single film.
To read all the other entries in Sam’s Twenty Years Ago Today blog, click here.