Cocteau Twins - Milk & Kisses (2024 Remaster) (2024) [Hi-Res]

Milk & Kisses shouldn't be as good as it is. Riven by years of interpersonal tensions brought on by the romantic relationship (and subsequent dissolution) between vocalist Elizabeth Fraser and guitarist Robin Guthrie as well as the aftereffects of Guthrie's substance abuse (and recovery), Cocteau Twins was a band on its last legs in the mid-'90s. Despite the fact they were ultimately winding down, this period was remarkably collaborative and incredibly productive. (Milk & Kisses was preceded by a pair of standalone EPs that—just like in the band's formative years—presented cohesive sonic concepts of their own; Twinlights was a largely acoustic affair, with piano-and-guitar versions of old and new songs, while Otherness brought in Seefeel's Mark Clifford to remix a handful of tracks.)

Cocteau Twins during this time also recorded a wealth of excellent non-album material that made its way onto b-sides and compilations; they were, to put it mildly, in the midst of a hot streak, which makes it doubly disappointing that this was the last new studio material they would ever release. There's a profound confidence and self-assurance throughout Milk & Kisses, which feels completely fresh and alive while somehow managing to break no new sonic ground for the band. There is an unmistakable sense of "let's just do our thing" here as they touch on every sonic corner of their legacy over the ten tracks, whether it's guitar-forward dreampop ("Tishbite," "Violaine"), kaleidoscopic atmospherics ("Serpentskirt"), acoustic melodies ("Rilkean Heart," "Ups"), or electronic dabbling ("Eperdu").

Weirdly, the album explicitly breaks with the group's tradition of ending with a power ballad, or at least, their version of one. Previous albums closed with tracks like "Donimo," "Pur," or "Frou-Frou Foxes in Midsummer Fires," which all began as delicate and spare pieces that blossomed into bombastic, effects-drenched dynamos. On Milk & Kisses, the obvious closer would have been "Treasure Hiding," which fits that formula perfectly, yet it is sequenced as the penultimate cut, making the restrained, midtempo "Seekers Who Are Lovers" the final song. On its face, it seems something of an odd choice, but a closer listen reveals it to be an homage to the artistic and personal journey the band's principals had taken over the years, making it a perfect final word on the Cocteau Twins' 15-year musical legacy. © Jason Ferguson