Primal Scream
– Vanishing Point
Primal Scream had already torn up the dancefloor with Screamadelica and later crashed into rock excess with Give Out But Don’t Give Up. By the time Vanishing Point arrived, they sounded like a band crawling out of their own wreckage, squinting through a fog of dub, spy movie samples, and post-punk paranoia. This isn’t a comeback—it’s a detour through the seedy alley behind the nightclub, eyes darting, teeth clenched.
Best of…
Bobby Gillespie doesn’t sing so much as drift through the haze. His voice is there to pull you deeper into the murk, not to lead. The songs simmer instead of explode, drenched in reverb, tape hiss, and tension. It’s like someone hotwired Neu! and Lee “Scratch” Perry, then drove them off a cliff at midnight. The band is chasing a mood, not a melody—and they hit it like a bullseye in slow motion.
This is Primal Scream at their most unhinged and cinematic, less about hooks and more about atmosphere. It plays like a transmission from some lost pirate station broadcasting out of a concrete bunker. There’s menace here, but also freedom. They’re not trying to please anyone. They’re chasing ghosts—and occasionally catching them on tape.
Choice Tracks
Kowalski
Named after the anti-hero from the cult film Vanishing Point, this opener is all rumble and static. That bassline lurches forward like a tank, and the samples (including Charlotte Rampling from Vanishing Point) cement its drugged-out noir vibe. It’s not a song—it’s a mood with a death wish.
Star
Here, dub and soul flirt in a back alley. It’s got swagger, but it’s sleazy, slinky. Horns blare like warning signs, while Gillespie croons like a man trying to sweet-talk a siren. A moment of uplift in an album built on shadows.
Out of the Void
This is a track made for dark highways and broken radios. Hypnotic and half-conscious, it’s all groove and grit. It doesn’t go anywhere fast, but that’s the point—it pulls you under.
Stuka
Named after the German dive bomber, and just as jarring. It screeches, pounds, and twitches with cold industrial dread. Primal Scream dabbling in noise-rock without losing the dub heartbeat underneath.
Get Duffy
Instrumental paranoia. Think spy thriller chase scene at 3 a.m., lit by neon and bad intentions. It’s short, tight, and unsettling in all the right ways.
Vanishing Point isn’t here to entertain you—it’s here to unsettle you, seduce you, and then leave you in a puddle of static and echoes. It’s the sound of Primal Scream burning down their past and dancing through the smoke.