BY: GUILLERMO THE IVTH

Beginning with the air raid siren as the first sound on their latest release "Playing the Angel", Depeche Mode recalls the masses to worship at its long-standing new wave/synthpop temple.

Far outstripping 2001's unexciting "Exciter", Gahan & Co. have surrendered up a lovely album, and to still be able to deliver over the range of 26 years is quite the achievement in this day and age of 15-minute fame. DM's persistent message continues to echo listeners' angst. The modern Paxil-blunted neuroses of "Damaged People": "We're damaged people/Praying for something/That doesn't come from somewhere deep inside us", or the personal corruptions of "The Sinner in Me": "I'll never be saint/That's not a picture/That your memory paints", and, as always, toying with biblical metaphor in "John the Revelator": "Put him in an elevator/Take him to the top/Where the mountains stop/Let him tell his book of lies". These moments of lyrical strength match 1990's "Violator" & 1993's "Songs of Faith and Devotion", though in terms of consistency, do not exceed those previously masterful offerings.

Dancy and ripely remixable, "Playing the Angel" also seeps in a rougher noise at the edges, making the dirty dirtier, a measured distortion which suits the themes Martin Gore's words continue to explore. There's an electro-industrial nastiness airbrushed into the production, feathered neatly betwixt the usual beep and beat, and it's such a wonderful addition.

Often criticized as being a one-trick pony from the petting zoo of depression, DM might be, but that indulgent trick contains endless incarnations and is executed to simultaneously feel just as good.