The Sisters Of Mercy - First And Last And Always (LP) - 40th Anniversary Red & Black Marbled Vinyl

Flip this one on in a quiet room and the temperature drops a few degrees. First and Last and Always landed in March 1985, the sole studio album from the original Sisters line up of Andrew Eldritch, Gary Marx, Wayne Hussey, Craig Adams and the ever‑reliable drum machine they christened Doktor Avalanche. It cracked the UK charts and pushed a distinctly northern, Leeds-bred vision of goth into the wider consciousness. People love to argue subgenres, but this record sits in that sweet spot where post‑punk grit, romantic gloom and big, memorable hooks all shake hands.

The opener Black Planet is a mission statement, a slow-burn throb with guitars that sweep like high beams across a wet motorway. Eldritch booms from the chest, not from the throat, and that makes even a simple line feel like a sermon. Walk Away, already a live favourite by the time it appeared here, has that chiming guitar figure you can spot a room away in a Melbourne record store. It is sharp, singable, almost pop, but there is a weight to the rhythm that stops it floating off. No Time to Cry throws the focus to the chorus, busy and immediate, while still riding that cold, mechanical pulse.

Marian is the one that sneaks up and stays. Eldritch slides bits of German into the lyric, a hint at the continental pull that would become more pronounced later, and the melody climbs in a way that feels both devotional and doomed. Title track First and Last and Always is lean and driving, a staple for DJs from Adelaide to Krakow, while Some Kind of Stranger closes the album in widescreen. Guitars coil around a patient beat and the vocal holds its nerve, letting the drama build without ever turning hammy. If you have a soft spot for late-night anthems, that last track is your curtain call.

Part of the album’s grip comes from the pockets of space in the mix. Produced with David M. Allen, a name you will recognise from The Cure’s classic run, it favours clarity over murk. The two guitarists play very different roles, Marx with those chiming arpeggios, Hussey filling the middle with broad strokes and occasional sparkle. Adams keeps it grounded with a bass tone you feel in your ribs, and Doktor Avalanche, unblinking as always, locks it all to a relentless grid. Plenty of bands tried to emulate the setup. Few found the same balance of romance and steel.

The story around the record is as much a part of its legend as the songs. Tensions inside the band spiked during and after its making. Gary Marx left during the 1985 tour, and before the year was out Hussey and Adams were off to form The Mission. In between, they capped the era with a show at the Royal Albert Hall in June 1985, filmed and released as Wake. That gig felt like a full stop. Which is why this album hits with extra force. It is the only studio document of that line up, a snapshot of a band reaching a peak just as the ground gave way.

If you are eyeing The Sisters of Mercy vinyl in the racks, this is the one that does the most heavy lifting for new listeners and long-term fans alike. The original UK press has the punch you want on the low end, though the later reissues do a tidy job of opening the top without sanding off the grit. However you spin it, that machine beat and those guitars make sense on wax. The textures layer in a way that suits a proper volume knob and a real room.

Hunting for First and Last and Always vinyl in Australia is not hard these days, but it is still satisfying to unearth a clean copy among the goth and post‑punk sections. If you are not near a shop, it is easy enough to buy The Sisters of Mercy records online, and most decent sellers will have this alongside Floodland and Vision Thing. Collectors who want the complete picture can stack live bootlegs from the era, though the studio take remains the definitive statement. For anyone building a shelf of The Sisters of Mercy albums on vinyl, this is where the spine starts.

Thirty odd years on, it still sounds immediate, not a museum piece. The songs hold up in clubs and on headphones, on battered originals and new pressings. If you are building out a collection of vinyl records Australia wide, toss this in the bag. New wave kids, goth lifers, curious punters who just like a big chorus, all find something to hang onto. That is the trick here. The mood is dark, sure, yet the light never quite goes out.