For Eighties-music trendsetters Love and Rockets, the Nineties have proven to be a trial by fire. The past several years have found the band dodging one potential land mine after another as they found their label, and at times, their audience, not entirely ready to follow their lead.

After emerging as neo-psychedelic swamis who enlightened listeners on the "Kundalini Express," the band chose to explore other psycho-sonic terrain. Following the Top Ten success of their 1989 hit, "So Alive," Love and Rockets entered this decade with Hot Trip to Heaven and Sweet F.A., two albums that indulged the electronic frontiers explored by their earliest influences -- Suicide, Kraftwerk and Can. With the release of Lift, the band continues its trajectory into the heart of electronic rock. "It crosses between trip-hop and slower numbers, and some of them are pure techno," muses guitarist/vocalist Daniel Ash. It's a moody melange that presents a new, improved and re-invigorated band bristling with what bassist/vocalist David J proudly identifies as "a fighting spirit." The road to the recording of Lift, however, was fraught with doubts about the band's direction and, ultimately, their future.

"We were disenchanted after making what we considered to be our best record up to that point, Hot Trip to Heaven," J admits. "We were all really at sea.['Sweet F.A.] was a neither-here-nor-there direction. We were trying to find an identity again, and we lost the trail that we really felt was a hot one with Hot Trip, no pun intended."

But aesthetic crises were only part of their problems. The band had also found themselves embroiled in a lengthy court battle with their former U.S. record label, American Records. The suit stemmed from a fire that broke out while Love and Rockets were living and recording in a house owned by American Records' Rick Rubin. Though all members of Love and Rockets emerged safely, visiting friend Genesis P. Orridge of Psychic TV was badly injured trying to escape the blaze. The group lost their gear, as well as several months of valuable time. (The fire erupted in April of '95; the settlement came this June.)

"Rubin turned to his insurance company and [they] decided to counter-sue Love and Rockets," David J says wearily. "At the end of the case, we were proved to be innocent, Rick Rubin and American Records were judged responsible and Mr. P. Orridge was awarded nearly $2 million in damages. We were left with a big fat bill to pay. But at least we were found not responsible for the fire."

Couple that tragedy with the unpublicized release of Hot Trip, and you've got an exhausted and disillusioned band. "That was the bridge that we were on. It was made of tired old rope and it nearly broke. But we finally made it out to the other side. And we built a new house."

The "new house" in question is, of course, Lift. "After all the experiences we went through, we believed that the band was a damn good band and we believed we deserved some kind of payback." J says. "We knew we had to be very tough on ourselves and prove that it was a damn good band."

The new and improved Love and Rockets got off their laurels, hired producer Doug DeAngelis [engineer for Chaka Khan, Jungle Brothers, Pet Shop Boys], and received an uplifting resurrection in the form of their old band, Bauhaus. "[Bauhaus] makes us appreciate Love and Rockets more and makes us see the whole thing as a new band again," Ash says.

The Bauhaus re-birth seems indicative of the new life ahead of Love and Rockets. With their troubles behind them, Ash and J are optimistic, and their new album's title is testament to that.

"I think the title says it all: 'Lift,'" says Ash. "We came to the conclusion that as a whole, it was very elevating. It lifts you up." He pauses then adds, "Yes. It's an elevator."

STEVE GDULA