Grunge was a genre that saw more then it's fair share of brilliant singers. Layne Staley of Alice in Chains was one of them. Layne had a voice like a heartbroken werewolf, all bitterness and wild power, and he could hold his own easily with rock's best frontmen.
Layne Staley is also the one Grunge casualty to boast of an end even more harrowing then Kurt Cobain's suicide blast to the head. A shotgun, though gruesome, is at least quick. Layne chose the long, lonely, painful path of the hard-core drug addict. In the end, he had become so isolated that he would be dead for weeks before his 6'1, 86-pound body was finally found.
Maybe that's what Jerry Cantrell, the band's surviving principle songwriter, is referring to in "All Secrets Known," the opening track of Black Gives Way to Blue. This is Alice in Chains first album in fifteen years, and first album ever without Layne, but their former band-mate casts a long, dark shadow over the group that they have only just begun to make peace with.
The song starts with a Slash-in-a-haunted-house style riff, which swings back and forth as the vocals kick in. "Hope / A new beginning/ time/ time to start living," a life-affirming sentiment made flat and factual by the droning, weary singing. Jerry Cantrell, lead guitarist and the band's principle songwriter, has mostly taken over lead vocal duties, and his voice, though tuneful with a pack-a-day grizzled edge to it, lacks the dog-of-war power that Layne took with him to his grave. Instead Jerry sounds flatly amazed that life continues on even after "we died." There's no joy here, just perseverance in a world that won't ever be the same, and for reasons everyone knows about.
The group members have, for the most part, avoided talking too explicitly about Layne in public, but for for me it makes the most sense to think of this album as the band's attempt to say goodbye to their band-mate properly, even if posthumously. Like most posthumous goodbyes, they'll probably spend the rest of their lives trying to get it right.
Check My Brain has become a hit all over rock radio and it's easy to see why: the churning, droning guitars are classic Alice in Chains. Jerry Cantrell's singing voice may or may not be up to sharing space with a ghost, but he's a powerhouse on the guitar and probably always will be. He doesn't have the naked virtuosity of Mike McCreedy but his brand of droning, haunted, bluesy metal sounds like nothing else you'll hear.
The song's topic is Cantrell's re-location from Seattle, with it's rain and oppressive cloud of memories, to sun-bathed Los Angeles which he declares "alright" with all the enthusiasm he can muster. It looks like California is one of the last places he expected to end up, let alone be happy. You get the sense that he's not really at peace with being at peace, calling himself "a creep in the fog," but he's found healing there, for better or worse.
Last of my Kind is the first track on the album co-written by new member William DuVall, and it starts with an atmospheric, haunted ambiance before degenerating into the kind of deconstructed, post-apocalyptic noise of see-sawing, screaming guitars and slow, thundering drums. It's a one idea song and while rocking hard, I found it a bit musically underwhelming.
The lyrics are pure Alice in Chains too: a portrait of a mythical outcast, exiled and forced to scrounge for survival in a world that hopes the hardship will beat him into complacence. It's dark, it's dream-like, and it fits right into the pantheon of dystopian metaphors that Alice in Chains has always traded in.
Your Decision is the first track on the album worth actually buying it for. It's a mostly acoustic number and displays an unexpected strength for the new Alice in Chains: sentiment.
I was listening to this track on headphones in the middle of the community college computer lab and I started tearing up. In public. Some mournful cello adds portent to the situation, the acoustic guitars have an almost folk feel before the aquatic, electric solo kicks in. This is one of the first tracks were new guy William DuVall's supporting vocals are audible,
The lyric writer was, simply, powerless. He couldn't stop "you" from destroying yourself. He couldn't change the fact that, when faced with the world, you chose to die rather then deal. They needed you. You choose fear instead. It's a choice you made knowing what it meant, and it inflicted no small damage on the people around you. "You feed the fire that burned us all/when you lied."
The singer loves you and he hates you, he's washed his hands of you for the pain you've caused him, he desperately misses you. There's something bitter and angry in this song, wounded and howling, quiet and sad. Tragedies are whirlwinds, and there are no easy answers. Art might be unique in it's ability to take something so painful and make it into something so beautiful. The spell it casts lasts long after the song ends.
This live performance is noteworthy too. First because the lack of strings and the totally acoustic treatment of the song makes it sound more frank and places everything in a smaller space. William Duvall's choice to wear sunglasses onstage is an interesting one: they make him stylish but anonymous. Jerry Cantrell's face, on the other hand, says everything. He's the beating heart of this band. Maybe he always was.
Bands tend to stick together because they believe they can bring out the best in each other. If the three of them didn't still believe they have something to offer the world, as a group, then this resurrection would have never happened. Where DuVall fits in I don't know quite yet.
A Looking In View was the first taste anyone got of this album, being the framework of the atmospheric and very NSFW music video that featured, in succession: child abuse, obsession, decay, repression, dehumanization, religious fanaticism, despair and, at the end, something resembling renewal. The whole sad play is bathed in the colors of despair and isolation, and there's even a visual reference to Alice In Chains very first hit single. This video is what got me paying attention to this band's comeback. Bands that play this grim card are a dime a dozen now, but this one might just be the real thing. Another interesting note: the band themselves don't actually appear in the video, and that works too.
The song itself is like a dirge: the tempo is torturously slow, like a migrane throb, but everything piled on that kick-drum beat comes on like a hurricane: the bass-line is breakneck, the guitars drone and shriek, the vocals snarl. It's a long song, over seven minutes long, ending in a fade-out. It's a fairly accurate barometer of whether or not you'll like this new Alice in Chains: if you got through the whole thing, then you'll get through the whole album. It's also the second song on the album to end in a fade out. Apparently new AIC is more interested in how things start these days then how they end.
When The Sun Rose Again is where things slow down for me. Well they slow down for everyone, it's a very slow piece with acoustic guitars and shakers easily audible, and though this combination is usually a recipe for sadness, this song is more pensive and vaguely ominous then sad, and the lyrics are the album's most ambiguous yet. "Were you burned away/ When the sun rose again?" could be a reference to the resurrection of the band, or a retelling of The Snowman so that doesn't narrow it down. "Pray / squeal when you're caught/ cry/ it's not my fault," which, though straight-forward enough in it's imagery, could refer to any number of things. "Time to trade in never-befores / Selling out for the score" could be nitpicked to death. We're in dense metaphor country here, but at least we're out of fade-out country. The next songs flow flawlessly, one into the other, letting the landscape build: a feature they didn't even have to make a big deal about in the promos, (cough)Timbaland!(/cough)
Acid Bubble starts out sounding like A Looking In View's little, more sensitive brother with it's buzz-sawing guitars, the murderously slow pace, but the relentlessly dark tone suddenly takes a more mysterious turn when the chorus starts soaring. "I am the child that lives and cries in the corner." Since this is AIC we're talking about, they soar on broken wings close to the ground, but they are on wing nevertheless. This is as anthemic as post-Layne Alice in Chains is gonna get, I suspect. It even contains a Green-Day-Style plot-twist when the style shifts to a menacing march that sounds like an army advancing, then retreating, then taking the hill for good over the songs six minutes.
Lesson Learned reminds me of "Last of my Kind" in that it's another sloggy rock number that is shorter then "A Looking In View" and doesn't have "Acid Bubble's" militant plot-twist. However, it does have a nice tremolo-heavy solo.
It could be interpreted as being about that rock-bottom moment when you learn that the end is not the end. "Nowhere to buy in, most of us hiding, others are shining" is another nice positive thought wrapped in so much world-weary drear that you'd ALMOST think the singer was being sarcastic if the tone wasn't so frank. This is a quality Jerry Cantrell's voice has that Layne's never did. Layne was a beast of the underworld, and he never went near sentiment without the armor of angry resignation. Jerry Cantrell and William DuVall can voice the occasional positive thought without sounding sappy or insincere. "In your darkest hour you strike gold."
Take Her Out is yet another sloggy, droning rock number. Make no mistake: this album is not a triumphant return for one of the 90s most evocative rock groups. The musical choices themselves are redundant enough to make this a promising start at best. Yes, the sludgey metal IS Alice in Chains, but Cantrell himself is usually more then willing to dabble in other styles. I hope they just need to get their nerve back.
All the same, I'm probably not alone in suspecting that "Her" in the title is Alice herself (i.e, his band) and this song is as close to an answer to those who question his right to resurrect the group as we are probably going to get.
If I'm sure of one thing, it's that Jerry Cantrell wants to be in this music thing for the long-haul. His millions haven't robbed him of the fire in his belly. He's also realized that he's always going to be "Jerry Cantrell from Alice in Chains," expected to play those songs. Well, he wrote those songs.
"I feel time is dragging on/ Aren't you getting tired of me?" he asks. Who is he asking? Himself? The fans who keep showing up to his shows? The band-mates who where quick to answer his homing beacon? The people waiting for him to decide whether to claim AiC for himself or split from it entirely? All of them?
"Want to take her out again." At least he knows he wants to do what he's doing. It's everything else that's uncertain.
Private Hell is slow, with a mournful tone the electric guitar solo gently weeps, the arpeggio riff the song seems written around is beautiful, strong, and very sad. It'd be too easy to say this one is about the self-imposed suffering that you-know-who locked himself into. He's not the only one in the world who ever died this way. Choosing to stay in the cell you made for yourself, opting out of love, joy, and eventually life itself, nevertheless the song doesn't have much of "Your Decision's" droning bitterness. This song is a cry of mourning.
Black Gives Way to Blue. If you need one reason to get this album, it's this song. The song is a sensitive arrangement of acoustic guitars, a slow tempo, delicate, rushing cymbals, and one crying electric guitar that made me think of Eric Clapton's "Wonderful Tonight:" slow, beautiful, and as full of love as a guitar can be. I even heard a xylophone in there somewhere. The band really pulled out all the stops for this song.
By the way, according to the liner notes, the piano was played by Elton John. Elton John + Alice in Chains = Owch my brain. However, if it sounds dorky in concept, it's not at all dorky in practice. This is the only piano I can find anywhere on the album and it gives this track a graceful solemnity.
Every time they've performed it live, it's the last song they play, and they've played it "for Layne." And maybe this is the best way to handle Layne, his legacy, and their own grief. After all the blessing, damning, begging, loving, cursing, and crying is over, this is the best thing you can do for the ghost you see everywhere.
You tell him you'll never forget him.
You tell him you love him.
Then you let him rest.
If this is the start of a new stage of Alice in Chains, or just the farewell the band deserved, I can't say. But I'll be listening. That's for sure.
Showing posts with label album review. Show all posts
Showing posts with label album review. Show all posts
Thursday, October 1, 2009
Wednesday, June 3, 2009
Album Review: "The Red Album" by Weezer
(Had this sitting around on my computer for ages. Might as well throw it up here.)
Oh, Rivers Coumo. You're a world-famous rock star and you still stand behind the mic like you're self-consciously stalling until the REAL singer gets back from the bathroom. The only thing that keeps you there is sheer willpower.
But then that's your charm, and the charm of Weezer. These guys were nerdy before nerdy was chic, and it's reassuring to see that their sixteen years and millions in record sales haven't changed that much, even if, as this album suggests, the band is conducting some soul-searching and experimenting of their own.
The opening track "Troublemaker" is conventional enough: a youth-centered, adrenaline fueled thrill-ride centered around a kid declaring he's gonna be a rock star come fire, flood, parental disapproval or grounding. Five or ten years ago, this would have been a sure-fire radio hit and you would have heard boys and girls singing it in the locker rooms of high-schools all across the country. These days high-schoolers are usually too busy browsing myspace and listening to last.fm to care about what's on the radio, but it gets things off to an energetic start before the heavy stuff sets in. It's a song tailor made for and saved by Coumo's delicate but defiant vocal style, delivered as if he himself is desperate to believe he's actually telling the truth.
I know this album has been touted as "experimental" and a big example of why is song #2: "The Greatest Man that Ever Lived." This song is a self-conscious mix of styles which I am throughly too dull to even attempt to name. Just know there's a lot of them, and somehow, the song works anyway. It's a testament to how good of a hook-man Rivers really is.
Track number 3, "Pork and Beans" is a return to the theme of rebellion, and like Troublemaker it's a rabble rousing rock anthem given an almost desperate edge by Coumo's boisterous but frail character. It's catchy, it's fun, and it's already all over the radio. There is no escape.
Songs don't often give me goose-bumps and make me stop in my tracks, whatever I'm doing, to listen to it over and over again. Track 4, Heart Songs, did that. It's clear as a bell, slightly choral and plays like a hymn to a life lived in music. From the low-profile beginning to the revelation of a crescendo, I love every beautiful moment of this beautiful song.
Next up, "Everybody get dangerous." Again with the defiance, (yeah, get dangerous, fuck the system, yeah!) but with the twist this time that instead of writing about stuff he's done, instead Coumo is writing about stuff he hasn't done..... I think. He might never have tipped cows, but not much else is certain in this up-tempo, intense, very Weezer song. Wither it's real rebellion or vicarious imagination, the song is dark, wistful, and either a thrilling cautionary story or the fantasy of a good boy who sometimes wishes he were bad.
"Dreamin"' is a sonata. No really! It's got the four movements with the speed changes, the form, the up-tempo shifts, the slow dance movement, the quick finale...It's a friggin sonata as a rock song. Wether it's a good rock song, the answer is a resounding "maybe:" if you don't know what a sonata is, the song's shifts will seem random, maybe even disjointed. All in all it doesn't hold together as well as The Greatest Man that Ever Lived, but it makes my classical music loving geek happy, and it'll make you happy too if you're wondering how popular music format changes over the years. Or rather, how it does not.
Now things get tricky, because here something unprecedented has occurred.
Weezer has always contained two camps: one camp containing people named "Rivers Coumo" and one camp containing people NOT named Rivers Coumo. The Rivers make the rules. The Rivers write the songs, play lead, sing, and run the band. The Rivers is god. Don't question the Rivers.
Well the planets must have aligned somehow because holy crap, someone else let the Not-Rivers actually DO things! They are writing! They are singing! How it happened I don't know, but this is the kind of thing I love, because when creative people mix it up, that's when real magic can happen.
Brian Bell, second guitarist, is first to step up to the mic with "Thought I Knew," a cheesy little number with tightly constructed rhyming lyrics and a slight sci-fi folk-song flavor. It's inevitable that his voice will be compared to Rivers', so I'll just say Bell doesn't have that range, but as his voice scrapes the upper limits of his own register, he sounds both sardonic and heartfelt. It's not too challenging a song, but it's easy listening and there's a danger it'll get stuck in your head.
Definitely the most interesting song on the album comes from the bass player, Scott Shriner, and his "Cold Dark World." It's a blatantly romantic song, a man assuring a despairing but beautiful girl that he'll always be there for her, and here's the twist: the song is terrifying. The minor-key cords, the menacing bite the singer gives those sugar sweet lyrics (here Coumo's delicate voice wouldn't have fit) all add up to a rain-slicked horror movie of a song. It's like a glimpse inside the mind of a serial killer stalking his pray with his own sick kind of love, or it's from the woman's fear of strangers, but whatever it is, it's intense and dark and very, very cool.
After all that intensity it's nice to go back into outer space for another folk song for robots. Call me crazy but I like it. It's as mechanized as a robot, but it's a wistful robot with a beating heart and the slower, melodic pay-off is worth it. It's called "Automatic" and it features Patrick Wilson, Weezer's drummer sounding much more at-ease behind the mic then Rivers sounds banging away at the drum-kit. He sings like a singer and his voice has an echo of Coumo's in it's mix of rough and sweet.
Perhaps it's because my ears are attuned to the smaller soundscapes of the Not-Rivers, but when Coumo himself returns with the longing album closer "The Angel and the One," it's not him saying goodbye to a lady he can't stay around for. He gives the upper part of his range a work out as he begs the world not to leave, not to make him leave, and I could make an observation about fame in this time of two-minute attention spans...but I won't, because this lovely piece is so mellow. It's a fine send-off and a reminder that while the Not Rivers may be stretching their wings, there's a reason why this was his show for all those years.
There isn't a single bad song on this album: it's an incredibly varied collection and although it leaks some random parts, I'm awed by the creativity of the thing. As Weezer's forever awkward teenage nerds settle into their stable, comfortable adult lives and weather the music industry's turbulence on the cushion of their large fanbase, it's reassuring to know that just because you're an adult doesn't mean you can't keep dreaming.
Oh, Rivers Coumo. You're a world-famous rock star and you still stand behind the mic like you're self-consciously stalling until the REAL singer gets back from the bathroom. The only thing that keeps you there is sheer willpower.
But then that's your charm, and the charm of Weezer. These guys were nerdy before nerdy was chic, and it's reassuring to see that their sixteen years and millions in record sales haven't changed that much, even if, as this album suggests, the band is conducting some soul-searching and experimenting of their own.
The opening track "Troublemaker" is conventional enough: a youth-centered, adrenaline fueled thrill-ride centered around a kid declaring he's gonna be a rock star come fire, flood, parental disapproval or grounding. Five or ten years ago, this would have been a sure-fire radio hit and you would have heard boys and girls singing it in the locker rooms of high-schools all across the country. These days high-schoolers are usually too busy browsing myspace and listening to last.fm to care about what's on the radio, but it gets things off to an energetic start before the heavy stuff sets in. It's a song tailor made for and saved by Coumo's delicate but defiant vocal style, delivered as if he himself is desperate to believe he's actually telling the truth.
I know this album has been touted as "experimental" and a big example of why is song #2: "The Greatest Man that Ever Lived." This song is a self-conscious mix of styles which I am throughly too dull to even attempt to name. Just know there's a lot of them, and somehow, the song works anyway. It's a testament to how good of a hook-man Rivers really is.
Track number 3, "Pork and Beans" is a return to the theme of rebellion, and like Troublemaker it's a rabble rousing rock anthem given an almost desperate edge by Coumo's boisterous but frail character. It's catchy, it's fun, and it's already all over the radio. There is no escape.
Songs don't often give me goose-bumps and make me stop in my tracks, whatever I'm doing, to listen to it over and over again. Track 4, Heart Songs, did that. It's clear as a bell, slightly choral and plays like a hymn to a life lived in music. From the low-profile beginning to the revelation of a crescendo, I love every beautiful moment of this beautiful song.
Next up, "Everybody get dangerous." Again with the defiance, (yeah, get dangerous, fuck the system, yeah!) but with the twist this time that instead of writing about stuff he's done, instead Coumo is writing about stuff he hasn't done..... I think. He might never have tipped cows, but not much else is certain in this up-tempo, intense, very Weezer song. Wither it's real rebellion or vicarious imagination, the song is dark, wistful, and either a thrilling cautionary story or the fantasy of a good boy who sometimes wishes he were bad.
"Dreamin"' is a sonata. No really! It's got the four movements with the speed changes, the form, the up-tempo shifts, the slow dance movement, the quick finale...It's a friggin sonata as a rock song. Wether it's a good rock song, the answer is a resounding "maybe:" if you don't know what a sonata is, the song's shifts will seem random, maybe even disjointed. All in all it doesn't hold together as well as The Greatest Man that Ever Lived, but it makes my classical music loving geek happy, and it'll make you happy too if you're wondering how popular music format changes over the years. Or rather, how it does not.
Now things get tricky, because here something unprecedented has occurred.
Weezer has always contained two camps: one camp containing people named "Rivers Coumo" and one camp containing people NOT named Rivers Coumo. The Rivers make the rules. The Rivers write the songs, play lead, sing, and run the band. The Rivers is god. Don't question the Rivers.
Well the planets must have aligned somehow because holy crap, someone else let the Not-Rivers actually DO things! They are writing! They are singing! How it happened I don't know, but this is the kind of thing I love, because when creative people mix it up, that's when real magic can happen.
Brian Bell, second guitarist, is first to step up to the mic with "Thought I Knew," a cheesy little number with tightly constructed rhyming lyrics and a slight sci-fi folk-song flavor. It's inevitable that his voice will be compared to Rivers', so I'll just say Bell doesn't have that range, but as his voice scrapes the upper limits of his own register, he sounds both sardonic and heartfelt. It's not too challenging a song, but it's easy listening and there's a danger it'll get stuck in your head.
Definitely the most interesting song on the album comes from the bass player, Scott Shriner, and his "Cold Dark World." It's a blatantly romantic song, a man assuring a despairing but beautiful girl that he'll always be there for her, and here's the twist: the song is terrifying. The minor-key cords, the menacing bite the singer gives those sugar sweet lyrics (here Coumo's delicate voice wouldn't have fit) all add up to a rain-slicked horror movie of a song. It's like a glimpse inside the mind of a serial killer stalking his pray with his own sick kind of love, or it's from the woman's fear of strangers, but whatever it is, it's intense and dark and very, very cool.
After all that intensity it's nice to go back into outer space for another folk song for robots. Call me crazy but I like it. It's as mechanized as a robot, but it's a wistful robot with a beating heart and the slower, melodic pay-off is worth it. It's called "Automatic" and it features Patrick Wilson, Weezer's drummer sounding much more at-ease behind the mic then Rivers sounds banging away at the drum-kit. He sings like a singer and his voice has an echo of Coumo's in it's mix of rough and sweet.
Perhaps it's because my ears are attuned to the smaller soundscapes of the Not-Rivers, but when Coumo himself returns with the longing album closer "The Angel and the One," it's not him saying goodbye to a lady he can't stay around for. He gives the upper part of his range a work out as he begs the world not to leave, not to make him leave, and I could make an observation about fame in this time of two-minute attention spans...but I won't, because this lovely piece is so mellow. It's a fine send-off and a reminder that while the Not Rivers may be stretching their wings, there's a reason why this was his show for all those years.
There isn't a single bad song on this album: it's an incredibly varied collection and although it leaks some random parts, I'm awed by the creativity of the thing. As Weezer's forever awkward teenage nerds settle into their stable, comfortable adult lives and weather the music industry's turbulence on the cushion of their large fanbase, it's reassuring to know that just because you're an adult doesn't mean you can't keep dreaming.
Thursday, February 12, 2009
Full Album Review: Chris Cornell "Scream"
It's only fair that I write this. I've definitely whined and moaned about it enough in other circles, so I gotta put my money where my mouth is.
+++
Here is my full review of Chris Cornell's album with Timbaland: "Scream." It is very long. You have been warned.
I like originality.
I like it when brilliant people step outside their comfort zone and try new things.
When creativity pushes the boundaries and forgets genre in favor of doing something new, that's when real magic can happen and a whole new thing can be born.
In that spirit, today I am going to review Chris Cornell's "Scream," his...uh, collaboration with pop mastermind Timbaland.
I will review this album the way it was intended. Back to back and in it's entirety. Once this review starts up it just doesn't stop. So you better be ready, because this is gonna be intense.
Seriously, if you're not ready, the back button is right up there. I don't force anyone to care about my opinion, the same way I don't force anyone plant their nose in my armpit, and inhale deeply, and the back button is RIGHT up there. So if you want to keep reading, you've got no-one to blame but yourself.
Still here? Okay then, here we go! Pray for me!
Track 1: "Part of me"
What is this, an intro to an MGM musical? Is this really the right album? The sound shifts quickly to some vaguely eastern psychedelia stuff that gives me "Prince of Persia: Sands of Time" flashbacks and now I feel like a huge geek, but I don't really object because I loved that theme song and anything that reminds of it can't be all bad, right? There's some rumbling spoken word that's so heavily distorted I have no idea what it's saying, so it can't be that important. Though I heard the words "Chris Cornell" in there, so I'm guessing this was some cheeky meta self-reference.
I hate when my music winks at me.
And now we're on to the actual song part of the song, which, by the way, is not the least bit eastern-sounding, so I dunno what the intro was about. It's, well.. it's very clubby, lots of electric beeps and overdubs. Overdubs.
You know what Overdubs says to me?
It says late 90s pop explosion.
It says, "pay no attention to the pretty face on the box, it doesn't really matter who you're listening to. Dance, my hand-puppets, dance, and bring unto me the dollars of the idiotic masses." After I realized that the name on the box was just whatever was marketable at the moment and couldn't be any less relevant to the actual creative force behind the album (whoever that is) I didn't listen to any popular music at all for almost six years. I kid you not. For years all I listened to was Yoko Kanno, instrumental soundtracks, and jazz. The fact that this album, like all "pop" is heavy on the overdubs is not an endearing trait to me. Not at all.
The song's central character is a guy trying to convince this one girl that this other girl who he what-evered in a club was "just a fling" , calls her a bitch (twenty-two times) and whatever and ...blah blah blah... this plot-line makes Lil' Wayne sound like Bob Dylan in terms of lyrical depth.
C'mon Cornell, you don't have the ironic, casual misogyny required for this kind of topic. What's swaggering when coming from a huge ghetto club lord dude (guess who's the whitest chick in America?) doesn't quite sound the same from an ernest, skinny white guy.
Also, the beeping back-drop is boring me to tears. I got excited for a few minutes when I thought I heard some real instruments in the bridge, but they didn't last long before the electronica swallowed them up. It makes me sad because now I just know there is a REAL musician buried in there somewhere and I am never going to get to hear what they really sound like.
Now it's time for the 'transition," and kids, don't let the hype fool you, of the fourteen 'transitions' on this album, only two or so are 'seamless.' The rest leap from sound to sound in disorienting ways, like right here. They shift abruptly from key-tar scales to some bubbly sounding blue cold "ayy" sounds, and before you have time to get your bearings,
Track 2: "Scream."
I've actually heard this one played live. "Scream" and it's much better live, though it still contains no screaming at all. Still, it annoys me much less then the previous one, if just because it doesn't contain the word "bitch." The lyrical theme seems to be a actually a pretty accurate reflection of what happens when two people are just at each-other's throats all the time for reasons neither of which can really remember. Few people do the poisoned relationship theme better then Chris Cornell, THIS is the kind of stuff his brooding, dark vocals were made for.
And just when I'm getting into it, who shows up but Timbaland. In the flesh, spouting some grammatically incorrect hood-speak into his microphone.
Just in case anyone was in danger of forgetting the man behind the curtain, Timbaland is here to remind you who is the stud-muffin, and who is the wing-man.
It upset me so much I completely forgot to listen to the rest of the song.
At least the transition actually IS more "seamless" this time. I'm guessing this is what we were supposed to expect from this album, though went on about 30 seconds longer ten it should have to maintain interest, and it doesn't blend perfectly, but oh well at least the song's over.
Track 3: "Time"
Ok, there actually IS some screaming in this song, and that's great because I love it when Cornell screams at me. But I gotta say, it's strange hearing that howl of his in what is such an unabashed pop song. How unabashed?
One of the lines is, no joke: "Make a little love."
And while it was not followed recommendations that we should 'get down tonight,' I think the point is made. This song wouldn't be out of place in a disco in the 1970s, a decade, by the way, that I give thanks everyday that I was not alive for.
Wait a minute. That's it. This isn't a club track, this is a disco track! A disco IN SPACE, if the cosmic keyboards are anything to go by. A space disco! And the theme is how powerless we are in the face of time.
Normally I like my Space Discos keeping me up to date on the weather conditions on Mars but you know what, I'll totally make an allowance for this one because it reminds me of a Red Dwarf, and anything that reminds of Red Dwarf, I like. Because yes, I am a geek.
Track 4: "Sweet Revenge."
The good news is we're out of the space disco. The bad news is we're back in the club. Very, very much in the club. So deep in the club that Justin Timberlake just turned up with twenty underage supermodels and got them all in without ids.
That is how clubby this is.
By the way, the Timberlake thing didn't come out of nowhere: he actually sings on this track as one of the anonymous computer-generated phantoms warbling the chorus in that studied falsetto of his and doing his best to kill any angst that Cornell's seething bitter lyrics are building up. Justin Timberlake's a talented guy, but every time he opens his mouth, my IQ drops five points. Perfect when I've had a few drinks and really want to get stupid on a dance floor. Not so great any other time.
I like the theme of the song, it's classic Cornell raging against those who would control and direct him (bad managers, ungrateful band-mates, the music biz in general, fill in the blank) but unless you're a pretty sulky drunk, the people who will listen to this will not be lovin' the angry vibe running through what's otherwise a perfectly decent, upbeat dance song.
Track: 5: "Get Up."
Get up. Get up WHERE? How? In what way? So many questions, not enough answers!
The lower depths of Cornell's vocal cords gets a good workout here, making this track a new low (rim-shot), but his voice is so coated with effects that it if you hadn't read the box it would be hard to tell it was him. There is lots of trilling button-pushing here: lots of keyboards, and some heavily coating of the vocals with (to me) unidentifiable effects that have the effect of making everything sound very abstract. If I were to describe this song in one word it would be "vague." There's kind of nothing here to hang onto and I can't figure out where or what anything is supposed to be. Forget the outro foreshadowing the next song too: that's the whole first verse of the next song. With the guitar interlude I was sure there was a whole different song in there somewhere, but since it only exists for around 30 seconds, it doesn't get any chance to really go anywhere.
Ok, I have to amend my previous statement. It's not "vague." It's "disorienting." The world keeps shifting around and I'm currently not nearly drunk or high enough to be at ease with it. Maybe that's intentional, but that might be giving them too much credit. I'm LOOKING for a unifying theme here, but I'm just not finding it.
Track 6: "Ground Zero"
May I say this song, more then any other on this record, tests my "skip reflex" to it's maximum. There's a sampled "ay!" noise in the background and some synth strings over a danceable electric chorus of overdubbing that I swear is the cheeriest setting imaginable for the phrase "blood on the concrete, river of deceit" imaginable. Where in the world am I gonna go? Well, not here, that's for sure. This is ground zero, so run for your life. Run, AWAY from the cringe-worthy sampling, away from the first actual live percussion I can remember hearing on this album (at least, I think it's live) away from this whole sad affair.
Track 7: "Never Far Away"
This is, simply put, the most unabashedly bubble-gum romantic pop song that Chris Cornell has ever sang ever. In fact, it's so different from his normal pessimistic attitude that there's this evil little voice in the back of my head saying there is NO WAY he actually wrote these lyrics.
Timbaland productions feature an infamous revolving door of contributers. What would the odds be he got someone to ghost a song for one of rock's best songwriters?
Naw, not even he's that low.
I hope.
Anyway, the raw honesty of Cornell's voice IS touching and an effective counter-point to the love-struck bubble-gum cheerfulness of the lyrics, before some fake-sounding guitars shift this song from ernest to foreboding, some deep male chants and it's back into the realm of the "Prince of Persia" which was teased at the beginning.
Finally. We've been waiting the whole album to find out what that was all about.
Track 8: "Take me Alive"
Ok, I'll admit the eastern stuff is psychedelic and cool. Too bad I can't figure out what it has to do with the song's theme: a guy lamenting his inability to end a destructive, controlling relationship. It's similar in theme to Soundgarden's "Rusty Cage" in which a man declares defiantly he will soon break free from what holds him prisoner, but by the end of the song, the prison is still very much intact. He just can't take that final step. In that way, the narrative character of "Take me Alive" declares he won't ever be taken alive, it's pretty clear he already has.
The destructive relationship is kind of a standby for Cornell, and the "exotic" framing doesn't seem to have anything to do with the domesticity of the subject, but hey, I'd rather be striding down the street to the bazar then trapped in a hum-drum dance club, so I won't complain too much.
You know something I've just realized. Every single song on this CD is abbreviated. Really, it's like you get two-thirds of a real song, and the last quarter of any track is just teaser for the next one, some teasers better then others (this one is a return to the 70s keyboards and shimmering electronica with heavily distorted vocals).
Track 9: "Long gone."
Ok, I just heard this verse, it was part of the teaser, and now you're making me listen to the same exact thing again? That's annoying me, which is too bad because this song, "Long Gone" actually showcases the strength of Chris's voice more-so then most on this album: until, that is, the wanton overdubbing of the chorus ruins it, the way it can make even the strongest voices sound devoid of personality. Another kind-of break up song, with a key-tar bridge reminiscent of "Scream," which I guess is some cheeky self-reference. Great, now I want to scream.
I don't really have much to say about this one, because it sounds kind of like a rehash of "Sweet Revenge" without the bitterness and without the novelty of a J.T cameo. Next please.
Track 10: "Enemy"
So we've already been to Turkey. Who's in the mood for a little Irish jig? Because that's exactly what's next. Kind of. Don't worry, it's only two seconds long, and the rest is nicely nondescript club noises.
"Enemy," is what it's called, and it features some of the darkest lyrics on the whole album, which is too bad because it's such a dull song. Cornell's voice is almost unrecognizable under a multitude of retro-electronic effects, and key-strings and some dull drumming rule the day. Maybe it's just because I'm writing this extremely late at night, but I almost dozed off during this one. Good thing it doesn't last too long. None of these songs are longer then two verses, which is a good thing and probably shouldn't be.
Track 11: "Other side of Town"
Finally a transition that actually works. This morph was so seamless I almost didn't hear it happen.
The good news is that live, military-style drums are DEFIANTLY audible in this one. Too bad the vocal effects and spacey keyboards are back. Oh and the sampling. "Ee-yah!" repeats over and over somewhere in the wallpaper of this song.
This song is a narrative about a guy who's ex follows him from a party. She's high on something and what actually happens between them is unknown, but next thing you know, he's feeling guilty as hell but she doesn't want to talk to him. He whines about it for the rest of the song. One minute he wants to get rid of her and the next he's begging for forgiveness? I just don't follow you.
The transition consists of some sensitive pianos and strings. The strings give everything a sort of cinematic sheen, if, ya know, a cinema is one of those little TVs that plays montages in a club. It's all very moody and sparkly. I can imagine it being the center piece of a music video featuring slow-mo dancing and lots of blue light, but I can imagine that about most of the tracks on this album.
Track 12: "Climbing up the walls"
This track ounds a lot like the proceeding: more strings and electronic keyboards and a very, very basic drum beat. Overdubbing producing a layered kind of disjointed timing in the chorus that sounds kind of interesting but mechanical and definitely artificial.
That's what gets me about pop, and it's why I didn't listen to it for years. It's just so damn FAKE. That's not singer's real timing: Cornell didn't actually sing the chorus that way, he sang bits and they were assembled like puzzle pieces to create the finished product. Cornell has insisted over and over in interviews that he was an equal partner in writing these songs, but I just plain don't trust anything that has this many raw seams visible is anyone's construction but Timbaland's. In his world, the singer just doesn't have any power. He can sounds like anything, and lines and phrases and notes can be moved about at will, it's all a matter of pushing the right buttons.
I think there's a real guitar buried in this one somewhere, but don't worry, it's very basic and doesn't last long. Overall, this slow-to-mid-tempo dancey number just doesn't have much personality, except Chris sounds vaguely more miffed then before. For once I'm actually thankful for the outro's arrival, if just because it means the song's almost over. This one is a new one: sounds like Cornell strumming some sort of acoustic and singing moodily through what sounds like an old radio. It's actually pretty cool, but what it has to do with what follows is utterly beyond me.
Track 13: "Watch out"
I guess someone could tell I needed a jolt to wake me up: this song begins with some unidentifiable mounting noise, an insistently whispered "wake up" and some buzzing hooks, all telling the story of a hell-bent danger girl who drives like a maniac all the time. And, to make it worse, since the other line in the two-line chorus is "pick it up" she's a litterbug as well! Scandalous!
Now I know Cornell occationally rides his metaphors right into the ground ("Nothing left to Say but Goodbye" anyone?) but if this crazy driving is supposed to be a metaphor, and NOT, literally, about a crazy driving litterbug girl then it's just too heavy handed. Even for me. Maybe the last verse has some stuff about mirrors, but for the most part, it keeps on with the crazy girl, talking about how she's crazy.
I think Timbaland's got a hatred for instruments. He cant even let his own choruses go by unaccosted by bumps, scratches and jolts. The ending, with the sound of film running out of an old projector, is kind of cool in a found-noise-you-hear-at-the-end-of-an-Oasis track kind of way.
Track 14: "Two Drink Minimum"
Now comes the album's actual conclusion. Starts pretty promising actually: a solo electric guitar that I can ACTUALLY imagine getting played somewhere, Chris's brooding vocals for once free of any noticeable distortion, even in the chorus (the voice jumps at :30 seconds in though, so there's been SOME editing). Some western folk harmonica gives everything a very western feel. In my mind I see a country saloon at sunrise, and the slow, thirsty defeat of a man anticipating getting absolutely hammered after a huge loss. An organ materializes, and the whole thing has a very funereal air, Cornell's voice actually infusing some desperation into the grim, slow proceedings. To me this is the most atmospheric, emotionally complex piece on the album. It's my hands-down favorite and serves as a semi-painful reminder to me of why, exactly, I'm a fan of this guy in the first place.
Though a better example is the rock-solid, touching blues of the track "I promise It's Not Goodbye," which is available for free download on Cornell's website. This song is an exquisite arrangement of bluesy guitar, a solid drum beat, and some folk harmonica thrown in to get the tears flowing. It's an arrangement vaguely reminiscent of "Two Drink Minimum," except with more muscle and direction. It's the restrained, unadorned pain in Cornell's voice that's gives the song it's power, transforming the sorrow into transcendent willpower. The lyrics are in the voice of a child who has "risen," leaving behind a family, whom she comforts one at a time, by name, and if they sound kind of simply sentimental for a Cornell song (after "Never Far Away?"), it's because they weren't written by him, but by a fan named Rory Dela Rosa. Rory wrote in the voice of his daughter, whom he just lost lost to cancer at the age of 6. Cornell's treatment of the material is just masterful, conjuring in turn the strong, reassuring presense of the child's spirit, the loving father willing her to stay close to him, and the third party, the singer, praying for them both in the best way he knows how. It's a powerful, it's emotional, and it's a wonderful song.
People have decried his aging vocal cords as evidence of his deteriorating power. These people are idiots, and for all it's faults, there are moments where Cornell proves that voice of his can still rip right to your soul when he decides he wants to. There's still no singer out there who can articulate the honest, gut-wrenching emotion quite like he can. It's just too bad honest, gut-wrenching emotion seems to be exactly what Scream, for the most part, couldn't care less about. This isn't an album for philosphizing over and crying to. This is an album for clubs, workouts, and jogs, a role it actually fullfills more then capably. It's not a bad album, it's just... it's being marketed as this unique collaboration, this great meeting-of-the-minds sure to revolutionize music as we know it, and it's just plain not the case. This isn't any sort of brilliant fusion of anything, this is an unadorned, pure, unadultrated pop album, full of solid, get-stuck-in-your-head pop, not unlike everything else Timbaland has done, and a bit like stuff Cornell himself has previously dabbled in. It's got some interesting tweaks, like the MGM intro, but the tweeks don't seem to serve any purpose besides they're own novelty, and if there was an overarching unifying theme to the album, I couldn't find it.
Fortunately, whoever bankrolled the album smelled out the reviews like this one and sent Chris and Tim on a charm-offensive campaign tour of the West Coast, full of interviews about how proud they are of this work and how much fun it is to play, and how it's unique and original and implying anyone who doesn't think so is stuck in the past.
It's done it's job; there is no way this album isn't going to make gazillions of dollars from those simply curious about if it's REALLY as original as people say it is, and it'll no doubt go on to win "critical acclaim" from critics who love them both.
These are indeed dark days for music.
My prediction? Cornell will continue to write and tour. I don't think he really knows any other way to live. His life show will continue to be great, and that includes his Scream material, which is much more fun when it's played live by real musicians with real instruments. Timbaland will continue to wallow in his own genius and crank out hits exactly like his last hits. His name has become so synonymous with pop success that there's a whole generation out there who don't know anything better exists. Whatever will unseat him will be big, and new, and actually will change the face of popular music as we know it. And what's more, they will deserve every bit of the success they've worked so hard for, and they'll restore some of music's lost innocence.
+++
Here is my full review of Chris Cornell's album with Timbaland: "Scream." It is very long. You have been warned.
I like originality.
I like it when brilliant people step outside their comfort zone and try new things.
When creativity pushes the boundaries and forgets genre in favor of doing something new, that's when real magic can happen and a whole new thing can be born.
In that spirit, today I am going to review Chris Cornell's "Scream," his...uh, collaboration with pop mastermind Timbaland.
I will review this album the way it was intended. Back to back and in it's entirety. Once this review starts up it just doesn't stop. So you better be ready, because this is gonna be intense.
Seriously, if you're not ready, the back button is right up there. I don't force anyone to care about my opinion, the same way I don't force anyone plant their nose in my armpit, and inhale deeply, and the back button is RIGHT up there. So if you want to keep reading, you've got no-one to blame but yourself.
Still here? Okay then, here we go! Pray for me!
Track 1: "Part of me"
What is this, an intro to an MGM musical? Is this really the right album? The sound shifts quickly to some vaguely eastern psychedelia stuff that gives me "Prince of Persia: Sands of Time" flashbacks and now I feel like a huge geek, but I don't really object because I loved that theme song and anything that reminds of it can't be all bad, right? There's some rumbling spoken word that's so heavily distorted I have no idea what it's saying, so it can't be that important. Though I heard the words "Chris Cornell" in there, so I'm guessing this was some cheeky meta self-reference.
I hate when my music winks at me.
And now we're on to the actual song part of the song, which, by the way, is not the least bit eastern-sounding, so I dunno what the intro was about. It's, well.. it's very clubby, lots of electric beeps and overdubs. Overdubs.
You know what Overdubs says to me?
It says late 90s pop explosion.
It says, "pay no attention to the pretty face on the box, it doesn't really matter who you're listening to. Dance, my hand-puppets, dance, and bring unto me the dollars of the idiotic masses." After I realized that the name on the box was just whatever was marketable at the moment and couldn't be any less relevant to the actual creative force behind the album (whoever that is) I didn't listen to any popular music at all for almost six years. I kid you not. For years all I listened to was Yoko Kanno, instrumental soundtracks, and jazz. The fact that this album, like all "pop" is heavy on the overdubs is not an endearing trait to me. Not at all.
The song's central character is a guy trying to convince this one girl that this other girl who he what-evered in a club was "just a fling" , calls her a bitch (twenty-two times) and whatever and ...blah blah blah... this plot-line makes Lil' Wayne sound like Bob Dylan in terms of lyrical depth.
C'mon Cornell, you don't have the ironic, casual misogyny required for this kind of topic. What's swaggering when coming from a huge ghetto club lord dude (guess who's the whitest chick in America?) doesn't quite sound the same from an ernest, skinny white guy.
Also, the beeping back-drop is boring me to tears. I got excited for a few minutes when I thought I heard some real instruments in the bridge, but they didn't last long before the electronica swallowed them up. It makes me sad because now I just know there is a REAL musician buried in there somewhere and I am never going to get to hear what they really sound like.
Now it's time for the 'transition," and kids, don't let the hype fool you, of the fourteen 'transitions' on this album, only two or so are 'seamless.' The rest leap from sound to sound in disorienting ways, like right here. They shift abruptly from key-tar scales to some bubbly sounding blue cold "ayy" sounds, and before you have time to get your bearings,
Track 2: "Scream."
I've actually heard this one played live. "Scream" and it's much better live, though it still contains no screaming at all. Still, it annoys me much less then the previous one, if just because it doesn't contain the word "bitch." The lyrical theme seems to be a actually a pretty accurate reflection of what happens when two people are just at each-other's throats all the time for reasons neither of which can really remember. Few people do the poisoned relationship theme better then Chris Cornell, THIS is the kind of stuff his brooding, dark vocals were made for.
And just when I'm getting into it, who shows up but Timbaland. In the flesh, spouting some grammatically incorrect hood-speak into his microphone.
Just in case anyone was in danger of forgetting the man behind the curtain, Timbaland is here to remind you who is the stud-muffin, and who is the wing-man.
It upset me so much I completely forgot to listen to the rest of the song.
At least the transition actually IS more "seamless" this time. I'm guessing this is what we were supposed to expect from this album, though went on about 30 seconds longer ten it should have to maintain interest, and it doesn't blend perfectly, but oh well at least the song's over.
Track 3: "Time"
Ok, there actually IS some screaming in this song, and that's great because I love it when Cornell screams at me. But I gotta say, it's strange hearing that howl of his in what is such an unabashed pop song. How unabashed?
One of the lines is, no joke: "Make a little love."
And while it was not followed recommendations that we should 'get down tonight,' I think the point is made. This song wouldn't be out of place in a disco in the 1970s, a decade, by the way, that I give thanks everyday that I was not alive for.
Wait a minute. That's it. This isn't a club track, this is a disco track! A disco IN SPACE, if the cosmic keyboards are anything to go by. A space disco! And the theme is how powerless we are in the face of time.
Normally I like my Space Discos keeping me up to date on the weather conditions on Mars but you know what, I'll totally make an allowance for this one because it reminds me of a Red Dwarf, and anything that reminds of Red Dwarf, I like. Because yes, I am a geek.
Track 4: "Sweet Revenge."
The good news is we're out of the space disco. The bad news is we're back in the club. Very, very much in the club. So deep in the club that Justin Timberlake just turned up with twenty underage supermodels and got them all in without ids.
That is how clubby this is.
By the way, the Timberlake thing didn't come out of nowhere: he actually sings on this track as one of the anonymous computer-generated phantoms warbling the chorus in that studied falsetto of his and doing his best to kill any angst that Cornell's seething bitter lyrics are building up. Justin Timberlake's a talented guy, but every time he opens his mouth, my IQ drops five points. Perfect when I've had a few drinks and really want to get stupid on a dance floor. Not so great any other time.
I like the theme of the song, it's classic Cornell raging against those who would control and direct him (bad managers, ungrateful band-mates, the music biz in general, fill in the blank) but unless you're a pretty sulky drunk, the people who will listen to this will not be lovin' the angry vibe running through what's otherwise a perfectly decent, upbeat dance song.
Track: 5: "Get Up."
Get up. Get up WHERE? How? In what way? So many questions, not enough answers!
The lower depths of Cornell's vocal cords gets a good workout here, making this track a new low (rim-shot), but his voice is so coated with effects that it if you hadn't read the box it would be hard to tell it was him. There is lots of trilling button-pushing here: lots of keyboards, and some heavily coating of the vocals with (to me) unidentifiable effects that have the effect of making everything sound very abstract. If I were to describe this song in one word it would be "vague." There's kind of nothing here to hang onto and I can't figure out where or what anything is supposed to be. Forget the outro foreshadowing the next song too: that's the whole first verse of the next song. With the guitar interlude I was sure there was a whole different song in there somewhere, but since it only exists for around 30 seconds, it doesn't get any chance to really go anywhere.
Ok, I have to amend my previous statement. It's not "vague." It's "disorienting." The world keeps shifting around and I'm currently not nearly drunk or high enough to be at ease with it. Maybe that's intentional, but that might be giving them too much credit. I'm LOOKING for a unifying theme here, but I'm just not finding it.
Track 6: "Ground Zero"
May I say this song, more then any other on this record, tests my "skip reflex" to it's maximum. There's a sampled "ay!" noise in the background and some synth strings over a danceable electric chorus of overdubbing that I swear is the cheeriest setting imaginable for the phrase "blood on the concrete, river of deceit" imaginable. Where in the world am I gonna go? Well, not here, that's for sure. This is ground zero, so run for your life. Run, AWAY from the cringe-worthy sampling, away from the first actual live percussion I can remember hearing on this album (at least, I think it's live) away from this whole sad affair.
Track 7: "Never Far Away"
This is, simply put, the most unabashedly bubble-gum romantic pop song that Chris Cornell has ever sang ever. In fact, it's so different from his normal pessimistic attitude that there's this evil little voice in the back of my head saying there is NO WAY he actually wrote these lyrics.
Timbaland productions feature an infamous revolving door of contributers. What would the odds be he got someone to ghost a song for one of rock's best songwriters?
Naw, not even he's that low.
I hope.
Anyway, the raw honesty of Cornell's voice IS touching and an effective counter-point to the love-struck bubble-gum cheerfulness of the lyrics, before some fake-sounding guitars shift this song from ernest to foreboding, some deep male chants and it's back into the realm of the "Prince of Persia" which was teased at the beginning.
Finally. We've been waiting the whole album to find out what that was all about.
Track 8: "Take me Alive"
Ok, I'll admit the eastern stuff is psychedelic and cool. Too bad I can't figure out what it has to do with the song's theme: a guy lamenting his inability to end a destructive, controlling relationship. It's similar in theme to Soundgarden's "Rusty Cage" in which a man declares defiantly he will soon break free from what holds him prisoner, but by the end of the song, the prison is still very much intact. He just can't take that final step. In that way, the narrative character of "Take me Alive" declares he won't ever be taken alive, it's pretty clear he already has.
The destructive relationship is kind of a standby for Cornell, and the "exotic" framing doesn't seem to have anything to do with the domesticity of the subject, but hey, I'd rather be striding down the street to the bazar then trapped in a hum-drum dance club, so I won't complain too much.
You know something I've just realized. Every single song on this CD is abbreviated. Really, it's like you get two-thirds of a real song, and the last quarter of any track is just teaser for the next one, some teasers better then others (this one is a return to the 70s keyboards and shimmering electronica with heavily distorted vocals).
Track 9: "Long gone."
Ok, I just heard this verse, it was part of the teaser, and now you're making me listen to the same exact thing again? That's annoying me, which is too bad because this song, "Long Gone" actually showcases the strength of Chris's voice more-so then most on this album: until, that is, the wanton overdubbing of the chorus ruins it, the way it can make even the strongest voices sound devoid of personality. Another kind-of break up song, with a key-tar bridge reminiscent of "Scream," which I guess is some cheeky self-reference. Great, now I want to scream.
I don't really have much to say about this one, because it sounds kind of like a rehash of "Sweet Revenge" without the bitterness and without the novelty of a J.T cameo. Next please.
Track 10: "Enemy"
So we've already been to Turkey. Who's in the mood for a little Irish jig? Because that's exactly what's next. Kind of. Don't worry, it's only two seconds long, and the rest is nicely nondescript club noises.
"Enemy," is what it's called, and it features some of the darkest lyrics on the whole album, which is too bad because it's such a dull song. Cornell's voice is almost unrecognizable under a multitude of retro-electronic effects, and key-strings and some dull drumming rule the day. Maybe it's just because I'm writing this extremely late at night, but I almost dozed off during this one. Good thing it doesn't last too long. None of these songs are longer then two verses, which is a good thing and probably shouldn't be.
Track 11: "Other side of Town"
Finally a transition that actually works. This morph was so seamless I almost didn't hear it happen.
The good news is that live, military-style drums are DEFIANTLY audible in this one. Too bad the vocal effects and spacey keyboards are back. Oh and the sampling. "Ee-yah!" repeats over and over somewhere in the wallpaper of this song.
This song is a narrative about a guy who's ex follows him from a party. She's high on something and what actually happens between them is unknown, but next thing you know, he's feeling guilty as hell but she doesn't want to talk to him. He whines about it for the rest of the song. One minute he wants to get rid of her and the next he's begging for forgiveness? I just don't follow you.
The transition consists of some sensitive pianos and strings. The strings give everything a sort of cinematic sheen, if, ya know, a cinema is one of those little TVs that plays montages in a club. It's all very moody and sparkly. I can imagine it being the center piece of a music video featuring slow-mo dancing and lots of blue light, but I can imagine that about most of the tracks on this album.
Track 12: "Climbing up the walls"
This track ounds a lot like the proceeding: more strings and electronic keyboards and a very, very basic drum beat. Overdubbing producing a layered kind of disjointed timing in the chorus that sounds kind of interesting but mechanical and definitely artificial.
That's what gets me about pop, and it's why I didn't listen to it for years. It's just so damn FAKE. That's not singer's real timing: Cornell didn't actually sing the chorus that way, he sang bits and they were assembled like puzzle pieces to create the finished product. Cornell has insisted over and over in interviews that he was an equal partner in writing these songs, but I just plain don't trust anything that has this many raw seams visible is anyone's construction but Timbaland's. In his world, the singer just doesn't have any power. He can sounds like anything, and lines and phrases and notes can be moved about at will, it's all a matter of pushing the right buttons.
I think there's a real guitar buried in this one somewhere, but don't worry, it's very basic and doesn't last long. Overall, this slow-to-mid-tempo dancey number just doesn't have much personality, except Chris sounds vaguely more miffed then before. For once I'm actually thankful for the outro's arrival, if just because it means the song's almost over. This one is a new one: sounds like Cornell strumming some sort of acoustic and singing moodily through what sounds like an old radio. It's actually pretty cool, but what it has to do with what follows is utterly beyond me.
Track 13: "Watch out"
I guess someone could tell I needed a jolt to wake me up: this song begins with some unidentifiable mounting noise, an insistently whispered "wake up" and some buzzing hooks, all telling the story of a hell-bent danger girl who drives like a maniac all the time. And, to make it worse, since the other line in the two-line chorus is "pick it up" she's a litterbug as well! Scandalous!
Now I know Cornell occationally rides his metaphors right into the ground ("Nothing left to Say but Goodbye" anyone?) but if this crazy driving is supposed to be a metaphor, and NOT, literally, about a crazy driving litterbug girl then it's just too heavy handed. Even for me. Maybe the last verse has some stuff about mirrors, but for the most part, it keeps on with the crazy girl, talking about how she's crazy.
I think Timbaland's got a hatred for instruments. He cant even let his own choruses go by unaccosted by bumps, scratches and jolts. The ending, with the sound of film running out of an old projector, is kind of cool in a found-noise-you-hear-at-the-end-of-an-Oasis track kind of way.
Track 14: "Two Drink Minimum"
Now comes the album's actual conclusion. Starts pretty promising actually: a solo electric guitar that I can ACTUALLY imagine getting played somewhere, Chris's brooding vocals for once free of any noticeable distortion, even in the chorus (the voice jumps at :30 seconds in though, so there's been SOME editing). Some western folk harmonica gives everything a very western feel. In my mind I see a country saloon at sunrise, and the slow, thirsty defeat of a man anticipating getting absolutely hammered after a huge loss. An organ materializes, and the whole thing has a very funereal air, Cornell's voice actually infusing some desperation into the grim, slow proceedings. To me this is the most atmospheric, emotionally complex piece on the album. It's my hands-down favorite and serves as a semi-painful reminder to me of why, exactly, I'm a fan of this guy in the first place.
Though a better example is the rock-solid, touching blues of the track "I promise It's Not Goodbye," which is available for free download on Cornell's website. This song is an exquisite arrangement of bluesy guitar, a solid drum beat, and some folk harmonica thrown in to get the tears flowing. It's an arrangement vaguely reminiscent of "Two Drink Minimum," except with more muscle and direction. It's the restrained, unadorned pain in Cornell's voice that's gives the song it's power, transforming the sorrow into transcendent willpower. The lyrics are in the voice of a child who has "risen," leaving behind a family, whom she comforts one at a time, by name, and if they sound kind of simply sentimental for a Cornell song (after "Never Far Away?"), it's because they weren't written by him, but by a fan named Rory Dela Rosa. Rory wrote in the voice of his daughter, whom he just lost lost to cancer at the age of 6. Cornell's treatment of the material is just masterful, conjuring in turn the strong, reassuring presense of the child's spirit, the loving father willing her to stay close to him, and the third party, the singer, praying for them both in the best way he knows how. It's a powerful, it's emotional, and it's a wonderful song.
People have decried his aging vocal cords as evidence of his deteriorating power. These people are idiots, and for all it's faults, there are moments where Cornell proves that voice of his can still rip right to your soul when he decides he wants to. There's still no singer out there who can articulate the honest, gut-wrenching emotion quite like he can. It's just too bad honest, gut-wrenching emotion seems to be exactly what Scream, for the most part, couldn't care less about. This isn't an album for philosphizing over and crying to. This is an album for clubs, workouts, and jogs, a role it actually fullfills more then capably. It's not a bad album, it's just... it's being marketed as this unique collaboration, this great meeting-of-the-minds sure to revolutionize music as we know it, and it's just plain not the case. This isn't any sort of brilliant fusion of anything, this is an unadorned, pure, unadultrated pop album, full of solid, get-stuck-in-your-head pop, not unlike everything else Timbaland has done, and a bit like stuff Cornell himself has previously dabbled in. It's got some interesting tweaks, like the MGM intro, but the tweeks don't seem to serve any purpose besides they're own novelty, and if there was an overarching unifying theme to the album, I couldn't find it.
Fortunately, whoever bankrolled the album smelled out the reviews like this one and sent Chris and Tim on a charm-offensive campaign tour of the West Coast, full of interviews about how proud they are of this work and how much fun it is to play, and how it's unique and original and implying anyone who doesn't think so is stuck in the past.
It's done it's job; there is no way this album isn't going to make gazillions of dollars from those simply curious about if it's REALLY as original as people say it is, and it'll no doubt go on to win "critical acclaim" from critics who love them both.
These are indeed dark days for music.
My prediction? Cornell will continue to write and tour. I don't think he really knows any other way to live. His life show will continue to be great, and that includes his Scream material, which is much more fun when it's played live by real musicians with real instruments. Timbaland will continue to wallow in his own genius and crank out hits exactly like his last hits. His name has become so synonymous with pop success that there's a whole generation out there who don't know anything better exists. Whatever will unseat him will be big, and new, and actually will change the face of popular music as we know it. And what's more, they will deserve every bit of the success they've worked so hard for, and they'll restore some of music's lost innocence.
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