Wednesday, May 20, 1998
Soundbites
MUSIC
Garbage, "Version 2.0" (Almo) The cleverly titled "Version 2.0"
continues where Garbage’s debut album left off with superbly
textured melodies and Shirley Manson’s gritty vocals.
Butch Vig, drummer and super producer, uses more techno elements
than before, resulting in a cleaner sound. Like its namesake, the
sophomore disc updates the Garbage sound with technological
improvements and affirmations in good old power pop. "Push It," the
first single off the album, shows off the band’s encroachment into
higher sound works.
Qualities that made Garbage’s debut go double platinum remain
intact in "2.0" with the big, beaty guitar riffs, catchy choruses
and Manson’s shapable vocals. Vig adds more distortions and filters
on Manson’s voice and the songs require more creative range this
time around which Manson easily handles.
There is a definite agenda with "2.0." The songs move at a fast
clip, relying extra-heavily on Garbage’s electronic tendency and
limiting the guitars. "I Think I’m Paranoid" creates a new style
and exemplifies how rock and technological sounds should work
together with its sing-song vibe and top guitar chords.
At points, the speed coupled with the multiple layers of noise
work against the lyrics. "Hammering In My Head," suffers from
overproduction. Over the top melodies and Manson’s pandering kill,
"Head." But for the most part, Garbage elevates its musical clout
with an album thick in substance, light on fluff, and easy on the
ears. Trinh Bui A
The Suicide Machines, "Battle Hymns" (Hollywood) It’s a classic
case of punk style: short, simple and almost to the point. (Let’s
face it, punk rarely contains a "point.") In "Battle Hymns," the
Suicide Machines fit the genre well by sticking to the amusing
lyrics and hyper-rhythms without attempting pseudo-complexities in
technique.
From drum patterns to guitar hooks, the Suicide Machines remain
intriguing throughout every unusually short pick. The longest song,
"Give," gives the listener two minutes of basic catchy melodies and
mosh-inspiring beats. The shortest tune, "Punck," amusingly throws
out a quick drum combo and yells "Punck!" in silly splendor. Those
four seconds of fun are all you need.
Loud and obnoxious, it’s not the CD to give Mom for her
birthday. If you’re not into punk, you’ll miss the point and remain
left in the Orange County dust. The album also carries monotonous
tendencies.
Every one of the 22 tracks thrives on punk beats to survive and,
as a result, great songs like "Someone" rise to the top and
mediocre ones like "High Society" soon become forgotten. Michelle
Zubiate B-
Hayden, "The Closer I Get" (Outpost) There are artists whose
work is implicitly universal. For these artists, such as Bob Dylan
and U2, the personal feels consciously turned outward toward the
audience. There are other artists who bring the audience in toward
them. For some of these artists, such as Prince and Pulp’s Jarvis
Cocker, this world is a raunchy (and knowingly humorous) fantasy
land of sex, drugs and rock ‘n’ roll, starring themselves. For
others, such as Sebadoh’s Lou Barlow and the inimitable Morrissey,
it is a private world of insecurity and romantic failure,
unendingly examined in song after song.
On "The Closer I Get," Hayden clearly stakes a claim to join
this mopey elite, but song after song, his lyrics fall short,
leaving the listener more bemused than amused. A set of songs on
the album, "Two Doors," "Between Us to Hold" and "Nights Like This"
are emblematic of Hayden’s shortcomings. They strive for a Freedy
Johnston-like short story feeling, but instead come off resembling
blurry snapshots.
Part of the problem is Hayden’s inability to articulate the
source of tension in his songs. The listener can guess from his
bleak, gravelly tone, that he’s more lovelorn now than he was when
whatever he’s describing happened, but he can’t necessarily tell
what has happened to cause this switch. Another problem is Hayden’s
chronic lack of levity and distance. Absent from his work are
Barlow’s obsessively self-critical eye and Morissey’s ironic wit.
That leaves the listener with angst and more angst, so that when
our Canadian friend says on "Better Off Inside," "It’s funny how
things make more sense when you’re alone," one might want to
respond, "Really? Is that so? I wasn’t aware that anything was
funny to you, Hayden. But thanks for phrasing that thought in a way
that’s decidedly unfunny to me."
The record isn’t without its strengths. Hayden’s guitar playing
and singing have a tense quality, and his lyrics convey a
repetitive density. Perhaps exposure to the world, or the works of
Raymond Carver, will lead him to greatness. Michael Gillette C+
Jerry Cantrell, "Boggy Depot" (Columbia) In order to test the
quality of Alice in Chains’ guitarist Jerry Cantrell’s new album, a
fan received a copy. The fan, excited with the prospect of some
AIC-like tunes, rushed to his stereo, eagerly putting in "Boggy
Depot." He didn’t even make it all the way through the first track.
This reaction is not surprising, as "Boggy Depot" strays far from
Cantrell’s AIC days.
Cantrell has proven that he can write good songs. But for some
odd reason, he seems to have forgotten how to put a tune together.
"Dickeye," the opening track, is actually one of the album’s better
songs, which is not saying much. Its strange steel-drum solo
opening becomes irritating after a while, but the gritty power
chords that Cantrell spews forth from his guitar pick up the pace
nicely.
"Cut You In," the second track, begins well, with a nifty
acoustic riff that echoes AIC’s "Unplugged" album, but falters once
Cantrell mixes in jarring, distorted guitars. "Breaks My Back"
comes off as the Eagles’ "Hotel California" might sound after the
listener has been hit in the head with a baseball bat. "Jesus
Hands," a formulaic metal dirge is just flat out bad and should be
avoided at all costs.
Cantrell redeems himself toward the end with "Hurt A Long Time"
a subdued slower piece featuring a tastefully done slide guitar in
the background, confident vocals and the right mix of distortion.
Unfortunately, he can’t keep it up. By trying to mix too many
styles at once, he falls into the same pit that has plagued him
throughout the album. Brent Hopkins C-
GARBAGE
"Version 2.0"