Contraband
VELVET REVOLVER
RCA
Back when it was announced that Stone Temple Pilots frontman Scott Weiland had joined forces with Slash, Duff McKagan, and Matt Sorum of Guns 'N' Roses (and let's not forget guitarist Dave Kushner, of '80s L.A. punks Wasted Youth), I must admit the whole thing got me a little tingly, almost in spite of myself. Partly because I'm a member of that generation for whom Appetite for Destruction defined the most compelling elements of truly dangerous music. Partly because, after their generic debut, STP evolved into a consistently superior hard-rock band in its own right. But mostly because I was hoping for a return to form on the part of Slash, who is almost certainly the most talented and evocative blues-bent lead guitarist to emerge in the last 20 years.
Unfortunately, while Contraband is a solid, eminently listenable and occasionally blues-bent modern-rock album, it is neither attitude-laden nor particularly evocative. The disc's first half spends most of its time attempting to find room amid the incredibly slick production and familiar riffs for a good hook, and failing as often as it succeeds. Too frequently, the songs rely on Weiland's cocksure vocal presence rather than maverick guitar work or sheer chemistry. He's unarguably a great singer — and the tunes (first-half highlights: "Illegal I Song," "Spectacle") are engaging enough — but with what the listener knows about the guys backing him up, it rarely seems as if Velvet Revolver even approaches their assumed potential.
The record's second half fares better, once the overtly early-STP "Headspace" goes by. The interesting riffs and swagger of "Superhuman" show more life than anything that came before and, free of the baggage of visuals from The Hulk, "Set Me Free" sounds better than it did six months ago. "You Got No Right" acquits itself nobly by recalling the dreamy, ambitious vibe of latter-day mellow STP tracks like "Sour Girl." The punky "Dirty Little Thing" starts off by directly copping Appetite's "It's So Easy" before toppling into a generic chorus, but the closing ballad "Loving The Alien" redeems, if only slightly.
Though it improves on the first half, Contraband's back side suffers from the same lack of edge-of-chaos interplay and lengthy, dynamic Slash-isms I had hoped against hope to hear. Maybe it's unfair for me to hold Velvet Revolver up against something as rare and special as Appetite. Hell, at the end of the day, it's definitely not a bad album, just one that's more modern rock than gut-busting, rule-breaking rock 'n' roll. Contraband never transcends good rock to become great music, and given what we know these guys are capable of, I don't think a glimmer of that was too much to ask for. 
—Scott Harrell
A Bothered Mind
R.L. BURNSIDE
Fat Possum
The last great Mississippi bluesman has set aside his guitar, stopped playing gigs and recording. At 77, he's ailing in any number of ways, and spends most of his time watching TV in his trailer near Holly Springs, Miss. That leaves Fat Possum — the indie blues label based outside of Oxford that put Burnside on the map — trying to figure out ways to maximize the man who has been far and way its top seller. The production crew deserves credit for putting together something viable out of spare parts and snippets of old and new R.L. A Bothered Mind is a hodge-podge of songs on which a depleted Burnside was thickened up with ace players and effective edits. Fact is: Burnside simply did not have the strength to deliver another spooky, hill country drone-blues album. The two best songs showcase the contribution of Lyrics Born, a hero of underground hip-hop. Over the throbbing beat of "Goin' Down South," he talk-sings verses, followed by Burnside's gutbucket choruses; on the amped-up boogie "Someday Baby," LB contributes a springy rap-sung hook. The disc's other collaboration turns out to be its low point: Even though "My Name Is Robert Too" is built on a percolating funk foundation, guest Kid Rock drags it down with his incessant yelping. Elsewhere, producers take the distinctly rural Burnside sound and flesh it out with big beats, greasy guitar and slide parts, fattened bass, funky keyboards and bits of turntable scratching. Emphasizing the choruses, almost chant-style, gives these songs a big, anthemic feel. There's no hint of esoteric faux dance crap (a la Moby). Although heavily produced and edited, A Bothered Mind is at heart a funk-rock-blues record. The album features a couple of unadulterated tracks for good measure: the already released acoustic tune "Bird Without a Feather," a home recording from 1968, and the rambunctious electric song "See What My Buddy Done." Discovered in the vaults, it recalls R.L.'s early '90s artistic heyday. (www.fatpossum.com) 1/2
—ERIC SNIDER
Joan of Arc, Dick Cheney, Mark Twain …
JOAN OF ARC
Polyvinyl
Holy shit, Joan of Arc finally made an album I can listen to. Well, mostly, anyway. Long known more for its extremely collaborative nature and experimental processes than for, uh, songs and stuff, the revered Chicago art-rock outfit seems to have turned a corner with its latest full-length. More cohesive, approachable and innately melodic than anything the "band" (actually, a more-or-less continually morphing committee of musicians, anchored by singer/guitarist Tim Kinsella) has released in its volatile eight-year history, the new disc sacrifices surprisingly few of JoA's adventurous/self-indulgent/weird/post-jazzy tendencies. It's just that this time around, the men and women involved apply that daring more subtly, and in directions other than painfully trebly guitar skronk and the aural equivalent of free verse. Call what results "the after-hours Joan of Arc album." Or "the kinder, gentler Kinsella." Just don't call it a cop-out, because in its own way, this more humanly evocative, intriguing and overall listenable chapter is as challenging as ever. It just invites a larger cross-section of music fans to be challenged. (Release date: Aug. 24) 1/2
—Scott Harrell
This article appears in Aug 5-11, 2004.
