Chaos and Creation in the Backyard
PAUL McCARTNEY
Capitol
Bigger Bang
THE ROLLING STONES
Virgin
It's in the pathology of Baby Boomer rock critics and music obsessives: We somehow think that our favorite legendary acts are going to suddenly pull some miraculous masterpiece out of their asses. Not gonna happen, people. The Stones are not gonna give us another Exile. Don't expect another Band on the Run from McCartney (let alone Sgt. Pepper). I don't think it's because these sexagenarian rockers are fat and lazy. It boils down to this: Songwriting is not a resource that endlessly regenerates itself.
This is especially evident in new CDs by the Stones and McCartney. Both acts still play their instruments with considerable aplomb. McCartney's voice has stayed in great shape, and Jagger — well let's just say that Jagger's hanging in there. Where Bigger Bang and Chaos and Creation fall short is in the material. We've heard some stronger incarnation of these songs before, and the ones that we haven't — well those are usually the worst of the lot.
McCartney fiddles with minor key melody and a shifting, art-rock sensibility on "At the Mercy," and it's an awkward mess. But have him strum an acoustic guitar and sing a lovely pop tune — as he does on several songs, the best of which is "Follow Me" — and it's perfectly agreeable. Or have him pound on a piano and belt out a punchy rock number, like on "Fine Line" and "Promise to You Girl," and that goes down nicely, too. It's just not revelatory, or particularly exciting.
Whereas McCartney seems to be reaching creatively on Chaos, The Stones appear bent on proving to the naysayers that they can still rock, prodigious wrinkles notwithstanding. On that count, they succeed. Bigger Bang includes its share of rave-ups with pell-mell grooves, jaggedly interlocked guitars and Jagger's preening snarl. Best of the lot is the opener "Rough Justice," a song with the kind of wild abandon that stands up to the band's earlier work. Jagger leeringly sings, "I was your little rooster/ But now I'm just one of your cocks."
Those are the most salacious lines in Bigger Bang, which otherwise fixates on post-adolescent love politics and clichéd finger-pointing songs ("Driving Too Fast," "Look What the Cat Dragged In"). Along with the adrenalized rockers, the Stones deliver a handful of mid-tempo funk pieces in the mold of "Miss You," a couple of front-porch blues tunes and at least one power ballad, "Streets of Love," that is truly horrid.
You'll notice that I've given each of these discs a 3-star rating. For the record, if I was allowed to keep just one, it'd be The Stones. 3 stars.
ERIC SNIDER
Headlines EP
NEON BLONDE
Dim Mak
Two of the guys from kid-beloved noise-punk act Blood Brothers get all electro on this introductory four-song CDEP/12-inch single. It's not bad, either, if you can handle the screechy, overwrought vocals. Interesting layers of sound tag each other in and out of the mix, while prominent rhythms and an underlying but strong commitment to melody occasionally recall TV on the Radio. The title track, with its beautiful piano cascades, stands way out, and even "Savannah Nights," the weakest tune here, gets more interesting with repeated listens. Still, one gets the feeling that four songs (one of them a remix) is more than enough; an entire album might grate considerably. (www.dimmak.com) 3 stars.
SCOTT HARRELL
Odditorium or Warlords of Mars
THE DANDY WARHOLS
Capitol
When reviewing a Warhols disc, you run into a problem: You're expected to think seriously about a band that is fundamentally a joke, from its name on down to tunes like "Cool as Kim Deal." Some listeners simply can't handle the hipster posturing inherent in the Warhols aesthetic, but the band is quite capable of laying down a catchy record regardless. "All the Money or the Simple Life Honey," from Odditorium, struts with a funky acoustic guitar and horns that sound like they were lifted from a Sam & Dave hit. But be warned about "A Loan Tonight," the 11-minute-plus closing song — with its totally unjustified length and inane sonics, the disc closes on a definite down note. In the end, Warhols music is initially grabby but ultimately disposable. 3 stars.
COOPER LANE BAKER
Trace
SON VOLT
Warner Bros.
Former Uncle Tupelo partner Jeff Tweedy beat him out of the gate by a few months with the Wilco debut A.M., but the maiden voyage of Jay Farrar's Son Volt made both a bigger aboveground impact and, more importantly, a surer initial step away from the two songwriters' former identity. Gritty and muscular, Trace sheds most of Uncle Tupelo's punkier tendencies in favor of a more mature, classic rock-anchored execution, but sacrifices none of Farrar's timeless, soulful Americana; the result is a twang-rock album that runs the emotional gamut with balls and heart.
SCOTT HARRELL
This article appears in Sep 28 – Oct 4, 2005.