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Artist: SON VOLT |
There is an amusing moment on one of those murky Uncle Tupelo bootlegs making the rounds: it is 1989, Jay Farrar is piss drunk, and for the second or third time in the show he launches into the same “this-is-not-a-protest-song-this-is-an…” intro.
“Jesus, Jay,” Jeff Tweedy responds with bemusement.
We couldn’t have said it better ourselves.
The Search is a headscratcher. When the label’s press release described Son Volt’s forthcoming effort as “daring and diverse,” we should have known. “Daring and diverse” is industryspeak for “cobbled and inconsistent.”
We certainly don’t begrudge the band a new direction. If all we listened to was this so-called “alt.country,” we’d be a miserable lot. We do, however, appreciate cohesive LPs. And we hate cheeze.
In our humble estimation, half the songs on The Search should have been jettisoned. Either that, or all fourteen songs should have been re-cut under the guidance of a producer with an iron hand and a consistent, cheeze-free vision.
Our track-by-track commentary:
- “Slow Hearse” – An inauspicious opening. Plodding piano, synth strings, and Farrar chanting “Feels like driving round / In a slow hearse” in an uncomfortable octave. It doesn’t really even pass for a song, and the refrain makes one wonder whether Farrar is critiquing the current regime or this damn album.
- “The Picture” – Ouch. Hits you right in the chops with a shot of cheeze horns. Can’t we let that ballyhooed “Memphis Sound” rest in peace? Horns don’t have to be this terrible. Really. (See, for example, Jacob Valenzuela’s contribution to the forthcoming Richmond Fontaine disc.)
- “Action” – Sounds like a lesser track off one of Farrar’s solo discs. A vaguely eastern melody, Jay singing about “rotting waves of sound” through some sort of fuzz. Then a straightforward rock-and-roll resolution.
- “Underground Dream” – Absurd swelling synth strings behind the refrain “They can’t take away this underground dream.” Maybe not. But Jesus, Jay, underground dreams don’t have synth strings for a soundtrack. Overproduced Hollywood dreams do.
- “Circadian Rhythm” – The first track on the album that—despite it’s reliance on reversed digital samples—didn’t make us cringe. If we were to edit The Search down to an EP, this would be track one.
- “Beacon Soul” – An upbeat rocker. At least musically. Would have been at home on Okemah and the Melody of Riot. A decent song, even if a few of the lines seem forced.
- “The Search” – Like the previous track, sounds as though it might have been an Okemah outtake. The tritely anthemic chorus, however, is a bit clunky: “They can listen in, they can nose around / They can listen in, but they can never take us down.”
- “Adrenaline and Heresy” – A piano-driven mistake in two movements, reminiscent of the blunder which closes Okemah and the Melody of Riot. In the second part of the song, Farrar strays into a wholly uncomfortable vocal range, repeating “On adrenaline it’s a new day.” (Let’s hope he’s not secretly working on a rock opera.)
- “Satellite” – Some sort of off-kilter indyrock number that clocks in at just over two minutes. Not altogether unpleasant. According to Dr. Jay: “Delta blues, f*ckin’, will keep you healthy.” (At least we think that’s what he’s saying.)
- “Automatic Society” – Another two minute indyrock number. Marred by a flanged, stadiumrock bridge lifted straight out of the 1970s. Favorite line: “Cash back, heart attack, you want fries with that?”
- “Methamphetamine” – The album’s standout track. Featuring the pedal steel wizardry of Eric Heywood (or so we’re guessing), this song would have been perfectly at home on Son Volt’s 1996 Austin City Limits performance. It is a bit of a surprise to stumble upon it after wending one’s way through the first ten tracks. Opens: “I took the night shift, run a nickel on the dime / Try to play it straight, make it different this time / Still waitin’ to meet the next ex-wife.”
- “L Train” – The second of three consecutive tracks which seem to be a direct nod toward Farrar’s familiar past.
- “Highways and Cigarettes” – A duet with Shannon McNally. A solid spot of alt.country.
- “Phosphate Skin” – A throwaway. More of those ridiculous synth strings.
In summation: Maybe our reaction to The Search is merely the result of overblown expectations. Maybe we’re just assh*les. In any event, we’re disappointed. There’s more cheeze on this disc than on the four previous Son Volt releases combined. We love you Jay, but this one’s a bit off. Three cheezeballs.
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A NOTE ON THE RATING SYSTEM:
5 CHEEZEBALLS = UNLISTENABLE SCHLOCK
3 CHEEZEBALLS = A DIFFICULT SLOG
1 CHEEZEBALL = THE ODD FORGIVABLE MISSTEP
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