By Jamie Kornegay
Entertainment Editor
Stone Temple Pilots
Tiny Music ... Songs from the Vatican Gift Shop
(Atlantic)
After a successful sophomore album that disproved them as one-hit wonders, Stone Temple Pilots are comfortable enough with mainstream popularity to branch out on their third disc, Tiny Music ... Songs from the Vatican Gift Shop. But if you didn't like the band's grunge-powered passion before, then you'll probably hate the glam rock toss-offs they've compiled for this collection.
STP has gotten more sensitive on Tiny Music. Where frontman Scott Weiland once growled, he now whines. Where the threadbare structures once sounded full, they're now fragile. It's like they've been listening to the Beatles and recent R.E.M. without having learned much.
Take, for instance, the album's first single and video, "Big Bang Baby," where the wind machines and wrenching poses are exchanged for glitzy wardrobes and thick make-up. Weiland looks like he's been hanging out with Michael Stipe and Stephen Dorff, and the song suggests similar pretensions. (Oddly enough, I'm so disgusted watching this video that I can't seem to change the channel.)
The album finds tacky salvation in other attempts at flamboyance. "Art School Girl" ("She wears the leather/I wear the make-up") and "Tumble in the Rough" ("I made excuses for a million lies/But all I got was humble kidney pie") are so bad they instantly induce visions of Weiland's interpretive dancing, while "And So I Know" and "Love's Pop Suicide" are obnoxious exhibitionism with great hit potential.
The only songs that don't encourage activation of the skip button are throwbacks to their old, aggressively melodic style. "Trippin' on a Hole in a Paper Heart" has a nice, airy feel, despite lyrics like "So keep your bankroll lottery eat your salad day deathbed motorcade. There's also a comforting openness to "Adhesive" until a misfit trumpet solo disrupts the mood.
I'll admit that I've tapped my foot to an STP tune or two in the past. Where Tiny Music is concerned, however, the only thing I'll be tapping is the eject button. You can give them credit for trying something new, but like U2 and R.E.M., Stone Temple Pilots have lost their innovative way through the glitzy haze of celebrity.
Gillian Welch
Revival
(Almo Sounds)
I've always been one to run from country music, particularly the kind of hokey, hoedown pop anthems Nashville has been pumping out to line-dancers and rodeo fans for years. That's because I'd never heard real country until only recently.
Among those real artists, the type who write their own songs from their honest hearts, is Gillian Welch, a gal who, amazingly, grew up on R.E.M. and the Pixies in Los Angeles. You'd never guess it by listening to the bluegrass-inspired tunes on her fascinating debut, Revival, produced by T-Bone Burnett (Sam Phillips, Counting Crows).
Welch will likely be marketed alongside such artists as Jimmie Dale Gilmore and Lyle Lovett in an arena where there's no distinct style, but her honesty and beautiful simplicity won't likely be so quickly overlooked. "American Primitive" is a good description, she says, and her devotion to traditional performance and songwriting has earned that fitting title.
The songs on Revival ache of timeless, heartland American pathos, like the songs of such contemporary country-alternative heroes as Uncle Tupelo. Welch, teamed with fellow songwriter David Rawlings, is primarily an acoustic performer, and songs like "Orphan Girl" (covered by Emmylou Harris), "Barroom Girls" ("Oh the night came undone like a party dress/And fell at her feet in a beautiful mess") and "Acony Bell" attest to her gift for subtle brilliance.
Other influences paid homage to are blues, in "Pass You By"; old-style country, in "Only One and Only" ("There's a hundred bluebirds/Up above the clouds/Putting all the color in the sky"); and Willie Nelson-like cool, in "Paper Wings."
The album's greatest treasures are "Annabelle" ("We cannot have all things to please us/No matter how we try/Until we've all gone to Jesus/We can only wonder why"), a dark tune that feels as if it's been ripped straight from the Depression era, and "By the Mark," a hymn with harmonies straight from heaven. The industry would be hard-pressed to release two better songs this year, not to mention introduce us to a more exciting new artist than Gillian Welch.
Mark Eitzel
60 Watt Silver Lining
(Warner Bros.)
Maybe it's a good thing Mark Eitzel left American Music Club for a solo career. That band's last disc, San Francisco, was just too upbeat, denying fans Eitzel's melancholy charm. There's nothing wrong with light, but why focus on that when you're so good at dark?
American Music Club was "too much of a white middle-class boys club," according to Eitzel, so he reached deep inside and employed genuine soul for 60 Watt Silver Lining. Getting away from his previous band has also provided Eitzel with a jazzier sound, complementing his sad, soulful vocals and thoughtfully troubled lyrics.
Eitzel is convincing on most of his solo debut. On the disc's best tunes, he manages to keep his broken-hearted smile, the kind you'd find on a guy who sits in a dreary bar, contemplating his missteps more than pitying himself.
He has a knack for mood-setting through lyrics, as on "Mission Rock Resort" ("Let's have a drink at the Mission Rock/... Watch the blue-blue sky darken like an inhalation/Over the graveyard of ships and your conversation"), and through music, like the smoky lounge sounds of "Saved" and "Some Bartenders Have the Gift of Pardon," which are helped by trumpet from soundtrack composer Mark Isham. Unlike many solo artists merely in search of a good hook, Eitzel puts concentrated effort into structure ("Sacred Heart") and lyrics ("Always Turn Away," "Wild Sea") for deliberate effect.
Interestingly enough the album's best tune, "No Easy Way Down," is not even an Eitzel tune. It's an old Carole King/Gerry Goffin-penned gem that resonates under Eitzel's treatment, which supports my secret notion that the performer has an edge on the songwriter.