Steven Devadanam
Staff Writer
Review
Scott Wei-land n. 1. Rock-star chic, pomp and heroin circumstance. (See also black nail polish.)
Self-admittedly, the lead singer of alt-rock heavyweights Stone Temple Pilots has been "through hell and back" in the last two-and- a-half years. STP's 1996 release, Tiny Music: Songs from the Vatican Gift Shop, was delayed due to his addiction. The subsequent North American tour was cut short.
So rock bottom that he was becoming a cliché of himself, Weiland jumped out of his wife's speeding car to buy drugs. This addiction nearly cost him his band and is the proverbial straw that has broken his marriage's back. And now it's helped him create possibly the best album of his career.
12 Bar Blues could be seen as a product of self-destruction and ego, of one man so low he's convinced his work will save him. Yet this work has saved him. Or rather, it's freed him.
Compared to STP's sleek power chords, bellowing harmonies and pop hooks, 12 Bar Blues isn't an easy listen. But Weiland has always been restless, bemoaning STP's lack of true glam and artistic merit. Free to release his David Bowie daydreams and experiment with vibes, beatbox and piano, Weiland's sprawling work stabs at the gray heart of modern rock.
"Desperation # 5" unveils Weiland in true Bowie form, whispering suavely about a woman's drug lifestyle, transforming desperation into Chanel perfume. Cheekily irreverent, it leads into "Barbarella." It's a raw piece, Weiland's limp voice alone in silence as he sings to his Barbarella to save him, admitting he's nothing more than a "selfish piece of shit."
But this self-loathing isn't derivative of modern day whiners. This is self-assured, frank realization.
Weiland changes pace with "About Nothing," an edgy affair with grinding guitar effects, throbbing beats and an insatiable chorus. He changes tempo to "Where is Your Man?" a melancholy rock lamentation complete with sorrowful cello supplied by ex-Porno for Pyros bassist Martin LeNoble.
"Divider" is a standout in songwriting, Weiland in jazzer mode crooning about a junkie. His tinkling on vibraphones and percussion swirl with Brad Mehldau's piano, summoning images of smoke and sex.
Just as the experience gets too chic, Weiland shrieks out in "The Date," a song written after his wife left him. "I hope it's not the breakup/And I hope it's just the break," he begs. The piece ends with Weiland screaming "I love you's" to someone who won't listen.
But this isn't the saddest visitation on the album. It's "Son," Weiland's tribute to his child, whom he barely knows. "Coolness is staring at the sun/Coolness is driving with my son" he realizes, perhaps too late.
Melody and harmony intermingle beautifully here, with Victor Indrizzo's guitars and piano christening a Beatle-esque chorus. Credit producer Blair Lamb, Weiland and co-producer Daniel Lanois with the album's esoteric, dreamy feel.
Weiland calls this album a "movie," complete with different personas and characters. Indeed, he's a mutation of Bowie, Prince and his own style that used to get him lambasted by journalists.
Yet now he seems to not give a damn, shrugging off half a decade of rock criticism. 12 Bar Blues is a clamorous cocktail of proudly defiant rock chic. Is he approaching Warholian art, or faking it?
Regardless, it's his party, and you're either on the guest list or standing outside.
performer
Scott Weiland
Running Time
unknown
Record Company
Alantic Records