Thursday, July 31, 2003
Copyright © Las Vegas Mercury

Listening Station

Jane's Addiction

Strays

Don't call it a comeback; Jane's Addiction has been here for years. Oh, sure, it's been more than a decade since it last fixed, but its influence can be seen in the death of hair metal, the rise of Nirvana and the burgeoning artistry of Queens of the Stone Age. And so perhaps it is unfair to judge Strays, its first studio album since 1990's Ritual De Lo Habitual, by what it once was--angry, addicted and hungry--because no one stays the same, especially not after more than a decade apart.

So. Forget what you know about Jane's. Forget the sweeping seven-minute, drug-addled jams, the breakups and the relapses. Instead, realize that Perry Farrell is in his mid-40s, Eric Avery is gone and Dave Navarro is engaged to Carmen Electra and yet, from the moment the album starts and Perry shouts "Here we go!" over a looped scratch that becomes a guerilla Navarro riff, to the trippy finale of "To Match the Sun," it somehow still rocks the fuck out. Close your eyes through "Just Because" and it's 1990, or its 2010, or it's today, because all that is certain is the throb of Stephen Perkins' tribal drumming and the sense that these aren't kids screwing around in the garage.

That's not to say there aren't missteps among the 11 songs here--because there are, notably the throwaway "Hypersonic"--but what makes this album different from the ponderings of today's rock stars is that, well, Jane's seems happy. Happy to be clean, happy to be performing together and even happy to be a step less than what it was, because, finally, it's impossible to forget what you know. There's not a revolution coming out of Strays, but who needs one when maturity and peace sound so good?--Tod Goldberg

Led Zeppelin

How the West Was Won

Unbelievable as it may sound--before the "Stairway" jokes and the Cadillac commercials--there actually was a time when Led Zeppelin was cool. Not only cool but epic, raucous, larger-than-life: Zep fused rock guitar, Eastern mysticism and classical mythology into the thundering tumult of arena rock. That is, until the mid-'70s, when Jimmy Page's overblown, self-indulgent guitar blathering and Robert Plant's pseudo-spirituality became fodder for ridicule (Spinal Tap's Stonehenge scene was inspired by Zep's absurd concert-scapes) and helped rouse the punk revolution. Perhaps Joey Ramone said it best when he wondered aloud, "Who wants to listen to Led Zeppelin?"

Everyone and no one, it seemed. While Led Zeppelin II and IV remained cherished nuggets in the record collections of many a suburban teen, only the most ardent Led-head could embrace the 1976 live album The Song Remains the Same with its mind-numbing renditions of "The Rain Song," "No Quarter" and "Moby Dick." A fact that left Zep's catalog disappointingly thin--no single record capturing the titanic vitality of its live sound.

Fortunately, How the West Was Won comes close. Culled from back-to-back shows along the California coast in 1972, the three-CD set captures Zeppelin at the peak of its soaring, frenetic power. Opening with a seething take on "Immigrant Song," the first disc unveils a rough, grungy spin on tired classics--"Heartbreaker," "Black Dog" and "Stairway to Heaven"--before climaxing in a foot-stomping acoustic set ("Going to California," "That's the Way" and "Bron-Yr-Aur Stomp"). Predictably, the subsequent discs bog down in extended versions of "Dazed and Confused," "Whole Lotta Love" and "Moby Dick," but even these have an enchanting, almost hypnotic quality lost in the tedium of previous live efforts. Finally, disc three closes with a cover of Willie Dixon's "Bring It on Home"--a Led Zeppelin concert staple driven by Plant's serpentine harmonica and Page's barrelhouse riffery. All in all, it's a nice package for a nice price--enough (maybe) to win back fans lost in the rush of bad solo efforts and commercial exploitation.--Newt Briggs

Siouxsie and the Banshees

The Seven Year Itch Live

In one of the first dates of their "comeback" tour, Siouxsie Sioux and the Banshees played the Coachella festival in Palm Springs, Calif., as one of its big headliners. It was a coup for event organizers, as the band's eagerly awaited re-emergence drew hundreds of their Southland devotees, evidenced by the staggering amount of black Siouxsie shirts milling about the festival grounds under the desert sun. However, once the resplendent Sioux and her cohorts began playing, enthusiasm dived sharply. The band relied heavily on old album cuts rather than its later-era faves, which alienated all but the diehards. And Sioux displayed a suspiciously concerted defiance, verbally berating the much-beloved festival despite the king's ransom promoter Goldenvoice was likely paying her.

That feistiness feels absent from the band's new live album, recorded over two days in London during the 2002 Seven Year Itch tour. Instead, Sioux concentrates on giving an ageless performance, backed by the Banshees' reliably brooding, occasionally sharp soundscapes. However, despite the improved delivery of the mostly back-catalog selections, the recording feels tepid for a live album. The crowd is drowned out during the songs; you nearly forget it's a concert. Most of the songs drone on for way too long; the opening track, "Pure," drags out Sioux's entrance. And despite some highlights, such as the uptempo "Icon," the album's tones and moods flatline. Closing track and sole setlist hit "Peek-a-Boo" is the only bone the band throws to the later-era fans, and vocally, Siouxsie fumbles it, the entire band sounding either sapped of energy or compromised in playing what feels obligatory--an apt word for this tour souvenir.--Mike Prevatt