Thursday, June 12, 2003
Copyright © Las Vegas Mercury

Listening Station

Deftones

Deftones

The Deftones' White Pony was one of the albums that rekindled my flagging interest in new music a few years ago. The Sacramento band's 2000 release was a blast of creative, cohesive rock that stood out in a sea of stupid rap rock and snore-inducing nu metal. From "Digital Bath" to "Teenager" to "Change (In the House of Flies)," the Deftones delivered more than a random collection of chugalug metal anthems: They blended spacey atmospherics, raging guitars and Chino Moreno's soaring vocals to create something that was genuinely fresh.

Unfortunately, the Deftones' much-anticipated follow-up is a disappointment. It's a regression billed as a return to the band's hardcore roots. With "Hexagram," the first track, the Deftones seem intent on making a statement right off the bat about who they are, as if White Pony was some sort of misguided deviation. Moreno's incessant screams--lacking an obvious reason to exist--and the band's staggering aggro rhythms seem intent on refuting the exploratory efforts that typify White Pony.

Most of the songs are similar musically, falling into genre cliches and never quite finding a comfortable groove. Moreno keeps up the random screaming on "Needles and Pins," "When Girls Telephone Boys" and "Bloody Cape," serving more to annoy than to entertain or to make a point. His vocal acrobatics seem unrelated to the music over which they're delivered. Songs like "Deathblow" and "Battle-axe," which presume to echo the languor of the White Pony sessions, fail to grab your attention, becoming so much Muzak between stronger tracks.

There are a couple of bright spots. The mildly interesting single "Minerva" is solid Xtreme fodder, while "Lucky You" effectively evokes the delusional monotony of a mental ward. "Anniversary of an Uninteresting Event" is reminiscent of Pink Floyd, though it does little to distinguish itself from its '70s art rock progenitor. But those few worthy tracks are overshadowed by the dominance of hardcore retreads. A classic case of talent wasted.--Geoff Schumacher

Weird Al Yankovic

Poodle Hat

Weird Al has been making parody music for 24 years now, and has developed a disturbingly loyal fan base that packs his shows. It's something like a Jimmy Buffet concert with even more eye-damaging Hawaiian shirts and higher percentage of outright geeks, present company included.

His latest offering suffers from the music he's parodying. By and large, the source material is harsher and less bouncy which blunts the outright goofiness that makes his body of work so enjoyable to his fans. True, it adds another level of parody when he's singing "Couch Potato," an ode to the Idiot Box Savant (who knew he read the Mercury?) to the tune of Eminem's Oscar winning "Lose Yourself." Don't look for the parody video. Apparently li'l Marshall is willing to let the song be parodied, but not the video.

The CD has more misses than hits. "Party at the Leper Colony" is a particularly painful listen. A couple of the other tracks feature gags about vomiting and constipation that just fall flat.

On the hit side, "Ode to a Superhero" which marries a concise and hilarious synopsis of "Spider-Man" inexplicably to the music of "Piano Man." Although few but his diehard fans hear them, his original songs are almost always the ones with the most staying power, lasting long after the sources of his parody songs are consigned to the discount rack at Big Lots. The nine-minute epic "Genius in France" is never going to get any air time, but it is, in its own way, brilliant. He both mocks and celebrates Frank Zappa in what sounds like it could be a lost Zappa cut. Having Dweezil play a guitar solo on it takes the sting off the whole knocking-the-dead bugaboo. Weird Al's not going to win over many new fans with this CD, but the old ones aren't going anywhere yet.--F. Andrew Taylor

Minus

Halldor Laxness

Not only is there a thriving Icelandic music scene beyond the glacial cherub-rock of Bjork and Sigur Ros, but a fervent hardcore scene burgeoning within it--apparently. You have to wonder what to make of such an assertion when its most beloved act, Minus, was hastily formed for the sake of competing in a 1999 Icelandic battle of the bands.

Well, it won that contest, but the band's victory and subsequent success in the international underground--namely with 2001's bombastic Jesus Christ Bobby--says more about what influences Icelandic hardcore than anything else. The quintet unashamedly tips its collective hat at the American scene, from Fugazi to Converge, through its curveball song structures and near-cacophonous choruses.

However, on its third and most accessible release, Halldor Laxness (named after an Icelandic scribe), more and more pop reference points seem to crash the party. Vocalist Krummi evokes Red Hot Chili Pepper Anthony Kiedis and Bush's Gavin Rossdale. Shades of Nirvana creep through, especially on "Insomniac." The jangly verses of "The Long Face," the album's best song, recall the Smiths and Interpol. The band even seems to nick B.R.M.C. during "Boys of Winter," as Krummi repetitively bellows, "Spread your love like a fever." Hell, you'd never know Minus was from anywhere east of Washington D.C.

Krummi's lyrical cynicism is more constant than the sentiments behind it, which don't quite hit the anger levels of anything you'd consider "hardcore." The tunes themselves are uneven; at times, it seems the band is playing push/pull with its audience. Minus is clearly looking to evolve, and perhaps force the progression of the type of music it makes as well. Whether it has all its inspirational ducks in a row to create something truly unique is another story. Minus plays with Curl Up and Die, Darkest Hour and Taken at the Huntridge on Sat., June 14, at 7:30. Advanced tickets are $9; call 474-4000 for info.--Mike Prevatt