Thursday, March 06, 2003
Copyright © Las Vegas Mercury

Listening Station

Ministry

Animositisomina

Al Jourgenson's been involved with a lot of projects during his 40-some-odd years on this earth (Revolting Cocks, Pailhead, 1000 Homo DJ's and Lard, to name a few), but Ministry has always been his bread and butter--the band that kept a pair of gold-plated .357 Magnums in his hands and enough heroin to kill a mule charging down the six-lane vein superhighway in his arms. But with 1995's Filth Pig and the self-effacing follow-up Dark Side of the Spoon four years later, Ministry's reign as the grime kings of industrial metal seemed to have ground to a shuddering halt. Gone were the Land of Rape and Honey days of yesteryear; in their place stood a jumbled blend of distorted synth-pop and sham aggression. And despite landing a song on the soundtrack for The Matrix, Ministry's pioneering electro-malice had been more or less reduced to formula--one that other acts (see Rob Zombie, Static-X, Filter and Godsmack) were applying better than the creators themselves.

We shoulda known that Jourgenson wasn't goin' out like that, though. Sober (if not clean) for the first time in three decades, he and longtime cohort Paul Barker blast their way back to relevance with Animositisomina. A 54-minute throwback to all things good about Ministry, the album ranges over everything from old-school, brain-bashing thrash ("Animosity") to post-punk angst (an irresistible cover of Magazine's "The Light Pours Out of Me"). And most important, Jourgenson has rediscovered his rage, manically wailing about the hypocrisy of the American judicial system ("Piss") and his ongoing war against the smack monkey ("Shove"). It may have been a long time coming, but Animositisomina finds Jourgenson and company right back where they belong: casting down flaming tires from the top of the junk heap.--Newt Briggs

Dashboard Confessional

MTV Unplugged v2.0

What started out as a gimmick has evolved into a sometimes-lucrative, sometimes-refreshing and often genuine enterprise, and I'm not referring to Dashboard Confessional. MTV's "Unplugged" series has produced some memorable moments in recent music history (Nirvana, LL Cool J, Eric Clapton), and after hibernating for most of the late '90s, it has awakened for the network's music-first offshoot, MTV2 (hence the v2.0).

In theory, Florida's Dashboard Confessional is perfect for the series. The band, singer/songwriter/emo heartthrob Chris Carrabba, backed by three other musicians, is renowned for its acoustic, folk-punk intimacy; it's a mainstay of MTV2, winning the station's video award last year; and its massive (and young) cult fan base suggests the show might land the sort of exposure that carries it to the next generation.

It seems Carrabba has made that fiercely devoted following the star of this release, if only to appease both fans and his growing ego. The couple hundred or so fans nearly drown out the frontman with their sing-alongs--as they do at every Dashboard show. Since Carrabba is an unremarkable performer with little vocal talent, the shift in focus is a welcome one. But we don't buy live albums for crowd noise--we tend to look for a strong set that re-creates the vibe of a concert while exhibiting a unique or transcendent performance. The crowd evokes a concert atmosphere, but Carrabba and his bandmates fail to rise above its normal campfire act.

There are a few inspired moments when band and audience are one and the songs are on target. But when Unplugged isn't preaching to the choir, it's seeking out the still-unconverted, who may just rebel against this tattooed deity that much harder.--Mike Prevatt

Caustic Resin

Keep on Truckin'

Caustic Resin has been around--sheesh--forever, a comforting rock constant straddling the birth of grunge, the mid-'90s punk resurgence, the dual cancer of rap-rock and nu-metal, and the blossoming of electronica. The Boise-based band has weathered it all, amicably enough, in a haze of bong smoke and fuzzball riffing, content to spin out its noise-rock-cum-jam-band-music until the chocolate milk and Bugles run out. And on Keep on Truckin', the Rez shows no signs of changing its policy, offering a platter of open-ended rock "sloperas" that slosh and sprawl, stretch and curl, and offer the definitive musical argument that while slow and steady may not always win the race, it'll consistently place a respectable third. That is to say while many of the acts associated with Caustic Resin have hit the lower-case big time--members have logged time in acts such as Dinosaur Jr., Queens of the Stone Age and Built to Spill--CR has mumbled along, the friendly, dependable stoner brother who may be boring to hang out with, but is always there for you in a pinch.

Keep on Truckin' won't blaze any new trails, but the music's naked tunefulness and personality have a way of growing on you. CR has a thing for those warm-blankie tunings, the kind that characterized pre-Goo Sonic Youth, the kind that makes you wanna curl up on the carpet and get all introspective. Standout track: "Message to Shareholders," a 6 1/2-minute chunk that uses vocal incoherence to brew a kind of warm lyric stew, senseless but heavily sensory, moving you to scrape the bowl for just...one...more...hit.--Andrew Kiraly