It ain't easy being Weiland. The oft-stoned, famously glittering Temple Pilot never got very much respect from the larger rock community. But lost amongst the cackling and grunge whispers was his talent as a vocal stylist, and what counts these days as veteran status. In 2004 it's Velvet Revolver, and - surprise - Weiland's still getting grief. He's hired on with Slash, Duff, and Matt Sorum, fellow vets on the prod for rock glory in the shifting sands of post-zenith opportunity. Their legacies, however, are inverse. While the relevance of Weiland's CV is constantly in committee, the ex-G N' R'rs are like old hall of famers stopping by a little league game to sign trading cards. Axl's folly hasn't tainted their output - Midwesterners' dreams of California hedonism are still shaped mightily by the decadence and degradation of Appetite for Destruction. It's the politics of Contraband. Therefore, the hubbub in the run-up to VR's debut has heard more chatter about court dates and drug use both present and past than any speculation about the band's sound. The stomp of Guns N' Roses with Slash's benzene slither, bedazzled with the glam and pike of a premier alt.rock frontman? The project should've been making the heshers' eyeballs pop. And imagine if Izzy had joined! As it is, enthusiasm re: Contraband has been guarded at best. But being unexpected only gets the Revolver down the vein quicker. The album is modern smoked glass on the front of a rock club, stylized metal serration, old guard swagger piercing through glittery cool lamina. "Went too fast I'm out of luck and I don't even give a f*ck", Weiland spits on "Do It for the Kids", and a peel from Slash's arsenal backs him up. The sexy hard throb of early standout "Big Machine" is equally honest about the VR principals' ravages, timeline, and current intent. "Comic book lives don't really have any real life do they now?" The tracks of first person cynicism are up and down this Contraband, but Weiland and the Gunners are also ready to throw some elbows. "You're the cancer/You're the leech?Don't let any of those f*ckers in my headspace". Sonically, it's a little amazing how Contraband sounds pretty much like what you'd expect of such a collabo. "Sucker Train Blues" and "Spectacle" re-access G N' R's trademark muscularity even as Weiland's sideways mouth tumble and harmonizing preen are unmistakable, while "Headspace" and "Superhuman" switch it up, suggesting an STP pace. Slash's explosive guitar entrance on "Set Me Free" gets the skin a-tingling like the old days, but he's not running a nostalgia show, so there are new tricks and sounds, too, and spars with second guitarist Dave Kushner. "Slither" is a hard orange gasoline drinker; it's "Big Bang Baby"'s cocaine cousin, the cool one in the family with no need for sleep and exploits you read about. And yet, there's pain behind the excess. Contraband is constantly fighting and searching for a head-clearing open space. "Dirty Little Thing" finds a niche between excess and hope for something greater, while Contraband's slower detours - "Fall to Pieces", the gorgeous "Loving the Alien" - are painted in dusty reds and browns, like idealized fever dreams of desert escaping to the desert with the one you love. With Contraband, Velvet Revolver has pulled off something tidy, fashioning music that manages both hedonism and maturity. It upholds legacies while grading a new route; it might even make the haters like Weiland. ? Johnny Loftus
www.allmusic.com
Author