Published on Jan 5, 2002
The ever-handy All-Music Guide characterizes this album as
“Energetic, reflective, fun, playful, earnest, cathartic,
angst-ridden, brooding.” Which is a very accurate set of
adjectives, but also – think about it – a kind of ingredient list
for rock and roll itself. Heady stuff, especially when you’re
talking about a young punk-pop band from Tempe, Arizona that had no
contract and seemingly no future just two years ago.
But let’s begin this saga at the beginning. It goes like
this… Childhood buddies Jim Adkins (vocals/guitar) and Zach
Lind (drums) form a band as teenagers with classmates Tom Linton
(guitar/vocals) and Rich Porter (bass). Closing in on graduation
and a record deal, the band loses Porter, replaces him with Rick
Burch, and gets signed by a major label (Capitol) right out of high
school. The band’s honeymoon is brief as label suits promptly send
them into the studio and ignore them, dropping the ball completely
on both development and promotion of their first two studio albums
(1996’s
Static Prevails and 1999’s
Clarity). The band goes to war with its own label until
freed from their contract, fires their management, and resolves to
tour Europe (?) and self-publish singles and EPs to support itself.
Europe loves the band, the band scrapes up enough cash (barely) to
record a new album with no label behind them. Buzz begins to mount
in the industry that the resulting album is maybe, just possibly, a
work of epochal brilliance. The band hires new management, their
old label comes crawling back begging for another chance, but –
awwww – gets outbid by a rival. The album is released to broad
critical acclaim, the band becomes the toast of A-list
entertainment media, good guys win, credits roll, etc.
It’s a rich story, the stuff of rock and roll legend. Now throw
it (and all the accompanying preconceptions) out and just listen to
this album.
The opening title track explodes in your ears with a fat,
head-banging riff, but it’s clear right away there’s a lot more to
this band than simple punk adrenalin. For one thing, the chorus
drops quickly into a verse with tight pop harmonies. For another,
the lyrics are, well, lyrical – an impressionistic poem that could
be a profound statement about the empty materialism of American
culture, a snarling rant against television-induced boredom, or
both.
The second track, “A Praise Chorus,” is one of those
hard-rocking, preternaturally eloquent pleas for release and
purpose that come along once or twice a generation. Its urgent
tempo and searching what’s-it-all-about message beg comparisons to
the heyday of The Who and U2 as the band lays into the song with an
evangelical fervor. (Adkins even borrows Roger Daltrey’s “my
g-g-generation” stammer.) The middle section is where they go for
broke, though, shotgunning a cascade of lyric fragments lifted from
a library of classic rock songs over the infamous chorus to
“Crimson And Clover.” Amazingly, it works, playfully cementing the
band’s admiration for their musical forbears to a timeless message
that is the very essence of rock and roll: “I want to always feel
like part of this was mine / I want to fall in love tonight.” It’s
blistering, buoyant and, yes, brilliant.
(Side note to those hosers at Capitol: permission is granted at
this point to weep in your beer. On second thought, you may need
something stronger…)
Let’s see, what else do we have? How about a gaggle of furiously
melodic rockers with impossibly tight harmonies (“If You Don’t,
Don’t,” “Sweetness” and especially “The Middle”), many of them
carrying minor echoes of fellow Tempe hook-masters the Gin
Blossoms? Or a handful of shimmering, heart-on-their-sleeve ballads
as sincere as a long-stemmed rose (“Your House,” “Cautioners,” “My
Sundown”)? Or a hybrid that shifts gears among trippy loops,
growling punk crunch, and ’80s metal power chords (the furious “Get
It Faster”)? Or even a song about a song, a Russian puzzle box of a
composition that manages to both thrash like a garage band and soar
on the wings of Beach Boyish harmonies (“The Authority Song”)? Is
there anything this band can’t do?
Maybe not, judging by the centerpiece to this album, the
brutally simple, emotionally raw ballad “Hear You Me.” An elegy for
a treasured friend/mentor who’s passed on, its wrenching lyric and
beautiful melody stay with you long after the song itself fades
out. A bare snippet: “If you were with me tonight / I’d sing to you
just one more time / A heart so big God wouldn’t let it live / May
angels lead you in.” Here, as elsewhere, Rachel Haden puts the
cherry on top with her achingly pretty harmony vocals. It is, quite
simply, a knockout.
Self-congratulatoiry music critics have been trying for several
years to ghettoize the hard-edged, modern, emotionally frank music
made by bands like Jimmy Eat World as “emo” or “post-grunge” or
some such, as if some pithy, invented categorization might give the
music’s essential power and honesty a little extra cachet. I just
don’t see the point. This album is indeed “energetic, reflective,
fun, earnest, cathartic, brooding” – the same set of adjectives
people have been using to describe the very best rock and roll for
the past half century.
Bleed American – raucous and passionate, sad and sweet, and
above all honest and true – is in that class.