Published on May 27, 2004
Core was a paragon of a perfect grunge LP, oozing with
machismo at every opportunity. It was crass, boastful and bigoted,
but a braggart to be befriended for all its energy and pugnacity.
After the loud debut, with the follow-up, Purple, STP reveals a
rather different facet of its persona, its mellower alter ego.
Purple is, by all means, a terribly true grunge album. But,
beneath all the grime on the surface, it shows that it has a heart
that feels.
Purple touches with its vehement passion and soothes when it
cries. It listens to you, and wants you to do the same with it, and
feel the same way as it feels for you.
Purple shows a striking maturity in the band’s musicality —
within a span of just one album, STP has grown up, big time.
Consistently, throughout the album, vocalist Scott Weiland has
tried to put in a lot of honesty and earthiness in his singing,
unlike in the case with
Core, where he was big, bad and bold, all over the place,
aptly suiting its belligerent feel.
Purple isn’t disposed to aggress, not without “Wicked
Garden” or “Crackerman,” but
Core isn’t sensitive enough to feel the pangs of pains of
love, without “Interstate Love Song” and “Still Remains.” If
Core was an aggressive grunge album,
Purple is a sensitive grunge LP, evident particularly in
these two beautiful love songs back-to-back. “Interstate Love Song”
is a simple ‘goodbye’ song, with an amazing riff and an even more
amazing intro. “Still Remains” has the most beautifully written
words in the album, and is one of the best-sung STP numbers: a
haunting chorus, turning tuneless, momentarily, building up
immediately to the heavenly succeeding verse.
“Meatplow,” “Unglued” and “Army Ants” show signs of the angry
Core STP, but with sophistication. The album reaches its
summit towards the end with the last song, (or the last couple of
songs) “Kitchenware & Candybars.” The first of the two-past
song starts off as a rather somber and controlled acoustic
rock-song, ultimately building up to be as grungy as it could be,
driven by a stalking chorus and maddening mixture of guitar and
violin strings going berserk. Unlike any other song STP has ever
created, the second part of “Kitchenware & Candybars,” which
STP couldn’t name at all, is indeed unique — all the gruffness of
the preceding songs are replaced by soothing mélange of
piano, trumpets and strings, with Weiland sounding as if he a
dilettante jazz-singer singing in a run-down bar, trying hard to
please the oblivious drunks with his witty, silly and funny
singing. Alas! No one there is pleased, but we sure are.
For sure,
Purple shows great maturity in STP. It is a grunge album,
but musically exceeding its confreres. A rock album, which as
shamelessly sheds a few tears as shamelessly as it bares its
chest-hair,
Purple is inspiring. STP has outdone itself.