Published on Mar 30, 2006
Whoever said Stone Temple Pilots were copycat grunge
needs to be shot. This is copycat grunge, alternative by the
numbers, whatever you want to call it. Bush was basically England’s
contribution to the grunge movement, but while they got the sound
right, they missed the spirit.
Nothing about Sixteen Stone is original, and
only about a third of it is worthwhile. Aside from the hits, the
rest of this is just riff-heavy sludge, meaningless lyrics and
depressing predictability. Naturally, it’s all minor-chords,
downbeats and depressing noise. At least Nirvana had a sense of
humor.
Things start well with “Everything Zen,” one heck of
a hard rock trip with some good guitar leads. Had the rest of the
album been like this, it would have been elevated to at least Pearl
Jam’s worse moments, but Bush is intent on being liked by all the
kids in school, darn it. “Swim” and “Bomb” are grunge-by-numbers;
some heavy riffs here, some slow bass there, stop/start dynamics
everywhere, staccato lyrics that stop after every third line
(sample: “I’m swimming to you / Flame on Earth desire…Fame is a
whore”). That she is, and you guys would know.
“Little Things” was another hit, but it’s a rewrite
of Nirvana’s “In Bloom” with none of that track’s melodicism or wry
lyrics. “Comedown” has an interesting bass riff, but it’s hard to
feel anything at Gavin Rossdale’s whiny meaningless lyrics. Only
“Machinehead” offers something interesting, alternating a cool riff
with some tasty power chords and Rossdale’s robotic-sounding
vocals/lyrics, which make sense in the context.
The main problem with the post-grungers like Bush and
Creed is that they tried too hard to be serious but didn’t have the
anger or chops to back it up, like the bands they try to emulate.
Rossdale tries to be Kurt Cobain in many spots on the album,
sounding uncomfortably like him on “Testosterone,” which sounds
just like someone trying to write a Nirvana song circa In
Utero.
After 45 minutes of sludge, the disc lurches to a
conclusion with “Glycerine,” which does not belong here at all.
It’s a slow ballad propelled by lush strings and Rossdale’s best
vocal performance (which isn’t saying much), but it works better
than it should. This is followed by the forgettable “Alien” and a
one-minute punk ditty called “X-Girlfriend,” with Rossdale aping
Cobain repeating “You won’t call me when you’re down” over a fast
three-chord approach. It’s the only humorous part of the disc and
ends much too soon, but since it’s a Nirvana ripoff anyway, I don’t
care.
The bonus track is a slower take of “Comedown”
without drums or bass, and if you make it that far without falling
asleep, congratulations. Personally, I prefer my alternative with a
bit more emotion, a lot better songwriting and a heck of a lot more
originality than Bush offers on this debut. Sadly, it’s the best
disc in their canon.