Published on Feb 11, 2003
Over the holidays a friend of mine burned me a CD of Christmas
music. This is funny (a) because I’m the Jewish-leaning half of my
multicultural marriage, and because (b) my friend’s choices were,
shall we say, a little on the weird side. Among other things, there
were snippets from old TV and radio shows mixed in with Ella
Fitzgerald and Elvis cuts. My favorite, though, had to be the
classic old routine with David Bowie and Bing Crosby dueting on
“White Christmas.”
That particular cut is an example of what we used to call
“trippy shit.” Smooth alongside edgy, avant-garde juxtaposed with
traditional… these combinations usually come out either
head-scratchingly odd or, when done right, ear-to-ear-grin
fabulous. The same, of course, could be said for concept albums; it
either works or it doesn’t – there’s rarely an in-between.
This album — an ambitious concept album fusing ’70s melodic
rock with the entire range of Y2K production flourishes (samples,
beats, loops, echo, the occasional rap and a head-banging guitar
riff or two) — works.
To complicate things further, this is actually part one of a
two-part concept built around the breakup of Everclear mastermind
Art Alexakis’ marriage.
Vol. One is the “falling in love” set-up, though
appropriately tinged with angst, premonitions of disaster and
premature nostalgia. The contrasting moods are a key part of the
concept, putting you right there on the emotional rollercoaster
with your protagonist.
For sweetness and light, there’s the lead-off track “Songs From
An American Move pt.1,” a heartfelt, completely disarming ode to
Alexakis’ daughter, and its counterpart finale, “Annabella’s Song.”
However uncharacteristic these tracks may be — Everclear’s sound
typically leans to the heavy side — they are essential to the
impact the rest of the album carries.
Tracking forward, Alexakis effectively captures the early bliss
of a relationship in bloom. In particular, the group’s take on
“Brown-Eyed Girl” is brilliant, reshaping a ’70s classic into a
fresh, thoroughly modern celebration of falling in love. “Learning
How To Smile” offers another close-up of love at it best (“I can
handle all the hell / That happens everyday / When you smile and
touch my face / You make it all go away”). These early tracks ride
you high into the sky, making the cringe factor that much greater
when things start to fall apart (“Thrift Store Chair”). Your
narrator tries hard to keep it together, pleading for both parties
to try to be better people (“Otis Redding”), but it’s no good.
The downside packs all the punch of what came before, and more.
When the relationship’s clearly done and Alexakis finally pulls out
the poison pen for a kiss-off song (“Now That It’s Over”), he
doesn’t pull any punches (“Nightmares just don’t scare me now /
Baby without you”). The dude is *pissed*. And why shouldn’t he be?
When he sings with wrenching bitterness of his own parents’ divorce
in the affecting “Wonderful,” you realize just how well he
understands what’s been lost and who’s being hurt most by the
break-up.
Bassist Craig Montoya and drummer Greg Eklund provide expert
support throughout, switching gears and styles effortlessly in an
impressive show of musical adaptability. Also worthy of note is the
endlessly creative work of Lars Fox (engineer) and Neal Avron
(recorder/mixer), who co-produced the album with Alexakis. This
album has one of the clearest, tightest and most diverse sounds
I’ve heard in a long time.
Soaring and beautiful in places, raw and savage in others,
Vol. One is remarkable for reasons far beyond its melding of
’70s melodicism with 21st century production values. It’s a great
album because it has a lifetime’s worth of emotional truth behind
it. Creed-clones everywhere, your attention please: if the past
three years of the alt-rock scene have taught us anything, it’s
that just about anybody can write a heavy rock song with a downbeat
lyric and a meaty guitar hook. The question you have to ask
yourself is, have you given the audience a reason to care? With
Vol. One, Art Alexakis and Everclear do.