Records: Scott Weiland's 12 Bar Blues

Check out 12 Bar Blues sound clips at
The Planet of Sound.

By Daniel McGarry

Say what you will about the Stone Temple Pilots musical style, but they knew how to do that grunge type thing better than almost anyone. The engine of their massive sound was the songwriting skill of Robert and Dean DeLeo,who were almost exclusively responsible for the music on STP's epic sophomore effort, Purple.

Then it all fell apart. Weiland's drug problems became too much for the rest of the band to deal with, and they replaced him with an equally capable frontman. The resultant album, recorded under the name Talk Show and self-titled, was all but ignored upon release last fall. Yet it had all of STP's talent, all their strengths--it sounded like a fourth STP album should have. Weiland's new solo effort, 12 Bar Blues, has almost none of this.

Weiland has traded in STP's brilliant rhythm corps for drum loops and beat box maneuvers, plus mellotron, vibraphone, and even an electric fuzz piano thrown in for good luck. And hey--it's Sheryl Crow on accordion, thank you very much, ladies and gentlemen. All this intrusive crap leaves 12 Bar Blues lost in its own useless discord. Gone are the pop hooks of "Interstate Love Song," here is the electronic whine of "Cool Kiss" and "About Nothing."

There are some bright spots, if we can put aside the STP comparisons for just a minute. The chilling bridge of "Son" is one, nestled in a love song in the vein of David Bowie's "Kooks"--musical messages to the artists' children. Unlike Bowie, Weiland drifts dangerously close to the maudlin, but in its context the song works as a welcome change of tone on a dark, depressing album.

If Weiland actually managed to lay down that Fat Boys beat box over an even semi-decent pop hook, his experimentation might be forgiven. He comes closest to success on "Jimmy Was a Stimulator," a crunchy gem of mindless monotone screech-pop. But then we come to the lyrics: "He was a high-flying stimulator," "She's so fine and I'm killing myself with it," and so on. "Jimmy" isn't the only song with a drug problem, but one of many. The album's tolerable first track, "Desperation #5," survives its distortion-afflicted chorus to tell us more about heroin. I suppose we can't blame him. A few more tracks in, the message is clear: musicians, don't let your music sound like this--just say no. (Atlantic Records)

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