Streetlight Records

Reviews:

"Ten years ago Kurt Cobain jetted off to that other Nirvana, and we never even got to say goodbye. More importantly, we never got to say ""You f***ing jerk, look at all these annoying imitators you left us with!"" With Kurt's untimely departure, devoted alt-grungers were pitched into a long, dark night of teenpop, techno and rap-metal. The frontmen of KC's torch-bearing derivatives-Bush, Silverchair, Foo Fighters-have never been quite moody enough, dreamy enough, volatile enough, tormented enough, to fill Kurt's Chuck Taylors. Worse, none had a handle on the stealthy pop-melodics that made Cobain's yowly smackdown feel like a kiss.

Those still trolling for heirs thought they netted a keeper in 2002 when the Vines dropped Highly Evolved and the Aussie crabapple on the mic, Craig Nicholls, earned a rapid rep for pissy interviews and exhibitionistic destruction of unsuspecting chairs and music-related appliances. Emerging at a moment when rock-is-back-ers were so hungry for guitars they'd forgive any batch of time-warped garage-grunge its latent Silverchairity, the Vines rode the eruptive single ""Get Free"" into hipster playlists and Cobain seances alike. Elsewhere on Highly Evolved, the teasing glimpses of Nicholls' melodic-psychedelic side hinted at those elusive grunge-to-pop chops we'd been missing.

On Winning Days Nicholls seems torn between tepid alt-rock thrashing and following his mellower, even cheesier muse. Sometimes his acid-lite tendencies lead him down some dopey rabbit-holes, and the swoony washes and the choirs of heroin-chic angels that Beck producer Rob Schnapf whips up don't do Nicholls any favors. But the best song here, the wistful ramble ""Rainfall,"" would sound just fine on a Wilco disc, and the comfort and confidence of its elemental structure and lyrics suggest the most promising route for Nicholls to follow. The needlessly trippy ""Amnesia"" and the pretty, if goofy, ""Sun Child"" also, in their quiet way, assert themselves with a warmth that easily overmatches the hard stuff's empty bluster.

Grunge still gets the first and last word though, and that's rarely for the best. ""Ride"" starts things off with a promising British Invasion backbeat, but degenerates into a formulaic chorus. ""Animal Machine"" follows with even more tired changes, and ""TV Pro"" gets caffeine jitters from another blast of Seattle's Best Choruses. No sooner has ""Autumn Shade 2"" spirited us to Abbey Road then ""Evil Town"" drags the high-Beatles mood right back down with Alice in Chains harmonies. Similarly the title track's groovy road-trip chorus is eventually jacked by bummer chromatics and detoured by stop-start fits. And always keeping in mind that bluster is what pays their bills, the Vines sign off with a favorite riler from their live show, ""F*** the World."" Now there's as Cobain-approved a sentiment as ever there was.

 

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