What do Radiohead and Jane’s Addiction have in common? A dependence on the corporate plutocracy that belies their left-leaning politics you say? Wrong, my little Nader-tot. Actually, what binds the two bands is that have an instantly recognizable sound that endeared them to millions — and it’s apparently all they have left in the tank, creatively speaking.
In Radiohead’s case, there’s that signature turn of the melody that just drips from Yorke’s every utterance. You half expect him to sing that wobbly shit to the coffee-maker in the morning. It’s gotten to the point on Hail To the Thief he apparently doesn’t need much else — the record’s almost entirely devoid of tunes, leaving Yorke to warble about sucking young blood and wolves at the door. Most people I know have already turned the page on HTTT and are just hoping Radiohead might be enjoyable live this summer.
As for Jane’s Addiction, well, it’s probably a bit much to expect anything even approaching a tenth of the innovation Nothing’s Shocking or Ritual De Lo Habitual had. I mean, if Radiohead are quietly deluding themselves as ardent left-wingers working for a multinational, these guys became action figures with the kung-fu grip around the time that Navarro joined the Chili Peppers and Cornhole for Gyros did that “Tahitian Moon” song. Jane’s fell a LONG way from their heyday, let me tell you.
And without going into their big comeback album Strays, let it be said that when a classic sound meets a Hall of Fame trash merchant (the immortal Bob Ezrin, he of Kiss, Alice Cooper and Lou Reed’s Berlin fame) the result is something decidedly less than classic, but certainly not trash either. Flashes of the old spark show up in an intro here or bridge there. And I found myself waxing nostalgic over those rehashed Perry harmonies more than I care to admit — remembering the first time you heard “Mountain Song” could well be our generation’s “Where were you when Kennedy was shot?” moment. And yes, that says more about our generation than anything else.
In both cases, though, you’re left wondering if a rapidly metasticizing form of Alzheimer’s unique to rock stars has made them forget the virtues of a good melody. Because on the basis of these two records, the odd track aside, all they have left is the barest essentials of their respective sounds. And no amount of production sleight of hand, guitar heroics or young blood will keep that wolf out. Not for long, anyway…