Stereophonics - You Gotta Go There to Come Back
It’s difficult to please everyone, just ask the lads in Stereophonics. It is exponentially more difficult when you’re a sitting duck.
Just imagine for a second, you’re a duck (the rubber kind you find at a carnival if you like) sitting in a giant wooden container filled with water. You’re there, beaming in all your rubbery yellowness, oblivious to the outside world, captivated in keen simplicity, when some cowpoke decides to empty his .44 into your squeaky inside. It is an unpleasant situation to say the least, but when you’re a sitting duck, there is little you can do to avoid such conditions.
Even before the release of You Gotta Go There to Come Back, Stereophonics have often been labeled as sitting ducks – easy targets for acerbic tongued critics who see their brazenly simple, utilitarian rock as egregiously dull and characterless. It isn’t without merit either; Just Enough Education to Perform was movement (in the same direction however) but it was devoid of any real outstanding quality – a seemingly lifeless “experiment” (using that term lightly) into a serene brand of pop rock. And with the release of this, their fourth album, one will wonder whether or not the Stereophonics have taken a step in any significant direction to ease preconceptions.
There is no telling whether or not the members of the band, most notably front man Kelly Jones take into consideration the voices of their detractors, but since we’ve already embarked down the “imagine if” route, we’ll pretend that Jones and company wrote this record to prove their critics wrong. We’ll then analyze its contents in conjunction with this make-belief idea that this is their “Screw you!” record.
It isn’t a pleasant opening however; “Help Me (She’s Out of her Mind)” is a plodding, grinding rock tune that meanders for 7 excruciating minutes (4 minutes too long). The grating, gravel like vocals of Jones does little to soothe the ache; burying the bluesy rock guitar work under a mountain of jarring strain.
The equanimity of the following track “Maybe Tomorrow” is reinforced by the seemingly carefree lyrics; “It wastes time / And I'd rather be high / Think I'll walk me outside/ And buy a rainbow smile.” Coupled with the very lounge sounding, shaky musical setting, the track is neither drab nor exciting and is perhaps indicative of the persistent tone that overwhelms the album. Do they wish to tightrope this line between dreary and stimulating, endlessly apprehensive about being justifiably either? Apparently so.
Their first single “Madame Helga” is certainly a boisterous affair; but the raucous vocals atop its foot tapping structure are a little cagey. It is an unsuccessful attempt in perhaps, adding some spice and personality to the release; fruitlessly ending in a confused jargon of simple, loud and irritating.
The backwatered appellation of “You Stole My Money Honey” in track four is an appropriate testament to some bourbon-laced Mississippi ghost town; riddled with country/folk leanings and jazzy inclinations, it is an interestingly tolerable, yet lazy tune. Its words of desired hopelessness and frailty (“The girls you love all sleep around / You got a piece of something / But what it's worth is nothing / Coz what you want you just can't buy”) comes off as written about saloon escapades in the old south by someone who has never been to the old south.
Strangely enough, Jones displays inklings of vocal ability in the dusty, low end “Getaway”. Piano backed and softly dented by guitar melody, it is a welcome diversion from all the wailing and pounding we’ve heard. They continue on this path in the old west sounding “Climbing the Wall” – an acoustic flared number that one would equate riding a horse over the barren desert with (just listen to that flailing guitar solo).
It isn’t until “Nothing Precious At All” that they manage to fuse together fundamentals of heartland rock, country-pop-alternative flair in an ear friendly, soothingly unflappable combination that finally creates a sense of fulfillment. How odd that a few Welsh boys could somehow evoke images of such austerity and longing-ness akin to some small dusty American town.
It is clear to see that while You Gotta Go There to Come Back is no audio monstrosity, it is far from being a matter of deftness and imagination. Their over reliance on paradigmatic song craftsmanship and lack of finesse results in an album that exhibits moments of distinction, but is ultimately dragged down by its dreary, almost unending landscape.
Whether or not this album is meant to be perceived this way is not an entirely important matter. If this were just “the next Stereophonics album” (as it most likely is), it comes off in the same tedious way. It’s difficult to please everyone, just ask the lads in Stereophonics. It is exponentially more difficult when you’re a sitting duck. Quack.
(V2 Records)