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Crosby, Stills & Nash . . . Derek & The Dominos . . . Emerson, Lake & Palmer . . . The Firm . . . Power Station . . .
And the list could (and does) go on and on. You see, in the history of rock, few things are as potentially wonderful and as frequently disastrous as the storied supergroup. Think about it: Superstars from your favorite band stepping outside the family unit and cross-pollinating their mighty songwriting/instrumental skills with superstars from your other favorite band. The mind reels. Then again, isn’t that how we got Asia?
Anyhoo, it’s safe to say that, at best, the supergroup is an iffy prospect, seeing as the chemistry that made one pack of cats work so well is, frequently, unique to that one pack of cats. Which is why the resuscitation of this bloated beast of rock ’n’ roll excess came as such a surprise when, in 2002, three-fourths of Rage Against The Machine merged with ex-Soundgarden frontman Chris Cornell under the (particularly awful) name Audioslave. Well, that was only part of the surprise. The real zinger? That their self-titled debut came off as well as it did—not sounding like the work of near-middle-age rich men looking to further fatten their bank accounts so much as a bunch of guys who still had some rock left in ’em. Two million-plus CD sales ensued.
Which brings us to what is, in terms of pedigree, the biggest supergroup in decades, Velvet Revolver. Three parts Guns N’ Roses (Slash, Duff McKagan, and Matt Sorum), one part Stone Temple Pilots (Scott Weiland), add a garnish of Electric Love Hog Dave Kushner on rhythm guitar. Profound substance abuse issues be damned, the lineup alone is an A&R exec’s wet dream. A nagging question, then, remains: Do the goods live up to the potential?
Damn straight. Look, we’re not going to lie to you: We’re chomping at the bit for a GNR reunion as much as the next guy, and if it were up to us, STP would be making another Tiny Music: Songs From The Vatican Gift Shop. But such is life, and what we’re left with is pretty flippin’ amazing by anyone’s standards. What, exactly, are we left with? Like its lead single, “Slither,” and its accompanying video, in which Weiland appears like a rail-thin recollection of a trashier, glamier era, Contraband is the sound of five guys who’ve been dying to rock like it’s 1987.
Which is not to say that the album sounds like a slice of ’80s hair-metal. It’s just that there’s a decadence at work here that we haven’t heard in ages—a foaming-at-the-mouth to kick out the goddamn jams and let the chips fall where they may. And Christ Almighty, do they kick out the goddamn jams. Album-opener “Sucker Train Blues” sets the tone just fine—siren cries, subterranean bass, fuzzed-out shards of six-string, and a backbeat from hell giving way to Weiland bullhorn-barking, “Sex Type Thing”-style. Yes, it’s every bit as evil as it reads. “Set Me Free,” “Big Machine,” “Headspace,” and “Do It For The Kids” maintain the momentum—straight-up, fire-breathing rock ’n’ roll, no apologies.
Aside from the occasional power ballad, Contraband is a Bullet Train trip through the sleazier side of town, a journey back to a time when Hollywood was downright dangerous and so was its soundtrack. If Velvet Revolver aren’t breaking new ground (and they’re not), they’re serving as a reminder of the primal ingredients that make rock so compelling. They’re also an example of a supergroup firing on all cylinders—a rare case in which, rich as they might be, their desire to cut loose is so strong, they sound like absolute beginners all over again. At a time when bottom-line business trumps unbridled passion any day of the week, that’s saying a lot.
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| —Steven Chean |
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