 FILTER
title of record
Filtered records
I recently
read an article on FILTER that suggested a style of music I truly
have never heard of before... Neoindustrialist. What-ever I sez.
Maybe I can describe FILTER's sound in my own words, 'today's heavy
metal', well, maybe not.
I've
listened to this record on headphones and on my huge house system
with the 12" mains and the 15" subwoofer and I've got
to say, "THIS ROCKS!"
Every
instrument is well heard, the vocals are right out front but not
overbearing. The album starts out rocking and doesn't let up until
you reach track six, which is the big radio single.
After
'Take A Picture' the music mellows a bit with the song 'Skinny',
but then picks back up again with 'I
Will Lead You '. 'Cancer'
takes a while to get going, but ends in a driving beat of melodic
vocal bliss. The last two songs are slow grooving and thought provoking
(in a let's get high, sixties, seventies sort of way).
The
overall emotional tone of the album is bitterness and loneliness.
Although the first song, 'Sand'
mentions the word Jesus, its in a negative and sarcastic way. The
chorus also suggest to "...sit your self down to contemplate,
get yourself an ice cold beer and drink yourself away." This
song simply addresses the personal space issue which is very popular
in society today. 'Take
A Picture' sends me into a dreamy state with lyrics like "Awake
on my airplane",and "Could everyone agree that no one
should be left alone."
This
is also my favorite pick of the album. Its got that rain in the
summertime feel to it.
'Take
A Picture' echoes emptiness and longing, but it has an alternate
meaning for me personally. It reminds me of when we shed our old
skin, the skin of sin. When singer/songwriter
Richard
Patrick repeats the line, "And I feel like a newborn."
I think of how great it feels to be born again in Christ. To accept
Jesus means to die to this world and the things in the world, and
to rise above those things which can just end up destroying us anyway.
If
you want a good album to rock-out to then title of record is for
you.
But
if you're in need of motivating self-esteem, then this might not
be a good choice.
Filter's 1995 hit "Hey
Man, Nice Shot" was a timely combination of grunge heat
and industrial ice, raw emotion riding a steel pulse of digital
rhythm. The breakout moment on Filter's otherwise unremarkable debut
album, Short Bus, "Shot"
raised a ruckus when it was widely -- and, according to Filter,
incorrectly -- interpreted as a sardonic tribute to Kurt Cobain.
But no matter what it was about, the single was significant as much
for its sonics as for its disturbing imagery.
In
the four years since, a new breed of neoindustrialists (Orgy, Stabbing
Westward, Gravity Kills) has tried to incorporate some of grunge's
emotional directness, its world-weary sensuality, into its music.
On Title of Record, Filter singer-guitarist Richard Patrick builds
on the "Hey
Man, Nice Shot" dynamic with an expanded arsenal of musicians.
It's an album that finds the band in transition -- Patrick's collaborator,
Brian Liesegang, left after the release of Short Bus -- and at a
crossroads of modern rock, wiring industrial not only into grunge
but also folk, world beat and psychedelia.
Patrick
understands that the initial groundbreaking beauty of industrial
rock -- at least as tattooed into the underground consciousness
by Ministry's The Mind Is a Terrible Thing to Taste (1989) -- was
how it enthusiastically embraced ugliness. Soon after, Nine Inch
Nails' Trent Reznor introduced a new element to Ministry's dehumanizing
assault: a sadomasochistic, rubber-suited sexiness. As an alumnus
of Reznor's touring band and a resident of Chicago, where Ministry
continue to spin ever more noxious variations on the Wax Trax sound,
Patrick can't escape their influence.
But
whereas Ministry's Al Jourgensen does everything he can to mangle
his natural voice, and even Reznor often sounds less human than
his machines, Patrick is clearly enamored with the soul-baring wail
of Cobain. Patrick is the most expressive and daring of the new
industrial rockers, the most willing to expose the vulnerability
that lurks behind the jackboots and black leather trench coat. On
Title of Record, he sometimes sounds like he's getting in touch
with his inner Jeff Buckley, conjuring the tortured croon and aching
romanticism of the late folk-soul vocalist.
"I
feel like a newborn. . . . I feel so real," Patrick sings,
swooping up to grab a falsetto note, over the coffeehouse guitar
strum and percolating percussion of "Take
a Picture." It's a genuinely pretty moment on a record
that positions Patrick not as a bilious aggro-rock mouthpiece but
as a postindustrial singer-songwriter, an introspective craftsman
as comfortable with an acoustic guitar as he is with a computer.
With
the departure of Liesegang, the Filter sound is that of a rock band
augmented rather than guided by electronic textures; the melodies
are as crucial as the beats per minute, and Patrick is at his best
when he lets his pop instincts guide the tunes in unexpected directions.
He blends Eastern percussion, acoustic guitars and Revolver-like
harmonies on the intoxicating "Miss
Blue," gently unraveling its layers to reveal the damaged
emotions at its core. "Skinny"
breaks up its oppressive atmosphere with acoustic interludes; "I'm
Not the Only One" is a wounded meditation that simmers
menacingly before going up in flames; and "Welcome
to the Fold" juggles bludgeoning verses with dreamy choruses
before slipping behind the looking glass during a neopsychedelic
midsection to inhale some magic mushrooms.
Unfortunately,
Patrick tends to focus on the downward side of his spiral, and his
lyrics never stray far from the self-pity motel. Most of the songs
are psychic razor blades dissecting failed love affairs, with the
singer starting off the album on a booze-and-pills bender and ending
it on his knees, begging for a second chance. Along the way, self-esteem
takes a beating: "I am a blood-soaked man"; "I am
a beaten man"; "I am a guilty man"; "I am a
cancer"; "I am a lie." The
unvarying tone and total lack of humor weigh on the music, so
that Title of Record at times lives up all too well to its depressingly
generic title, merely rehashing the Jekyll and Hyde dynamics that
have become alternative rock's creative downfall. On Filter's
first album, Patrick made a habit of ratcheting down his voice
into a Cobain-lite growl, and he's guilty of the same affectation
here. "It's Gonna Kill Me" tries to recapture the eerie
magnetism of "Hey
Man, Nice Shot," while "Captain
Bligh" is the type of third-hand grunge that made stars
of Creed and Seven Mary Three. "Cancer"
meanders too long before gaining momentum, and "The
Best Things" is defanged goth grunge, its guitars muted,
Patrick's voice detached, its clattering electronic percussion
picked up cheap at a Wax Trax clearance sale. Once
Patrick gets over what's-her-name, though, there's no telling where
he might go. With Short Bus, Filter sounded like the latest and
lightest in a long line of industrial-rock bands, but Title of Record
expands the possibilities. It puts the emphasis on the song and
the voice -- still-developing artistic muscles that Patrick should
be encouraged to flex even more flamboyantly and with greater originality
next time. (RS 820)
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