In Love and Death
The Used
(Reprise Records)
Time is ticking away quickly, or so the Used seems to want us to think over the course of their second album, In Love and Death; but the only time fleeting here is the duration of the record. At just over 40 minutes, it takes less than one turn of the clock to finish this disjointed brew, which combines screaming (á la their self-titled debut) with three or four thought-provoking, catchy melodies that manage to evoke the album’s intended theme, what drummer Branden Steineckert calls “that feeling of movement and momentum you hear in the music,” caused by “the life [they] lead, living out of duffel bags and waking up in a different city every day.”
The album’s best tracks, such as “I Caught Fire,” “Yesterday’s Feelings” and “Light With a Sharpened Edge,” are those that place in the foreground the lyrics that build this theme of transient life. On the other hand, when lead singer Bert McCracken belts out “I’m not listening” for 25 piercing seconds at the end of “Listening,” it does little to contribute to the album’s lyrical drive and at the same time repels listeners who may want to escape from the ear-splitting and ineffective shrieking. It’s a challenge to grasp the “movement and momentum” of an album when shielding one’s ears from the dissonant ruckus of songs like “I’m a Fake” and “Let It Bleed.”
On In Love and Death’s more sophisticated songs, the album is the intended race against time, but in the end the songwriting just doesn’t have enough strength to counter the overpowering screaming before the clock runs out.
—Jessica Berger
Kenny Wayne Shepherd
The Place You’re In
(Reprise)
Posing on the front cover of his first record in five years with a massive cross, a black leather jacket (complete with black undershirt) and meticulously uncombed platinum hair, Kenny Wayne Shepherd looks either like a white biker Prince or some musically degenerative ex-boy band star. The Place You’re In, Shepherd’s fourth record, emphasizes garbage rock that sounds more like a NASCAR soundtrack than the inventive blues that enthusiasts desire. The band occasionally sounds like Collective Soul having a bad day or a meek Boston, but mostly just like guys playing repetitive chord changes with amps cranked and metronomes set on allegretto.
Shepherd’s guitar chops—normally his distinguishing trait—here offer no variety and aren’t as prominently displayed as on earlier releases, and in compensation for the diminished guitar work, Shepherd sings on most of the album. Noah Hunt, who fronted the band on the last three records, takes the mic here only on two tracks. Kid Rock also guest-stars but is unable to save the album’s sonically limited vocals. It’s not that Shepherd has an atrocious voice; he just isn’t a singer and would be better giving his attention to composing more compelling tunes. He himself says, “My songs have always been highly personal, but the last thing I wanted to do was sacrifice my sound for the sake of singing lead vocals. It just took awhile for them to match up.” For Shepherd, that clock still ticks.
With bands like Wilco reinventing what can be done with American roots music, there’s never an excuse for an album of the genre to sound so recycled: Even after repeated listening, it’s nearly impossible to distinguish songs from The Place You’re In. On top of the dearth of creativity in the production, the lyrics are simplistic and clichéd. The title track features a particularly unfortunate line: “Live baby live / While you still can / I can change the world if you let me be your man.” Though Shepherd says that his band is “growing and changing” and that he plans to get “behind it and enjoy the ride,” if he continues to do so he’ll soon find his albums selling for $3.98 at used record stores.
—Nathaniel Naddaff-Hafrey