Pitchfork

Alas, my friends, I fear the Bad Religion empire may be crumbling. Oh, we saw earlier signs of deterioration. A highly suspect decision to sign to Atlantic Records (how many times have they warned us about the dangers of corporate America?), the departure of guitarist/songwriter Brett Gurewitz (founder of the Epitaph label), and 1996's lackluster release, The Gray Race all foreshadowed this once-pioneering band's fall from grace. Hoping that I'd been intentionally led to anticipate the worst so as to make the realization of an unaffected genius all the more impressive, I offered to sell my body to receive an advance copy of Bad Religion's newest offering, No Substance. My wish was granted, but preliminary rotations have led me to pose the very serious question: is this all my creamy buttocks are worth?

My worst expectations are immediately challenged by the opening track, "Hear It." Here we have all the makings of a classic Bad Religion opener-- the song is passionate, impatient, and best of all, it gets the job done in under two minutes. What follows are a bunch of decent songs, though most fail to maintain the same intensity. But the real problems don't begin until we hit the title track. "No Substance" is an appropriate criticism of the song itself-- the overall feel is far too lackadaisical to convince. And after the stage has been set for disappointment, we're served "Raise Your Voice," quite possibly the worst Bad Religion song ever recorded (naturally, the band plans to release it as The Single). Here, the drawbacks of using a big-time producer become most apparent-- the chanting, the drum breakdown before the final chorus, and the desperate attempt at a pop hook all point towards the impersonal and contrived strains of the music that spawned punk rock in the first place.

These shameful shortcomings are thankfully isolated from the remainder of the album. "The State of the End of the Millennium Address" is a thoughtful satire that hearkens back to the band's first major release, How Could Hell Be Any Worse? "The Voracious March of Godliness" proves that Greg Graffin's penchant for "thesaurus rock" is still intact. "At the Mercy of Imbeciles" is driven by the quick-paced rhythms that my friends and I affectionately refer to as "the Bad Religion beat." The band's trademark harmonies are divinely sprinkled throughout, though the frequency seems to be more sparse than normal.

Admittedly, my first overall reaction to this album was one of disappointment, but consecutive listens have caused me to reassess my position. Still, since this is a band that's constantly encouraged fans not to settle for mediocrity, why shouldn't we expect the same from them?