Pitchfork

That Charles Bukowski has been dead for over 10 years now is almost hard to believe-- partially because he's had more posthumous work hit the shelves than anybody this side of Tupac, but more so because of the enormous influence he continues to exert over contemporary poets and lyricists. I think it's safe to speculate that former Screaming Trees vocalist Mark Lanegan has spent his share of time on a barstool, between the pages of the Black Sparrow Press.

But Lanegan is no Chinaski-come-lately, and he's got the voice to prove it. As scratchy as a three-day beard yet as supple and pliable as moccasin leather, Lanegan's voice has evolved into a remarkable instrument, one that couldn't have been earned by easy living. It's a voice that redeems him a lot of sins, which is fortuitous because on Bubblegum his songs weave precariously between heartfelt depictions of the seedy life and hardboiled cliche.

On previous solo albums, like 1998's Scraps at Midnight or 2001's masterful Field Songs, Lanegan explored various pre-rock forms like blues, gospel and country to mesmerizing effect. But his recent cameo with Queens of the Stone Age seems to have revived his tooth for the harder stuff, so with the help of guests like Greg Dulli, Dean Ween, Stone Agers Josh Homme and Nick Oliveri, and, yes, Izzy friggin' Stradlin, Bubblegum features a partial return to Lanegan's grungier days of yore. The seamy din generated by this revolving ensemble provides a well-matched backdrop for the relentless parade of petty violence, drug deals gone sour, and squalid love affairs portrayed in these songs.

That's not to say that the whole thing comes off perfectly. Noisier tracks like "Can't Come Down" or the clanking "Methamphetamine Blues" sound undigested and vaguely dated-- almost as though they were written for Girls Against Boys' Freak*On*Ica album, which is about as succinct a definition of "misfire" as you could want. "Methamphetamine Blues" is particularly rough, as Lanegan briefly goes Ian Astbury on us, calling out to his female back-up singers, "Rollin' children, keep on rollin'." (They respond by calling him "daddy.") I keep waiting for him to belt out, "C'mon li'l sister!" here, but alas, he leaves me hanging.

Fortunately, these occasional clunkers are more than outnumbered by the album's highlights, which include a pair of smoldering duets with PJ Harvey-- "Hit the City" and "Come to Me"-- either of which could slip unnoticed as a bonus track onto Uh Huh Her. It's also hard to not be delighted by "Sideways in Reverse" and "Driving Death Valley Blues", Lanegan's most bare-knuckled rockers since the demise of his former band. Additionally, he has few peers, particularly in his age bracket, when it comes to tackling moody, blues-infused numbers like the opening "When Your Number Isn't Up" or the Tom Waits-ish "Like Little Willie John".

Throughout Bubblegum, Lanegan proves himself adroit at navigating the back alleys of Babylon, but after the record's umpteenth reference to loaded shotguns, '73 Buicks, and goin' cold turkey, one can't help but think he might eventually want to take a stab at some new material. So far, his voice has proven to be well-suited for whatever use he has put it to; hopefully next time he strays a little further afield to better stretch its limits.