Pitchfork

Like a sperm- count and testosterone levels, Ben Lee peaked at age 16. Kind of like Rimbaud, but without all the talent. In 1995, as the frontman for Noise Addict, Ben Lee released a marvelous pop record, Meet the Real You. The guitars shimmered with adolescent Beatles fuzz and teen Weezer feelings-- sloppy, but fun. Then it all went to his head and he started tumbling down the path to his solo career-- something that rockers like Pete Townshend embark on well into their middle age, after the drummer ODs, the gut grows out, the heroin loses its punch, the wrinkles deepen, and the people stop caring. Ben Lee seems to have skipped that important middle part of an artist's career when they actually make quality music. He went straight from "shows promise" to "mature FM ballad pop with dainty piano loops." Oops!

Breathing Tornados, a title which could be a euphemism for severe asthma or huffing gas fumes, sounds like a record written solely as a vehicle for Ben Lee to sing sensitive slow- jams to his Hollywood girlfriend, Claire Danes. Picture him on the side of a bed with an acoustic and a drum machine, whispering lines like "You're the only thing I need/ The only thing on my mind all the time" before he asks permission to rock Claire Danes' bony body. But Ben, you probably don't have to lay the sensitive bachelor schtick on this much to score Claire Danes. After all, "The Mod Squad" was a pool- clearing belly flop.

The album opens on a wonderful note with the lamenting "Cigarettes Will Kill You," built on a five- note piano pounding and layers of harmonies. But the second track, "Nothing Much Happens," it grows stale. Much of the early expiration of listenability is due to Ed Buller's radio- and- Sandra- Bullock- movie- soundtrack production luster. Like a shiny new Chevy, it may shimmer with a high gloss, but underneath, you know it's an unreliable piece of junk. There's such a glut of Buller's samples and loops that one can't help but wonder how much artistic input actually came from Lee. Such an uncomfortable mix of lily- white K-Mart pop and "soul" has not been heard since Eric Clapton's Pilgrim. It's too bad that Ben isn't old enough to have had a son jump off a roof-- otherwise, he'd be a shoe- in for a Grammy.

The horribly ugly "Plastic Wrap" Photoshop filter over Ben's bust on the cover actually fits the album perfectly. Breathing Tornados comes vacuum- sealed in several layers of tacky studio plastic. Just as the album artwork blatantly shows the fingerprints of digital Adobe manipultion, so too does the music bare its production techniques. In this case, the album is all production and packaging. Someone forgot to put in the songs.