Pitchfork

Relevance in music is overrated. As far as I can tell, it's usually an excuse to say, "I don't understand this," or, "This isn't cool," and very rarely an actual signifier of the importance something has within a greater context. Furthermore, often very interesting ideas can be swept under the rug at the behest of greater "relevance": where was common sense when Mozart couldn't get a gig, or when Decca passed up signing the Beatles in 1962 because "guitar pop was on the way out"? Of course, you can't really blame the folks who missed out, because they really weren't doing anything worse than living within the framework of their society, and how can anyone really do better?

That said, Henry Rollins' latest release, Nice, is utterly irrelevant in the context of almost every other album reviewed at Pitchfork. It's too macho to be indie, too rock to be punk, too "in your face, to tha X-treme" to be current, too Guitar Center to be Amoeba. It is certainly too Rollins to be subtle or multi-dimensional. Sure, the guy has come a long way since Black Flag, but in the wrong direction. You'd think someone with his IQ (I can't vouch for that, but a couple of his spoken word routines had things to ponder) would either 1) find a way to channel his energy into music with as much, 2) find a ways make something that didn't recall David Lee Roth solo albums, or 3) very quickly find a way to make his yell-song vocal stylings more interesting by, I don't know, not yelling every single song, all the time.

Now, just because Rollins doesn't sound like he has a place among the new rock canon doesn't mean that his album is bad. But it is one of the least interesting things I've heard in a while-- and that includes Terry Bradshaw and Paul McCartney at the Superbowl. I suppose there is something to be said for him sticking to his guns and all, but that's all I'm going to say about that at the moment.

"Hangin' Around," "One Shot" and "What's the Matter, Man" are all heavy rockers, featuring a more-hyped-up-than-usual Rollins over the top (literally, of course). However, what really links these tunes is that they could all be featured under a WWF highlight reel. The band plays with a lot of energy, though are necessarily in the background to accommodate Rollins' yelp. Guitars crunch, drums play fills that would make Terry Bozio proud, and if muscle is your mode, it may work. However, Rollins drops lines like, "What's hard to an alien man?/ Well, you never know what's real" (huh?) and, "I am calm hot animal/ Gratefully guilty as charged" (I see), and turns a perfectly acceptable cock-rock session into Incredibly Bad Poetry.

A couple of left turns do spice up the mix: "Up for It" is something of a James Brown tribute, with faux-"Mother Popcorn" guitar and slinky groove ("The day to day can become such a trip/ The mediocre can make you lose your grip"-- now he tells me). Rollins does the Godfather one better by bringing in some Pointer Sisters-esque background singers (!) and uttering the phrase "I'm up for it" not less than 28 times during the song. "I Want So Much More" starts out on a bad foot (James Brown would never do that) by letting us know that Rollins "want[s] so much more" four times at the beginning of the song, and retaining the soul singers (who, to their credit, are probably doing as well with the material as you could expect). However, its down-tempo groove, machine gun trumpet hits (yes) and ornery sax solo do make it something of a 70s cop-show back-alley-chase soundtrack. Anyway, it's the most distinctive tune on the disc, so enjoy it while it lasts.

Other tunes range from rigid, fake Zep ("Hello") to by-the-numbers punk ("Gone Inside the Zero"), which should be a surprise, though music probably isn't Rollins' main game. In fact, I wonder what would happen if Rollins were to ever attempt making another punk record. He seems to have plenty to say, and the energy level thing won't be an issue. The funny thing with him is that since he doesn't seem to care about his image anymore (which could be cool in itself), you'd think he'd be making records that challenged someone's idea of what new rock sounded like. No dice, but don't lose faith, because Rollins wants so much more. He wants so much more. Henry Rollins wants so much more.