Makers
Rock Star God
[Sub Pop]
Rating: 3.8
Setting: Backstage of a small rock venue somewhere in the northwest United States.
The clock approaches midnight as the players prepare for the concert. The curtain
rises; a roaring noise is heard from the stage. Suddenly, the noise stops, as the
club fills with smoke. A crowd of well-dressed men and women have gathered for the
ceremony. The singer screams out to the audience and the band begins to play.
If you can get past this ridiculous monologue which opens the Makers' Rock Star
God without cringing or laughing, then good for you-- you're ready to rock.
Sadly, the band isn't. The track that immediately follows "Intro (Ladies and
Gentlemen)" is not the blistering anthem that the introduction longs to prime
the listener for. "Star Power" opens with undistorted guitar, cello, and-- of all
things-- piano. For a brief moment, it appears promising, an unexpected moment
that actually sounds pretty good. But soon, the song devolves into limp Rocky
Horror Picture Show revivalism. This doesn't look promising.
What's in a name? Well, when it comes to stage names, a large degree of
significance can be imbued to a moniker. When the Makers started out, the
members took Maker as their respective surnames, a la the Ramones (or, more
recently, the Donnas). And it made sense, playing simplistic garage rock,
clad in black leather and sunglasses. Then, on 1998's Psychopathia Sexualis,
the Makers adopted goofy names like Michael Machine and Jay Amerika to fit their
new glam image. But the rebirth of glam had come and gone with the art-house
disaster Velvet Goldmine. And that these guys were merely no-name indie
rockers attempting arena antics instantly rendered their gimmick ridiculous. Now,
with Rock Star God, the Makers take an overt stab at authenticity by-- for
the first time in their history-- embracing their real names.
Clocking in at nearly an hour with 16 tracks, Rock Star God simply begs
to be described as "epic," but comes nowhere near such a venerating adjective.
It's one of those albums with liner notes boasting all kinds of auxiliary
instruments; clarinet, marimba, timpani, harmonica. Yet, when you actually listen
to the record, these additional textures scarcely show themselves. The bulk of the
tracks feature straightforward acoustic guitars and plinking piano, and everything
else gets buried in the mix (although "I'm a Concrete Wall" does sport some nice
junkyard percussion sounds).
The problem with a band like the Makers is that they think that variety and
versatility come from aping several different bands instead of just one. Their
opening chords make each influence instantly recognizable: plenty of T. Rex
and Stones, plus the occasional touch of the Who and Big Star, just as plainly
and unimaginatively as the press material dictates. The thing is, it's still
evident that the Makers have talent and prowess on their side, and possibly even
some untouched creativity. Someday, they may abondon their clichés, backup singers,
sunglasses, and pouty poses, and manage to make something moderately compelling and
original. But I wouldn't count on it.
-Al Shipley