I'll forgo my inevitable I-have-to-review-a-mediocre-album-bitchfest for just a second, so that I can give Tommy Guerrero the credit he deserves. See, back in the day (around 15 years ago), Guerrero was a cool dude deity, a virtuoso on the skateboard and the star of many a poorly produced, sloppily edited, esoterically interesting 'board vid. His current "art," though, has nothing to do with his previous lifestyle: A Little Bit of Somethin' is bereft of grinding power chords, shoddy, breakneck drums, or talk of his politics, girls, sex life, or lack thereof (in fact, it's almost entirely instrumental). For this small surprise alone, I'm inclined to bring on the accolades. Hooray for maturity!

In the place of any sort of punk, hardcore, rap, or stomach-turning hybrid of the three, Guerrero settles on a four-track product of yesteryear's trip-hop beats married to an improv-minded guitar. If Guerrero's board life didn't lead him down a stereotypical musical path, it cursed him to spend some time on the ramp of banality.

Only things aren't even that exciting-- Guerrero isn't doing any fancy tricks, but just going through the motions, riding a half pipe that leads nowhere. A Little Bit of Somethin' is so laconic, so self-consciously chill that it's hard to determine whether it's just inherently boring or dull because we've been hearing it repeatedly ever since Massive Attack bestowed Blue Lines upon the world in 1991.

And echoes of dour, vaguely cinematic pop-trip-hop sensibilities are all over Somethin', particularly on "Tiny" and "Today like Everyday." The latter is sleepily pleasant enough, but the former is truly trying with its up-front sampled whine that goes from one mid-register pitch, to a far more grating squeal.

In fact, Guerrero's biggest err isn't that he resorts to generic beats, it's that he mixes them so that they stand out and threaten to drown out his masterful, often interlocking guitar parts. The record's opener, "Blue Masses," stridently sports its standard 4/4 mid-tempo hop and leaves Guerrero's blurrily affected guitar underwater. And even though "100 Years" breathes a little bit of playful life into the album, its equally emphasized staccato clink is far too lame to be only slightly sped up and rehashed in "Azucar."

Like "100 Years," "Flux and Meter" is light, upbeat, and fun thanks to its handclaps, wah-wah funk, and beats, which kick it "Real Love"-style like Mary J. Unlike most of the material on Somethin', I actually bobbed my head while listening to it. When an album on Mo'Wax can't make a one at least a temporary headnodda, something's lacking. And indeed, Somethin' is lacking, though I get the feeling that expanding the sound into lush territory would only make for a more feathery pillow of stupor.

-Richard M. Juzwiak