Verbena
Into the Pink
[Capitol]
Rating: 6.0
Surprisingly, given our cool, unaffected demeanor, we music fans are
almost abusive list-makers. Best of the year, best of the decade,
best shows we've seen, best bootleg we own, ten albums we'd take to
the wondrous desert island-– we set in order the apparent chaos of our
musical consumption with almost Germanic precision. Even more surprising
than our secret obsession is its source, which I've concluded, after being
bombarded by "Best of the 90's" lists from mags, rags, e-zines and friends,
is harmless sentimentality. In reality, our annual exercise is not
necessarily pursued out of a need to make sense of musical output, but more
accurately, by a need to recapture, and perhaps even share, that fleeting
first moment of love with an album.
Thus, in the glut of lists that the end of a decade brings, I've been
arduously reveling in the past, remembering the musical climes of the
times with friends and colleagues as I develop one of my own. Inevitably,
the lists, top-heavy with early '90s releases, draw an ironic conclusion
for rock fans. The decade that began heralded by such a beautiful din
will apparently end in a whimper. Largely unable to cash the blank check
written by the Pixies and later Nirvana, late 90's rockers sit at the head
of a lost estate, viewing Ricky Martin videos like a broken promise.
Of course, we rock fans are a bipolar bunch. For every time we've
erroneously mourned rock's untimely demise, we also too promiscuously
hopped into bed with its false saviors. The latest in the strange
lineage of these bedfellows is Verbena, an edgy trio whose Southern
fried debut, Souls for Sale, caught the ears of more than a few
desperate rock critics, along with head Foo Fighter Dave Grohl who
produced the band's new major label debut, Into the Pink.
Alluding to a pedigree that makes rock critics drool, the outfit kicks off
Pink with a Big Star-esque lullaby before settling into a more
trampled path. The remainder of effort finds the band heading northwest
from its southern rock debut to Grohl's vision of post-grunge, which sounds
a heck of a lot like a second-rate Nirvana album. The album's title track
is like Cobain warmed over, just as "Baby Got Shot" is even a smaller shadow
of his former self than even Frank Black now casts.
It's true that Verbena are able to semi-favorably execute these pale
imitations is an accomplishment in itself these days and might even
signal a small ray of hope should the band decide to stake its own path
in the decade that lies ahead. Until then, Verbena deserves no more credit
for reviving rock than Kurt Cobain's shotgun should garner for killing it.
-Neil Lieberman