The Vines
Highly Evolved
[Capitol; 2002]
Rating: 4.1
The Vines. Four young guys from Australia determined to tear it up in the States, their end goal being the
glorious egotrip of international rock stardom. Now, let's be fair-- most guys starting bands regularly entertain notions
of 'hitting the bigtime,' and there isn't a goddamn thing wrong with that. It's just that few are content
to play it quite so safe. Even the metal guys have personality. And while I imagine that, somewhere beneath
their media-friendly exterior, The Vines might be real characters, you'll find no trace of it on their
Capitol Records debut, Highly Evolved. I picture Craig Nicholls and Ryan Griffiths in some lavish
London hotel suite at this very moment trying to figure out some way to glue the TV to the ceiling. (Not
so easy, is it, champs?) Then Patrick Matthews walks out of the shower demanding, "Ayy, whicha you blokes
whacked off in the shampoo?" Hilarity ensues! It's like The Monkees if they wanted to be, say, Silverchair
instead of the Beatles.
Yet no life signs penetrate the crystal clarity of this album. I'd even go so far as to say that Highly
Evolved may actually be the least fun record of the year, with its grungy vocals and hamfisted
guitarwork-- not to mention the vintage Brit-pop and soaring harmonies they've tossed in for broad-range
accessibility. It's not even a problem that they tattoo their influences on their foreheads and add nothing
to what they steal from The Verve (on the slow songs), Nirvana (if Nirvana were a pop act), and the rest of
commercial radio's last twenty years. But did they have to make it so dull? I mean, I understand that it's
already a hit, and if anyone gets laid this summer because of this album, that trumps whatever I can say
about it. But Highly Evolved has 'dad rock' written all over it. It reeks of product, right down
to the special $6 purchase price most stores are pushing: "Why not check out the Vines?"
Of course, the production, courtesy of Rob Schnapf, is impeccable. But then, in typical Schnapf form, it's
too impeccable. He's lent his Mr. Clean polish job to luminaries like Beck, as well as many bands
who didn't need it-- Guided by Voices, for one example, Elliott Smith for another-- and while Highly
Evolved is lush, having been recorded in L.A. over two months with Schnapf's mood-setting collection
of vintage instruments, it also sounds plastic; he doesn't let the band make a single mistake anywhere on
the album.
Schnapf's production is somewhat augmented by Craig Nicholls, singer, guitarist and lead songwriter, whose
mushmouthed vocals at least stray from sterility. Problem is, his unintelligible croon doesn't really work
with the more sentimental tracks (which account for at least half the songs here), and even when the music
ascends to garage-style rock, his only communicable emotion is the time-honored bratty sneer. Still,
Nicholls is a natural talent as a writer. He already knows from killer hooks-- "Highly Evolved" and
"Outtathaway!" are fine grunge, switching from bare strumming to throbbing, jagged, yet infectious guitar
lines. "Get Free" kicks off with a riff like revving up a lawnmower, and the chorus shows off the band's
perfectly pitch-corrected vocal harmonies-- even if the extra-catchy bridge sounds tacked on to make it a
bigger hit. And the mini-epic "1969," though sprawling and indulgent, is genuinely refreshing after
squeaky-clean hard rock like "In the Jungle" and the obnoxiously beach-ready "Sunshinin'": its tortured
mess of an outro drags on long enough that, for once, the two guitarists actually find room to breathe.
Highly Evolved also slows down for some endearing pop, like the peppy, syncopated "Factory." Mellow
love song "Mary Jane" shows Nicholls' most sincere and affecting vocals, and "Autumn Shade," colored with
acoustic guitar and piano, echoes the melody and eerie harmonies of the Beatles' "Because." But then he
gets all serious on us with the yearning harmonies of "Country Yard" and the over-earnest "Homesick." They
haven't even been on the road six months and they've already found time to miss Australia?
The Vines get credit for ambition, but Highly Evolved covers so much ground that none of it seems
convincing: there's just no emotional depth here. Nicholls is not yet a great singer, and his feelings
outpace his ability to express them. But moreover, the Vines are adept enough at rock pastiche that they
miss why the Beatles took a decade to get to Let It Be. With Schnapf's help, they've crammed an entire
career into one album: from song to song we skip from hard-rock teen raunch, to the popcraft of a well-behaved
studio band, to the old-soul, "wish I were home again" pathos of mature, balding rockers. And it all has
to come through a sneer.
-Chris Dahlen, July 30th, 2002