Marianne Faithfull
Kissin Time
[Virgin/Hut; 2002]
Rating: 7.1
Reconstructing Marianne Faithfull's relevance presents a rather Herculean, and
potentially Daedalian, task for the A-list 90s songwriters that contribute to
her latest album, Kissin Time. Though Billy Corgan and Dave Stewart
whisk thin, sun-damaged musical vehicles of feather and wax, Beck, Blur, and
Pulp contribute magnificent and complex structures for Faithfull to slither
through. The results as a whole, whether fabulously disastrous or formidable,
offer an aural spectacle that other 55-year-old, or even 35-year-old, rock
stars should dream of wrangling.
Faithfull-- the nearest thing rock and roll has to a forgotten Olympian--
comfortably confronts sex in all of her work. When Jarvis Cocker duets on
"Sliding Through Life on Charm," he immediately seems like an ideal partner
for tackling mature sexuality, nailing Faithfull's essence to a sleazy bed
of Different Class e-bow wailing. Between cigarette drags, Faithfull
sings, "Suburban shits who want some class/ All queue up to kiss my ass,"
directing the statement at all those who want to "kiss [her] snatch." Yet
in an age when Marianne's old flame, Mick Jagger, offers meaningless, coy tripe
like, "Oh joy/ The love you bring/You make me sing," and, "Don't let me near
the garden of earthly delights/ Because I could get used to your vision of
paradise," it's refreshing to hear a Centrum Silver-popping singer talk plainly
about fucking.
Meanwhile, Beck-- an artist who toys with sexuality behind the shield of irony,
whether that's humping appliances in his videos or bitch-talkin' booty rap on
Midnite Vultures-- finds a chanteuse in Faithfull, who infuses a newfound
poignancy in his lyrics. "Like Being Born," a tale of a girl coming of age, is
rife with latent, creepy tones of incest, and floats on a delicate chamber
melody bettering most anything on his masterwork Mutations. A maudlin
reading of that album's "Nobody's Fault But My Own" also appears here, the
lines, "Who could ever be so cruel/ Blame the devil for the things you do/ Tell
me that it's nobody's fault but my own," hitting the country-tragedy mark with
greater aim in a woman's voice. "Sex With Strangers" is typically cheeky Beck
fare, and enraptures with sick beats, falling somewhere between Amnesiac
and Prince's Controversy.
Billy Corgan, on the other hand, crafts asexual rock as a rule. Cresting on
Adore and Machina, his sexless sound tucks and covers any visceral
interaction with its audience through watery washes of Flood production and
coldly androgynous leather stage outfits. Faithfull deserves better than
Corgan's overproduced music for confused teenagers. His lyrics, laden with the
words "something," "whatever," "pain," "happiness," and "wherever," reverberate
vaguely in a throat that's been around the block too many times to know better.
In his continuing quest to make his keyboards and guitars sound completely
indistinguishable from one another, Corgan embarrasses himself among his peers.
Jarvis Cocker induces Faithfull to curse and brag; Corgan closes the album with
a Herman's Hermits cover.
Elsewhere, Faithfull wanders into predictable, passable glitchy electronica.
"The Pleasure Song" stutters and crackles like Depeche Mode hoped they might,
and even squeezes some neat fading tricks in surround stereo. Firsthand
experience excuses Faithfull's amusingly silly lyrics and Dave Stewart's smooth
synth-pop on "Song for Nico" (not short for "Nicotine"), even if Stewart's stab
at AAA Suede smells fresher than Corgan's contributions.
But Blur's title track towers over the fouls. Damon Albarn hypnotizes with a
loop of acoustic guitar over percussion clearly influenced by his recent
endeavors in Mali. Graham Coxon injects sharp sounds of gris-gris pinball from
his guitar. An organ, distant feedback, and chanting harmonies take recent Blur
directions like "Tender" and "Black Book" into eerier, better-realized territory.
And as with his work for Clinic and Elbow, Ben Hillier's rich, organic production
continues to wow.
Kissin Time stands as Faithfull's best work since 1979's Broken
English, and achieves such a feat without taking clichéd "mature" detours
into pop standards or orchestral arrangements. Here's hope that the model
carries over to people like Jagger and McCartney. Aging rock stars take note:
succumb to humbleness and work with others. Singers like Faithfull and Nico
always utilized the songs of others to great effect. Icons of questionable
songwriting talent but vivid personality can make some very entertaining
records. Picture Stephen Merritt behind Courtney Love! Smog's Bill Callahan
behind Iggy Pop! Or Neko Case behind David Bowie! At the very least, for the
love of god, let Rob Thomas nowhere near the process.
-Brent DiCrescenzo, April 17th, 2002