Get ready, key Pitchfork demographic (18-25 year olds); you're about to become the target of an oldies campaign. Given the ever-shortening waiting period for nostalgia (hey man, remember when the Patriots won the Super Bowl?) it's just a matter of time before the first "hits of the 90s" radio stations start popping up across the country. And when "Seether" starts rockin' the airwaves again, you better believe the 'Salt will be touring America's low-capacity venues, perhaps co-headlining with Ned's Atomic Dustbin and Jesus Jones.

Nine years removed from their biggest hits, Cracker would seem to be state-fair circuit material themselves. Yet, to their credit, David Lowery and Co. appear to be trying their hardest to avoid this fate and remain a vital, relevant act with their newest album, Forever. Of course, when your band's lasting image for most people is the lead singer boxing Sandra Bernhard, that's an uphill battle to be fighting.

Cracker's secret weapon against obscurity, apparently, is to take refuge under the roots-rock banner, releasing Forever on the Virgin imprint Back Porch Records and wearing a whole lot of denim in the album art. While perhaps a further insult to hardcore Camper Van Beethoven fans desperately praying for Lowery to turn around his musical de-evolution, the choice at least reflects a purpose more thought out than, "Hey, remember us! Please, please, please buy our new album!" But roots-rock itself has always been something of a questionable cause, usually implying something along the lines of "we're tired of experimenting, let's just make music that's already been made a thousand times before."

Save a few exceptions, that's mostly the vibe Forever projects, with the band (whittled down to a core of Lowery and guitarist Johnny Hickman) content to reside along a familiar country-rock-soul axis. You've got your acoustic guitar base, your occasional slide guitar fill, your Dylan-esque organ, your chug-a-lug drums, and your mildly catchy melodies. It would be offensive if it wasn't so obvious that Cracker doesn't aspire to much more than this sort of rustic middle-America mediocrity act.

Or do they? Mark Linkous, producing the leadoff "Brides of Neptune," tweaks Cracker's sound by throwing some eerie synth voices and a tinny drum loop into the mix, and while it's not quite Jim O'Rourke re-inventing Wilco, it's a compelling opening to the album. Hickman's lone solo composition, "Superfan," also augments the Cracker formula with an underlying drone and some "Baba O'Riley" violin, indicating that he's more than just Lowery's hired-gun soloist.

But then again, experimentation also gives us "What You're Missing," a self-referential joke that painfully allows all five members of Cracker to near-rap about their respective roles in the band. That sound you hear is Biggie rapidly spinning around in his over-size, solid-gold coffin. Humorous intention or no, can we please put a ban on white rock bands rapping?

Elsewhere, Lowery's singing voice retains the same old one-dimensional, inflexible rasp which, given the uniformity of the music, works more often than not. Less successful are attempts to soften it with two-bit Sheryl Crow-ish harmony/backing vocals, which give "Shine" and "Guarded by Monkeys" a distastefully slick sheen. In fact, the album's overall polished countenance doesn't seem to jive with the band's supposed rootsy goals.

So, no, Forever isn't the album that's going to rescue Cracker from the discount used bins and return them to radio prominence, but at the very least, it establishes them on the respectable side of the soon-to-be-oldies continuum: more our generation's Cheap Trick than our Doobie Brothers. And something tells me that's about all they're shooting for. More power to 'em. As for me, I've gotta head out. I'm gonna miss that Crash Test Dummies reunion show.

-Rob Mitchum, February 19th, 2002