Us Generation X'ers never gave the world shit. We don't care about anything. We don't even care about ourselves. We blew through our dotcom cash and we're still stuck with our student loans. Our biggest political moment was turning Ralph Nader into a presidential spoiler. And now, justice comes swiftly knocking. It is time to face that which we fear the most: the second coming of Lollapalooza's grunge-rock all-stars.

Recent days have seen the re-emergence of an eerie number of megacelebrity has-beens-- from Jane's Addiction backing Courtney Love on tour, to Krist Novoselic joining forces with Meat Puppeteer Curt Kirkwood in Eyes Adrift-- combining their powers in the hopes of forming one mightier superbeast. And yea, we have seen these bands and known our sins, and the discipline was just and fair. But repent we did not. And so, as further castigation, we now find ourselves faced with the ultimate grievance: Soundgarden frontman Chris Cornell assuming vocal duties for Urban Outfitters politicos Rage Against the Machine. Let the punishment fit the crime.

The story goes that sometime after Zach de la Rocha dropped out of Rage, Cornell agreed to be the new singer, so long as they ditched their political bent and changed their name. And based on the evidence, losing the politics doesn't hurt the music: as Cornell proves here time and again, he can still voraciously belt the most inane lyrical tragedies with such conviction that you'd almost think they meant something were it not for such giveaways as, "Pearls and swine bereft of me," and, "Heaven waits for those who run/ Down your winter and underneath your waves/ Where you watch and wait." It's also amusing to note that after years of playing the hardcore leftist, overeducated liberator of jailed antiheroes, Tom Morello gladly dropped the message from his music in lieu of playing venues that don't hang their name on a Schlitz sign.

Bassist Tom Commerford and drummer Brad Wilk fall in line, but it's Cornell that's made a bitch out of all of them-- from forcing them to cancel a slot on the Ozzfest bill, to sticking them with the most asinine bandname of the year. (It was Cornell's idea to dub this bloated masturbathon Audioslave, and the name says everything with the same exacting precision that it says nothing at all. Audioslave. It's like it was tailor-made for a Sam Goody voiceover.) It's kind of incredible how slick and lifeless the Rage band sounds without de la Rocha spitting all over everything. The guys just autopilot their way through the most generic hard rock possible behind Cornell's Dio-like wailing about highways and death and more highways. Morello tries to stick out with his wanky solos, but all his effort amounts to little more than an indulgent novelty.

He, of course, is less an embarrassment than Cornell. Now, I'll freely admit being a Soundgarden fan: I remember when all the guys admired his politically correct take on machismo, and all the girls swooned at his hairy good looks and dreamed of just ripping the flannel right off him. To be fair, his voice sounds great, even after years of larynx-shredding throat-gore. The effect, unfortunately, is lost when you realize that all the lyrics are complete gibberish. "Set if off/ Set it off, my children." "I will wait for you/ Like a stone/ I will wait for you there/ Alone." Or best of all: "I am a virus!" He also rips off some pseudo-spiritual lyrics from the latest Christian grunge bands, which is ironic because... well, you know the drill: the student becomes the teacher, and they all ride the short bus together.

Sure, the pulsing noises and rumbling groan that open "Set It Off" sound wicked, and "Bring 'Em Back Alive" and "Getaway Car" almost don't suck. You could even say that, technically, Audioslave "rock". But they do so emptily, predictably, and without a single new idea. Producer Rick Rubin has fashioned a synthesized rock-like product that emits no heat. It's the worst kind of studio rock album, rigorously controlled-- even undercut-- by studio gimmickry; the rare instances during which the band starts to let go (the end of "Shadow on the Sun") are incidental and abruptly cut off.

At its worst, this project is just plain retarded. On "Show Me How to Live", Audioslave snatch the opening chords from Simple Minds' "Don't You (Forget About Me)"-- try keeping the "hey hey hey hey" out of your head during this thing-- and then cop the riff from Aerosmith's "Walk This Way". Top this hall-of-fame moment of classic un-inspiration with a bridge that consists solely of heavily processed violin, and the fact that the song features Cornell yelling to his creator, "You gave me life, now show me how to live!" Was it too much to ask for some effort? Were we already pressing our luck that these guys even got together?

And it's so frustrating because Cornell would be better suited to virtually anything else. The man would sound more at home dueting with Shania. Listen to that! I'm in awe of his lungs. He belts these songs like they never went out of style, like he's still got that curly Louder Than Love-era mane thrown back and glistening, like he wants to shake the studio to its very foundation with the power of all his gristled fury-- when all of a sudden, the effects kick in and morph his voice into a fucking sitar! It just might be the most ridiculous and ill-timed production trick of his career. And all I can picture is Cornell high-fiving Rick Rubin and hitting the beach to play volleyball with Creed.

Duck, because America's gonna vomit.

-Chris Dahlen & Ryan Schreiber, November 26th, 2002