Don't let the cover art fool you. Golden Lies may continue the tradition of nearly every previous Meat Puppets album with its surreal cover illustration, but the consistencies end there. In fact, it's questionable whether the words "Meat Puppets" should even appear on this album's artwork, since the artist behind it is the only remaining member of the band's original lineup, guitarist Curt Kirkwood.
To be fair, the outcry over the exclusion of founding members Derrick Bostrom and Cris Kirkwood is for mostly sentimental reasons. Cris' continuing downward spiral of drug addiction is an understandable if unfortunate circumstance of his absence, and Bostrom has retired to the Puppets' birthplace of Arizona, presiding over the band's legacy with an official website and last year's comprehensive series of Rykodisc reissues. In the meantime, Curt Kirkwood has relocated to Austin and enlisted a new backing band, including second guitarist Kyle Ellison, who served as an addition to the original trio's last few tours together. As such, one might hope that this Texan incarnation would recall the ZZ Top-inspired southern fried boogie of 1987's underrated Huevos. No such luck.
Before we go any further, though, let's get a few things straight: a lot of the criticisms I'm levelling at this band would be rendered moot if the guys had stuck with their original name, the Royal Neanderthal Orchestra. But without the name recognition and expectations that go with the first new Meat Puppets album in five years, Golden Lies likely wouldn't even see release. And I can't say that I'd consider that such a bad thing, having heard it.
Kirkwood barely even got Golden Lies issued under the Puppets' name, having been screwed on their contract to London/Polygram thanks to the Unigram merger that rendered so many of the labels' bands and workers unemployed. So, Kirkwood ended up on Breaking Records, an imprint run by none other than Hootie and the Blowfish. That's right, Hootie and the Blowfish. Yes, of Hootie and the Blowfish fame. If that isn't a severe indicator of the music industry's inability to deal with any kind of music that could be even vaguely categorized as "rootsy," I don't know what is.
Contrary to the conventional wisdom about commercial breakthroughs by cult favorites, 1994's Too High to Die was actually one of the best Meat Puppets albums in years at the time of its release. Its hard-spined rock approach and Curt's top-notch soloing would have made it a great guilty pleasure if they hadn't suddenly found themselves in vogue for that fleeting moment. Unfortunately, the album's follow-up, No Joke!, was just that, placing them in another rut with a droning alt-metal sensibility. Now, with half a decade and the entire rest of the band laid to waste, the band's future seems far from gleaming.
And indeed, it is. Initially, Golden Lies confuses too much to allow for disappointment. After all, confounding expectations with a tweaked, fuck-all attitude was always an active ingredient in these guys' appeal. But the album's "Intro" itself is none too promising, a bizarre sample of the forest people of Cameroon set to a mechanized dance beat. From there, the album settles into a series of unremarkable mid-tempo hard rock tunes, with an increasingly marked sense of melancholy and resignation.
With Butthole Surfer Paul Leary largely absent from the proceedings, Kirkwood's self-production comes off as a pale imitation of the inspired touches Leary offered their last couple of records. Flangers and other flashy effects twirl around at random intervals as if to distract from the inescapable blandness of the songs. Atmospheric whooshes begin nearly every track. Processed drums clank and synths bubble over. It might actually be considered slick over-production if it weren't so sloppy.
"Hercules," however, marks the first clear sign that something is terribly wrong. An awkward a cappella intro gives way to an even more awkward attempt at a catchy rock tune with simply awful lyrics. Later, "Pieces of Me"-- not the Jewel song-- makes the exact same mistake. But this a cappella intro suddenly and conspicuously fades out as if Kirkwood realized they'd already done it. The goonish riff rock of "Take Off Your Clothes" and the downright corny "Batwing" are also prime contenders for sending you straight to the stop button.
The evolution of Curt Kirkwood's vocal delivery has been one of the least predictable in recent history. On early Meat Puppets records, he alternated between an unsteady croon and a throaty mumble. Over the years, he's cultivated a flat, almost deadpan, approach that manages not to skirt the melody, while harmonizing with Cris in a way that only brothers can. On Golden Lies, Curt's multi-tracked vocals eerily recall Cris' harmonies, though lack the chemistry that made the combination work. And often, Curt resorts to shouting in halting syllables that vaguely resemble rapping.
It's representative of the sad state of affairs that the best moments on Golden Lies transparently recall highlights from later albums already past the Meat Puppets' prime. "Turantula" would be a solid contender for the best song here if not for the fact that it's a lazy fusion of the jumpy rhythm from Too High to Die's "Never to Be Found" and a melody similar to that of half the songs on No Joke. The single, "Armed and Stupid," a holdover from last year's You Love Me EP, rocks harder and more hummably than the rest of the album, but can't shake the feel of being just another No Joke outtake.
Some bands display a consistency of craft that keeps them listenable even during their fallow or experimental periods. Others stumble so often and so badly that even the fans are forced to question the validity of the rewarding moments. Curt Kirkwood and the Meat Puppets have built a long career out of both disappointing and surprising, and have still managed to turn out a fair share of enduring works. But with even the identity of the band behind the name now in question, I wouldn't expect any more pleasant surprises from the Meat Puppets.
