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 or "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 or 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 maudlir 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 or 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 thar 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 productior continues to wow.
Kissin Time stands as Faithfull's best work since 1979's Broker 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 Callahar 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.
