The year 1991 was a significant one in Jane's Addiction lore, marking both the launch of the L.A. art-rockers' Lollapalooza travelling-circus experiment and the announcement of the band's dissolution. Now, on the 20th anniversary of those events, both brands are still making headlines, despite enduring extended periods of inactivity, aborted restarts, and organizational restructuring. And it's perhaps no coincidence that both Jane's Addiction and Lollapalooza have evolved in exactly the same way: What were once unpredictable, chaotic forces have inevitably mutated into well-oiled, monolithic entities bearing little of the charm and character of their original incarnations. This circumstance is not lost on frontman/Lolla visionary Perry Farrell who, on Jane's Addiction's new album, proudly declares, "We've become a big business/ A galaxy merger!"
Even if that line is intended to be a metaphor for a blossoming romantic relationship, the fact that Farrell's singing of love in the language of commerce effectively sums up the proficient but perfunctory nature of The Great Escape Artist, Jane's Addiction's fifth official album, their second comeback record (following 2003's Strays), and the first release since the short-lived reintroduction of founding bassist Eric Avery into the fold for a 2009 tour. No doubt, their various attempts to keep Jane's alive over the past decade have taught Farrell, guitarist Dave Navarro, and drummer Stephen Perkins that replacing Avery requires more than just finding a talented bass player. In many respects, Avery defined the band's sonic identity and mystique; think of any Jane's classic, and often the first thing that pops into your head is one of those ominous, propulsive basslines. So while the middling Strays tried to plug session vet Chris Chaney into the dynamic, for The Great Escape Artist, the band makes a more concerted effort at revitalization, recruiting everyone from TV on the Radio's Dave Sitek to Guns N' Roses bassist Duff McKagan to Morocco's Master Musicians of Joujouka-- a trifecta of collaborators who respectively play to Jane's Addiction's affinities for heady atmosphere, raunchy hard rock, and tribal-percussion jams.
At the outset, The Great Escape Artist lives up to that on-paper potential: Farrell's freak-scene re-indoctrination "Underground" and Avery-directed invective "End to the Lies" (featuring the Joujouka crew) open the album with a pair of promisingly authoritative metallic grinds that sound like they were grafted from the slow-motion mid-section of Ritual de lo Habitual's "Stop", but with Sitek's chrome-plated textures adding a post-apocalyptic ambience that greatly complements Navarro's eerie six-string squeals. But there's a palpable dip in intensity from there on in, as The Great Escape Artist gets mired in the not-quite-rock/not-quite-ballad purgatory that defines so much post-grunge alt-radio.
As slickly produced as Nothing's Shocking and Ritual de lo Habitual were, you always got the sense that Jane's Addiction were a band of four interconnected personalities contributing distinct, individual parts to the majestic whole. But even compared to the nu-metalloid sheen of Strays, The Great Escape Artist's intricate, heavily lacquered production-- courtesy of Muse-man Rich Costey-- has the effect of making Jane's Addiction sound like an anonymous assemblage of oversaturated recording tracks. More so than Avery's commanding presence, what's really missing here is Jane's Addiction's sense of playfulness, absurdity, and rhythmic verve. Beyond hard-charging closer "Words Right Out of My Mouth", powerhouse drummer Perkins is given scant opportunity to flex his percussive muscle and is instead relegated to playing the mild-mannered time-keeper on melodramatic turns like "Twisted Tales" and "Splash a Little Water on It", while Sitek's bass contributions are barely perceptible underneath the glossy sheen. And for a frontman who's always been happy to flaunt his own ridiculousness, Farrell is surprisingly humorless here, the quirky character studies and brash swagger of old replaced by straight-faced pleading and vague second-person admonishments. Sure, the line, "You were the foreskin/ I was the real head," reads as hilarious but, coming from a Jew, probably isn't meant as a term of endearment.
There is, however, one song here-- "Broken People"-- that cuts through The Great Escape Artist's sleek surface and provides a glimpse of the charismatic, affective band that Jane's once were and still could be. (Surprisingly, it's one of McKagan's three co-writes.) And, as per the standard set by "I Would For You", "Jane Says", and "Then She Did...", "Broken People" is a melancholic reverie dedicated to a tragic female protagonist, though instead calling upon his usual cast of junkies and eccentrics, Farrell updates the archetype to paint a sympathetic portrait of a sex-vid-shilling celebutante. Despite the sensationalistic subject matter, Jane's treat it with an understated elegance, thanks to Navarro's beautifully restrained guitar line, a sensitive but not mawkish vocal from Farrell, and-- rare for this album-- a concise, unfussy arrangement; even the amped-up, fist-pump treatment applied to the third verse can't sully the song's graceful sway. In a world where truly nothing is shocking, Jane's Addiction have understandably lost the will and desire to be as outrageous and confrontational as they once were. But as "Broken People" attests, the most effective way for a big business to surprise you is through a simple, humble act of charity.
