Back in 1992, you couldn't find two rock acts more diametrically opposed than Pavement and Suede-- the former were all-American every-dudes indulging in cryptic, dissonant slop-pop; the latter were libidinous, decadent Brit androgynes with Wembley-sized ambitions. And yet the bands shared uncannily similar trajectories-- each was at the forefront of significant sea changes in its home country's independent music scene (lo-fi American indie rock for the former, Britpop for the latter), only to peter out around the turn of the millennium. Both bands' respective frontmen-- Stephen Malkmus and Brett Anderson-- have since embarked on solo careers that have seen each go to great lengths to redefine himself: Malkmus as a guitar hero, Anderson as a brooding balladeer. And both had to put those personal evolutions on hold last year to take their old bands on the reunion-tour circuit for the sole purpose of airing out their 90s-era classics, with no intention of recording new material.
That last point is underscored by the fact that, this year, to the month, Malkmus and Anderson have swiftly resumed their solo careers as if those Pavement and Suede reunions never happened. Like Malkmus' recent Mirror Traffic, the origins of Anderson's fourth album, Black Rainbows, predate the reformation of his marquee band. But both albums are infused with the anticipation of what was to come: just as Malkmus reins in the Jicks-ian jamming on Mirror Traffic in favor of more Pavement-like concision, Black Rainbows sees Anderson-- after three relatively sullen and sedate solo releases-- cautiously reconnecting with his suppressed pop-star swagger. When he plaintively sings, "give me your brittle heart and I'll light a fire," on the album's lead single, it's almost as if he's pleading for his old job back.
That's not to say Black Rainbows is some calculated '92 throwback. As ever, Anderson likes to speak in suggestive metaphors ("ashtray eyes," "a sabotage of lipstick," "burning mattress," "paper cuts," "carpet burns"-- the last two of which turn up on multiple songs), though his withered voice is far less elastic and outrageous than it was 20 years ago. And in lieu of Suede's glam-rock crunch, the new album mostly favors the atmospheric, middle-aged Brit-rock of, say, Urban Hymns-era Verve or latter-day Echo and the Bunnymen. (The invitation to "come taste the orange blossom" on "In the House of Numbers" is especially McCullochian in its pastoral whimsy.) As such, there's often a palpable disconnect between Anderson's naughty narratives and the passivity of the performances: only in its accelerated, 40-second finale does the shimmering "Crash About to Happen" realize its potential as a Stone Roses-worthy student-disco staple, while the sluggish, bluesy swing of "Thin Men Dancing" sounds like it'd be more at home on a Beady Eye album. But in the elegant opening ballad, "Unsung", and the ticking time-bomb intensity of "The Exiles", we hear a boldness that's largely been absent from Anderson's solo work to date. "I am yearning/ I'm still burning," he dramatically declares on the latter-- and while Black Rainbows may represent more of a flickering flame than a raging inferno, it at least yields some evidence that Anderson's once-fiery persona has not been completely extinguished.
