Eminem said it best: "Tired of people saying they're tired of hearing me rap about drugs." I'd certainly prefer to think of a more original way to introduce a Pete Doherty solo album, but it's not like he's left me much choice. And besides, "tired" shows up twice as much as "drugs," because it's really exhaustion that defines following Doherty: Either you're tired of the questionable appendage of "genius" to "smack-addled," or you're tired of nearly everything Doherty's done since Up the Bracket being a vehicle for laments on how far off the grid he's gone.
So no surprise that Doherty's sobriety (his game is grown, prefer you call him "Peter") is the biggest selling point for Grace/Wasteland as opposed to its long-time-coming partnerships with Blur guitarist Graham Coxon and famed producer Stephen Street (the Smiths, Blur). Imagining an alternate reality where "Radio America" was the jumping off point for the rest of his career, Grace is a record that splits the difference between its collaborators: Though largely acoustic and peppered with plenty UK signifiers of string pads, light drums, horns, and shuffle/skiffle tempos, its production resembles that of any Coxon solo record, closely mic'd to the point where everything sounds smudged. As Doherty's voice continues to take on a sort of empathetic piteousness, this sort of unkempt sonic rendering adds a humanizing touch.
None of which excuses the main problem with Grace/Wastelands-- an absence of memorable songs. It's a new beginning and a definitive closing as some of Grace is taken from songs that have aged more than five years. Either way, it's hard to tell what's been written in a week and which ones come with a ratpack stench. Though "A Little Death Around the Eyes" has a slinky seductiveness, it's saddled with lyrics that are pure placeholder-- "Your boyfriend's name was Dave/ I was bold and brave/ And now you're mine." Other times, the influence of Coxon manifests in a tendency to stuff as many chord changes into a verse regardless of whether Doherty can think up a decent melody to lay on top of it. Most of the time, he's not up to task, as on "1939 Returning", which details the plight of a World War II soldier turned dissident without paying much attention to writing hooks.
More successful is "The Last of the English Roses", which combines the strongest melody with the most intriguing arrangement. It's also the most far removed from anything Dohetry's tried to date, riding a distant melodica (is there any other kind?) and a Paul Simonon-style dubby bass over a Madchester beat into something that could play in the same junkyard as Simonon's Damon Albarn collaborations with the Good, the Bad & the Queen.
But the lyrical bookends of Grace/Wastelands suggest that Doherty hasn't kicked his tendency to plant Easter egg lyrics to the point of distraction. Each with a wink, the record is bookended with an antiquated ideas of escape-- the pastoral escape plan "Arcady" bemoans when you've outgrown your teachers with a loaded, sophomoric reference to "seraphic pipes" and closer "New Love Grows on Trees" turns 25 into the new 50 with a plea for a death sentence. And then there's "Sheepskin Tearaway" and the flatulent music hall number "Sweet By and By" which prop themselves up on the assumption that you have any interest in hearing the last bit of gristle picked from his beefs with Kate Moss and the Libertines.
Still, best thing he's done since the debut? Well, sure-- regardless of what exactly that means, it can be viewed as a comeback and one that can keep his cottage industry chugging along. Problem is, the more traditionally reflective Grace/Wastelands just manages to make his solipsism double over on itself and your memories of listening to Up the Bracket are more rewarding than his memories of making it.
