Setting: Backstage of a small rock venue somewhere in the northwest United States. The clock approaches midnight as the players prepare for the concert. The curtain rises; a roaring noise is heard from the stage. Suddenly, the noise stops, as the club fills with smoke. A crowd of well-dressed men and women have gathered for the ceremony. The singer screams out to the audience and the band begins to play.
If you can get past this ridiculous monologue which opens the Makers' Rock Star God without cringing or laughing, then good for you-- you're ready to rock. Sadly, the band isn't. The track that immediately follows "Intro (Ladies and Gentlemen)" is not the blistering anthem that the introduction longs to prime the listener for. "Star Power" opens with undistorted guitar, cello, and-- of all things-- piano. For a brief moment, it appears promising, an unexpected moment that actually sounds pretty good. But soon, the song devolves into limp Rocky Horror Picture Show revivalism. This doesn't look promising.
What's in a name? Well, when it comes to stage names, a large degree of significance can be imbued to a moniker. When the Makers started out, the members took Maker as their respective surnames, a la the Ramones (or, more recently, the Donnas). And it made sense, playing simplistic garage rock, clad in black leather and sunglasses. Then, on 1998's Psychopathia Sexualis, the Makers adopted goofy names like Michael Machine and Jay Amerika to fit their new glam image. But the rebirth of glam had come and gone with the art-house disaster Velvet Goldmine. And that these guys were merely no-name indie rockers attempting arena antics instantly rendered their gimmick ridiculous. Now, with Rock Star God, the Makers take an overt stab at authenticity by-- for the first time in their history-- embracing their real names.
Clocking in at nearly an hour with 16 tracks, Rock Star God simply begs to be described as "epic," but comes nowhere near such a venerating adjective. It's one of those albums with liner notes boasting all kinds of auxiliary instruments; clarinet, marimba, timpani, harmonica. Yet, when you actually listen to the record, these additional textures scarcely show themselves. The bulk of the tracks feature straightforward acoustic guitars and plinking piano, and everything else gets buried in the mix (although "I'm a Concrete Wall" does sport some nice junkyard percussion sounds).
The problem with a band like the Makers is that they think that variety and versatility come from aping several different bands instead of just one. Their opening chords make each influence instantly recognizable: plenty of T. Rex and Stones, plus the occasional touch of the Who and Big Star, just as plainly and unimaginatively as the press material dictates. The thing is, it's still evident that the Makers have talent and prowess on their side, and possibly even some untouched creativity. Someday, they may abondon their clichés, backup singers, sunglasses, and pouty poses, and manage to make something moderately compelling and original. But I wouldn't count on it.
