No, that title ain't some suave, sexy expression uttered by a devil-may-care tomcat fucking his way to garage-rock revival nirvana. It's the sort of "mercy" high school geeks and other torture victims beg for, the kind I'd love to grant to these star-crossed should've-beens who helped set the table for that turn-of-millenium retro explosion and then tasted little of its subsequent success. Their Columbia deal now seems like ancient history, and after grappling with label troubles coupled with the loss of guitarist Graham Tyler's father, a loyal Suzuki supporter and friend, the band's once mighty catcall has been reduced to a wistful sigh.
Beset by tragedy, Tyler nearly quit the band while Have Mercy was recorded, leaving frontman Sammy James Jr. to pick up the songwriting slack. Unfortunately, the increased workload pushes the envelope of James's animal magnetism, forcing him to operate outside the Jagger/Richards dynamic so finely established on the Suzuki's best work. As 2004's pristine Alive & Amplified made clear, the band's sound no longer reflects their feral libido, and Mercy, rife with toothless acoustic ditties and wistful quasi-ballads, removes the last bits of swagger from their cocksure step.
Despite fulsome opener "99%"'s best effort to hide it, Mercy suffers from a serious riffage deficiency, causing James to trade in his hardscrabble mod persona for that of a clean-cut 70s power-pop idol. The back-to-back centerpiece of "Rock'n'Roller Girl" and "First Come Love" flaunt cutesy guitar lines and lovestruck melodies, though most of the record putzes through playful mid-tempo tunes hellbent on asserting that the band's on the up-and-up. "Ashes" and "The Prime of Life" blatantly acknowledge the Suzuki's decline ("Ashes, ashes, we all fall down"), while closer "Down But Not Out" unconvincingly promises an eventual resurgence for the band.
Sadly, the Suzuki sound so sober and humbled here they have to spell out their debauched behavior on obligatory goofball track "Good Ol' Alcohol". A nightmare version of the Kurt Weill-via-Doors cabaret "Alabama Song (Whiskey Bar)", James proudly rattles off every drug he's done before proclaiming the surefire efficacy of booze. And you know what, that's great, but doesn't he realize livelier, raunchier anthems like "In a Young Man's Mind" and "A Simple Life" conveyed the message much more effectively? Chalk it up to tragedy or music biz hardship or whatever you want, but Have Mercy finds the Suzuki once again fighting to save their own relevancy and sounding sorely passé in doing so. Once ahead of the young, exciting revival curve, these guys now sound like middle-aged classic rock dinosaurs who failed to evolve.
