And number one on the list of phrases we'd never expect to see in the liner notes of a New York Dolls album: "String samples courtesy of Vienna Symphonic Library." But its appearance in the fine print on One Day It Will Please Us to Remember Even This is only slightly less surprising than the existence of the album itself. Even after the glam-punk pioneers' triumphant, Morrissey-goaded reunion performance at London's Meltdown festival in June 2004, the concept of a new New York Dolls album seemed unfathomable, given that their star guitarist Johnny Thunders had been dead for 13 years and drummers Jerry Nolan and Billy Murcia had checked out long before that; with the sudden, leukemia-related death of bassist Arthur Kane coming just weeks after the reunion gig, the surviving Dolls were barely holding on to their plural status. But if there are only two original Dolls still alive to make a new record, they may as well be the ones who wrote all the songs (guitarist Sylvain Sylvain) and the one whose voice gave them personality (David Johansen). No strangers to prescient album titles (see 1974's career-killing Too Much Too Soon), with One Day, the Dolls play with a humble restraint that suggests they're just grateful to be here.
While the Dolls' songwriting was always smart enough to transcend their image, the initial shock of the latter is what ultimately secures their place in the pre-punk canon. Beyond their gender-bending veneer-- more of a theatrical device than a political one-- the Dolls' intent was regressive rather than progressive, shamelessly asserting their love of antiquated forms like rockabilly and doo-wop in a post-hippie era preoccupied with 20-minute guitar solos and multi-sectional prog suites. Though an essential text for the Sex Pistols, the Clash, and Ramones, the Dolls' self-titled debut is really no more threatening than 1972's other ragged rock'n'roll masterwork, Exile on Main Street. So it follows then that One Day sounds less like the work of punk provocateurs than a Keith Richards solo album: grizzled rock vets backed by a nominally gritty if too-well-rehearsed troupe of young(er) hired guns (guitarist Steve Conte, bassist Sami Yaffa, keyboardist Brian Koonin, and drummer Brian Delaney). In a sense, the Dolls personify the changes their hometown has undergone in the past three decades; the streets still bustle with tension and excitement, but the fear of getting mugged has subsided considerably.
One thing working in the new New York Dolls' favor is that the band's most enduring songs ("Personality Crisis", "Trash") weren't confined to the typical preoccupations of young men looking to get laid. So where Mick Jagger still tries to play the sympathetic devil, Johansen is happy playing the sentimental fool. His voice has ripened considerably over the years-- evidence of his years belting out blues standards with his band the Harry Smiths-- but as charismatic a frontman Johansen remains, much of the new repertoire never rises far above sub-Stones pub-rock ("Runnin' Around", "Take a Good Look at My Good Looks") or self-tribute ("Dance Like a Monkey" revives both the "ooh ooh" harmonies from "Trash" and the safari rumble of "Stranded in the Jungle").
Aside from the spirited soda-shop strut of "Rainbow Store", it's actually the bittersweet ballads that fare best: the Tom Waitsian stroll of "Maimed Happiness" and the Springsteen-sized climax "Dancing on the Lip of the Volcano" (featuring effective backing vocals from Michael Stipe) both bear evidence of the wounded blue-eyed soul that always lurked behind the Dolls' mascara'd lashes. But more importantly, they're genuine displays of vulnerability from former bad boys who are wise enough to know you can't put your arms around a memory.
