Throughout John Cale's storied 40-year career-- whether as a member of Velvet Underground, as a solo artist, or alongside such collaborators as Terry Riley or Brian Eno-- his work has always been so reliably eccentric and inventive that even his all-too-frequent misfires have held a certain peculiar fascination. Nevertheless, it comes as a disappointment to hear on Black Acetate how readily Cale has moved from the role of unsatisfied innovator to that of willing follower. Claiming the likes of Pharrell, Gorillaz, and Dr. Dre as primary influences, here Cale squanders whatever momentum he accrued on the estimable avant-pop of 2003's HoboSapiens by adorning these new songs with such unflattering, generic alternarock textures that they often render their author unrecognizable at best, and irrelevant at worst.
Recorded with the assistance of Herb Graham, Jr. (who has worked with Macy Gray) and Mickey Petralia (Beck, the Dandy Warhols, Eels) the arrangements on Black Acetate regularly abandon the orchestrated nuance of Cale's past work in favor of sallow trip-hop beats and restrained post-grunge guitars. It's an approach that makes unadvisably forceful demands of Cale's irritable, overspent larynx. Never a powerhouse vocalist, here Cale ignores the limitations of his voice to inhabit these tracks with an ambitious role-playing swagger.
Black Acetate opens inauspiciously with the daffy lite-funk of "Outta the Bag", on which Cale exercises his best Midnite Vultures falsetto. Although this track clearly plays well against Cale's established strengths, it at least suggests him to be in high spirits, which is more than can be said for the bizarre trailer-park mutter of "Brotherman". Over a clunky, dispiriting pulse he announces himself "very uncomfortable, but you're feeling it/ I could write reams of this shit everyday," a puzzling claim that seems unfortunately quite possible. Even more discouraging are cynical, self-conscious "rock" cuts like "Sold-Motel" or "Perfect", with their neo-Candlebox riffs and trite lyrics ("You're perfect for me right now/ It's a different kind of love") that are enough to make one nostalgic for Cale's late-70s paramilitary phase.
Thankfully, ornately balanced tracks like "Satisfied", "Inaflood", and "Wasteland" restore a little dignity and help prevent Black Acetate from being a total washout. Not coincidentally, it is on these pieces that Cale and his collaborators are most able to integrate the viola-fed sophistication of past triumphs like Paris 1919 into these polished new surroundings. Ever the restless explorer, on these highlights Cale proves still capable of hitting literate, atmospheric marks that few of his peers can match-- and hopefully he'll soon come to realize that he's traveled as far as necessary on Black Acetate's borrowed, ill-fitting wings.
