For some, Urge Overkill earned their place in history as gadflies in Chicago's indie rock scene during the turn of the 1990s-- releasing LPs on Touch and Go, coining the term "Guyville," being on the receiving end of Steve Albini's most withering insults. But then, their masterful 1993 sellout bid Saturation proved that their true talents were wasted on indie rock's ideals. As the opening act on both the era-defining Vs. and Nevermind tours, UO incongruously embraced the pursuit of fame and groupies. They rocked leisure suits, wore dinner-plate logo medallions, and crafted ostentatious Cheap Trick hooks. Much like the Hives or the Darkness a decade later, many wondered, "Do they really mean it?" but their stylized image was less cynical branding than a necessary multimedia confluence. Their music simply wouldn't have been convincing coming from guys in jeans and t-shirts. Unfortunately, the bummed burnout of the underrated 1995 album Exit the Dragon proved prophetic, and it was the last thing we'd hear from them until now. That was 16 years ago.
Unlike Windy City lightning rods Liz Phair and Billy Corgan, Urge can essentially show up in 2011 as if nothing happened in the interim, their legacy almost completely unaffected one way or the other. And Rock & Roll Submarine finds them sounding like themselves, which is refreshing if only because no one else does. Nash Kato once sang, "only booze improves with age," on all-time tearjerker "View of the Rain", but as vocalists, he and King Roeser come off the rack perfectly intact. And while the studio session lifers taking over the rhythm section surely lack the Q rating drummer Blackie Onassis brought to the table, in terms of sheer musicianship, he was replaceable.
In a surprising move for a band that always made space for in-jokes and grand self-mythology, Rock & Roll Submarine makes no reference whatsoever to the hiatus or gives any indication that the decade and a half was spent fussing over the material or anticipating a kingmaking comeback. Though of a much higher fidelity than their T&G releases, Submarine charges head-down with one-take immediacy, lean and strictly business. It's workmanlike and yet unlabored, with most tracks clocking under three and a half minutes and little thought given to overdubs, solos, or their often affecting acoustic side.
Still, Submarine is saddled with an uncharacteristic lack of flair both lyrically and musically. Strip away goofy set pieces like "The Candidate" and "Erica Kane" and the swaggering "Sister Havana", and Urge too convincingly dress down to blue-collar classic rockers-- strong character actors without much material to work with. It's hard not to wish that more was at stake. Even something as seemingly obvious as the barely metaphoric "She's My Ride" can't really commit itself to a properly horndog premise.
If it's any consolation, the songs are interchangeable and accomplished enough that long-time fans will be relieved that they didn't embarrass themselves. Newcomers, if any, will almost certainly wonder what the big deal was. Which is a shame. Last year's re-emergence of the Jon Spencer Blues Explosion, a band similarly derided as ironists during the 90s, felt like it could've set the table for Urge to prove that indie rock's attitudes toward showmanship have hardly changed in the past 20 years. Rock & Roll Submarine is a reminder to thank Nash and King for the memories, but as an album, it seems unlikely to inspire new ones.
