It's nearly second nature to bash Scott Weiland. Critics have been doing it for years, citing the vocalist and his band Stone Temple Pilots as unoriginal musical opportunists who hopped the grunge gravy train. And when he has the chutzpah to declare in the press bio for his solo debut 12 Bar Blues that grunge is dead, you wanna pull him aside, put your lips to his ear and yell, "No duh, Scott, who in hell do you think killed it?" So, you think, why give this rock star poseur the time of day?
But then a couple things happen that mess with your frontline stance. First, you discover that producer/magician Daniel Lanois (U2, Bob Dylan, Luscious Jackson) helped a bit in shaping the sound of the CD. (Blair Lamb is credited as the main producer.) Lanois is not one to work with just anyone, and his participation usually garners instant cred for the artist in question. But Scott Weiland? Then you give the album a spin and something really strange occurs: you don't hate it like you want to. You almost even like it.
Truth be told, 12 Bar Blues is not bad at all. Shedding his Vedder-y skin, Weiland craftily and vigorously infuses Beatle melodies ("About Nothing" nearly drop-and-drags the hook from "She Said") with Bowie-esque glam and the larger-than-life clang of U2's Pop. Not entirely original, but not nearly as derivative as STP. First single "Barbarella," with its throaty, thrusting chorus, is an ambitious jaunt that outlasts its six-minute-plus duration. "Mocking Bird Girl" is a giddy glam romp, and "Lady, Your Roof Brings Me Down," previously featured on the Great Expectations soundtrack, waltzes with Transylvania flair. Essentially a junkie's diary (prevailing lines include "Barbarella come and save me from my misery, can't you see it's a disease" and "she got nothing but she's working at the candy store"), Weiland surprises with the melancholy "Son," in which he sings, "Now go to sleep you little child of mine, I wish I had the beauty you hold inside." Sure, it's nothing new, but it's quite the unguarded moment coming from a rock star like Scott Weiland.
-- Neal Weiss
