Jonathan Cohen
Indiana Daily Student
The commercial alternative music scene embraced Live's first album Mental Jewelry for its edginess and ability to fashion near-grunge songs that were tailor-made for arena rock.
Throwing Copper, the band's 1994 follow-up, made Live a household name, keyed by singer Ed Kowalczyk's intelligent, thought-provoking lyrics and a kind of groove-rooted rock that crossbred U2 with Pearl Jam.
Unfortunately,Secret Samadhi, the band's long-awaited new release, is an unproductive musical journey lined with boring songs, disappointing lyrics and recycled emotion that just doesn't sound believable anymore.
Kowalczyk's lyrics have really taken a turn for the worse and don't convey the urgency of Live's music. Album opener "Rattlesnake" is rendered ineffective via lines such as Let's go hang out in a church/we'll go find Lurch/and haul ass down to the Abbey. In "Unsheathed," he tells us Free love was just another party for the hippies to ruin.
We also expect more experimentation or creativity, and it's nowhere to be found on Secret Samadhi, except in the first single, "Lakini's Juice." Using a jagged, industrial riff as its foundation, the strong track survives despite a poor string arrangement and more pretentious lyrics.
But without deviating from its standard start-soft-then-explode mentality and penchant for writing songs in the same key, Live can't offer the listener anything better than predictable retreads such as the questionable melodic line of "Insomnia And The Hole In The Universe," the Seven Mary Three vibe of "Century" and the preachy, six-minute-plus "Ghost." In the latter, a pop-metal chorus and background singers stick out like sore thumbs. "Ghost" also happens to sound exactly like "T.B.D." from Throwing Copper.
Live's rhythm section of drummer Chad Gracey and bassist Patrick Dalheimer, lauded for their fine contributions to Throwing Copper, must shoulder the blame for the bland pace of many of the songs, especially the go-nowhere "Gas Hed Goes West" and the flat "Merica."
That doesn't mean all the songs are unsatisfactory, because a few of them turn out all right despite this rigid formula. "Graze" begins with spoken word mutterings a la Michael Stipe, only to drag badly and get rescued when the band locks in on a groove and runs with it. Live employs this tactic well but too often.
"Freaks" is reminiscent of songs such as "Waterboy" from Mental Jewelry, but is hindered greatly by an out-of-place bridge and Kowalczyk's spoken-word blurbs at the end of each verse.
It's tough to give up on Live altogether in light of its noteworthy past work. Yet Secret Samadhi portrays the York, Pa., natives as individuals quite unsure of where to proceed musically.
But if Live's itinerary includes a continuing trek into a nebulous, alt-rock dimension, they may be as quickly forgotten as they were discovered.