Stone Temple Pilots is one of my favorite bands. Many STP fans rave about their first album as the greatest work they’ve done; a landmark in grunge musical history. Personally, I find it to be their most under-developed and bland album, and though it has a distinct sound that separates it from other grunge works that popularized around the same time, it is overshadowed creatively by everything else they’ve done. Their next release, Purple, blew me away. The heavy distortion and driving riffs of grunge were still there, but rather than displaying those riffs as the focal point of each song, they became textures that worked together to create bigger, more interesting musical ideas. Not only were they playing grunge, but they were applying it in varying degrees to other genres (mainly blues and folk in Purple’s case) to create a new type of popular music that set them apart from other acts they were accused of parroting, such as Pearl Jam and Alice in Chains. They continued this pattern through the rest of their work, exploring 50s and 60s pop-rock and jazz in Tiny Music . . . Songs from the Vatican Gift Shop, psychedelic rock and metal in No. 4, and . . . well, Shangri-La Dee Da is just weird. Through all these releases, STP has done work that has helped shape my expectations of craftsmanship in popular music, and holds up to my expectations in retrospect. They have KILLER hooks, often more than one per song, they explore bitter dissonance to accentuate the sweetness of their resolute harmonies, and never settle on one sound.

Naturally, I have a Stone Temple Pilots channel on Pandora, an application which I now use instead of an mp3 library on my iPhone because I don’t have the organizational skills to fit what I want and save room for recording video on sixteen gigabytes. One day while doing my regular menial labor for money, an unfamiliar song popped up with an offensively unimaginative album cover (somehow even more so than the cover of No. 4) I didn’t recognize. The song was “Hazy Daze”, and I wasn’t impressed in any particular way. I listened to it all the way through, feeling an inexplicable suspicious dread afterward, a nervous denial, like the feeling one gets hearing an uncomfortable sound from one’s car after recently getting it back from an expensive trip to the shop, and forced it out of my mind. Having been without new STP material since 2001, curiosity got the best of me and it didn’t stay out for long.

I had planned to buy the CD, but my schedule prevented me from fitting a trip to the store in, (sigh) so I bought it on iTunes. I probably wouldn’t have even done this under these circumstances, but upon researching the deluxe edition on iTunes and comparing it to the physical CD release, it seemed to offer more content value (wrong) by including the music video for the first single and a fifteen minute video interview. It was unclear whether or not the deluxe CD did the same. DIGRESSION ALERT: I hate buying digital media! I believe firmly in pirating if I’m going to download mp3s. I would have pirated this if I didn’t also believe in buying art that I was going to publicly critique. Not only do I not want to risk my money on music in a world of ever-decreasing quality standards, but I also do not want to financially support music if I don’t like it. If I do buy music, it’s because I am confident that I will like it for one reason or another, so I want something tangible in my hands to maximize the value of my purchase. I can then rip it to anything I want while still adding to a physical collection. A list of data on my laptop is much less visually pleasing/impressive than a stack of CDs on a bookshelf, not to mention still attainable through the physical media at no extra cost to me, and more vulnerable to accidental loss. The only reason the iTunes market is pushing the CD market closer and closer to obscurity is because of the primitive protectionist mindset of the digital world. People choose mp3 over CD because of convenience, like I did, but since they have to spend the same amount as they would on that CD, the qualitative benefits are now being forgone. Big record companies and highly marketed bad musicians are now enjoying much lower overhead and higher profit margins they can apply to even more marketing, meaning more sales, without having to increase product quality. Sorry. And now, back to our regularly scheduled disappointment.

Stone Temple Pilots’ self-titled album begins with its worst song, “Between the Lines.” It was also chosen as the first radio single, which for most popular bands is typical. This stands out as strange for STP though, as they usually do a great job of releasing very catchy and high-quality tunes for syndication. “Between the Lines” comes off as a self-esteem project assigned to Weiland by his parole officer. The chorus repeats “You always were my favorite drug, Even when we used to take drugs,” and the riff behind it is equally repetitive, loud and infantile. This song’s immaturity is reinforced by other true stinkers on the album.

“Huckleberry Crumble” is a rock-a-billy throwback that has an incredibly derivative and annoying guitar melody that Weiland sings with in unison. The feel seems forced, lacking in sincerity without a hint of sarcasm. “Cinnamon” is the runner-up for worst song, beginning with a skippy drum-beat and iced with a guitar melody spurted out by the world’s most sparkly, sunshiny asshole. The only thing worse than the general feel of the song, which evokes Disney images of a middle-schooler skateboarding to school on a beautiful spring California morning, waving to the baker, crossing guard, and old man reading the paper in front of the barbershop on the way, are the eye-crossingly sappy and unimaginative lyrics. “Bagman” is also painfully bright, cheery, and straight off of a kid’s movie soundtrack. “First Kiss on Mars” and “Maver” have the same plastic, manufactured ooze dribbling out of them, making them absolutely perfect for the intro credits of a teen drama on the WB. All the worst songs on this album have this gushing pop sound that makes me wonder if STP was listening to Sugar Ray while they were writing.

Aside from the absolute garbage, Stone Temple Pilots managed to fit tunes on their new mp3 bundle with some grit suitable for a less retarded audience. Sadly, the very best track is only available as a bonus for buying the deluxe edition (!?!?!? . . . ?). Actually, “Samba Nova” isn’t even available for buying separate from the rest of the album, so if you want it, you must purchase the rest of the dog shit that comes with it, essentially making it a fifteen dollar song (just pirate it for fuck’s sake). It certainly isn’t worth that price, especially since you could just listen to “And So You Know” from Tiny Music without missing much. On the main heap of the album, the next best thing one will find is the second track, “Take a Load Off.” It has the most classic STP sound, with an agile bassline creating the movement, the guitar creating a thin, dissonant and twangy atmosphere, and two infectious hooks. The lyrics even seem to be more like Weiland’s usual style: vaguely profound since one could pretty much interpret them however one would want, and not stupid enough to be distracting.

“Hickory Dichotomy” has a neurotic staccato eighth-note pattern perpetrated by a wet guitar. The bass follows half the time, and syncopates around it the other half. Slide guitar is also used effectively to create a backwoods smirk on the song’s face while Weiland does his best to imitate David Bowie’s choppy narrative vocal style a la “Jean Genie.” The last tune truly worthy of any attention would be “Peacoat,” mainly because of the dissonant guitar stabs that introduce the tune and the well-constructed hook. The rest are not unbearable, but certainly less interesting. “Dare if You Dare” reminds me of a lame version of “Lady Picture Show,” with a bit of Sgt. Pepperish Beatles swizzled in. “Hazy Daze,” and “Fast As I Can” manage to add a bit of energy to the album, but totally lack creativity. The band simply took some Zeppelin riffs and added a bit of their own flavor to them just to give the listener a break from the cotton candy that fills the rest of this piece. . . of . . .

Anyway, all anger aside, Stone Temple Pilots have released a work of pure mediocrity. Though it’s true that this album doesn’t quite reach the artistic maturity of the Twilight book series, it was still made by good musicians. Rob DeLeo is still one of my favorite bassists, weaving skillfully in and out of the main riffs and using syncopation in alluring ways. Dean DeLeo still delivers tasty, high-energy, classically rock solos, and splashes his chords against the walls, drenching them with both dissonance and bright harmonies. Kretz keeps his end of the bargain well enough I suppose, maybe less enthusiastically than the rest. And Weiland is as flexible as ever (heh), bringing back some of the techniques he used most prominently in Tiny Music, but also borrowing a lot more from Bowie this time around. They still beat the shit out of most of the wussy mainstream pop acts dominating the airwaves whose most notable qualifications are their ability to apply their mother’s eye-liner. But, that’s not saying much.

Stone Temple Pilots’ creativity has gone out to lunch, and it may be doing all the drugs they’ve locked away without them. Weiland’s lyrics have especially taken a turn for the worse. They were never very good to begin with, but at least they could’ve been ignored. Now they sound like they were written by a housewife on painkillers whose trying to show her teenage son how hip she is in front of his new vegan girlfriend. And why is this a self-titled album? In my opinion, releasing a self-titled album is a decision of much greater importance than naming an album after whatever concept it’s supposed to embody. It’s like saying, “When people hear the name of our band, I want them to think of this album.” I sincerely hope this was not their intention. When I think of Stone Temple Pilots, I think of a clever tongue-in-cheek pop band crashing a house party, chilled out, dark, smoky speakeasy lounges, or doing drive-bys in a souped-up 60s impala with a sledgehammer. I do not want to think of Dawson’s Creek. They should’ve named it, “Hey Kids, Have You Ever Heard of Us?” By the way, if you don’t like “Between the Lines,” the music video for it that came with the album won’t redeem it in any sense. Also, please don’t watch the fifteen minute “interview” that came with it either. It’s a complete waste of time and it will ruin any positive image of their characters one might have. Maybe if they had done the interview fifteen years ago, they might’ve said or done something more intelligent . . . like mooning the camera.

Cinnamon
(No, I’m serious, these are actually the lyrics. I didn’t make this up . . . no, seriously, look it up yourself, I’m not joking)

I’d like to sing a story for you
Here’s what I’d sing if I could impress you
Hear me can you hear me?
Hear me can you hear me?
Hear me can you hear me now?

You’ve got to be the prettiest girl
I’ve ever witnessed in the whole world
Hear me can you hear me?
Hear me can you hear me?
Hear me can you hear me now?

We both talk about love
We both know about love
We both sing the songs
Can you hear me can you hear me now?

Yeah, come on come on now
Yeah, come on come on now
Yeah, come on come on now
Yeah, come on come on

I’d like to write a story for you
with a little melody pretty for you
Hear me can you hear me?
Hear me can you hear me?
Hear me can you hear me now?

Never condescend to you, my dear
Always speak the words so lovely to hear
Hear me can you hear me?
Hear me can you hear me?
Hear me can you hear me now?

We both talk about love
We both know about love
We both sing the songs
Can you hear me can you hear me now?

Yeah, come on come on now
Yeah, come on come on now
Yeah, come on come on now
Yeah, come on come on

Where did you come from
Where are you now?
Just like an angel
Seems like you left me
When you broke down
Down
Down
Down

Yeah, come on come on now
Yeah, come on come on now
Yeah, come on come on now
Yeah, come on come on

Published Monday 21st June 2010 - Written by Jeff Benjamin