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"In My Time"
Swervedriver
(736k)

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swervedriver _- - - - >_ 99th Dream _|_ G E F F E N _____

BY MICHELLE GOLDBERG
When my boyfriend worked in video production, his office had a shelf full of stock CDs -- generic "techno," "hard rock" or "modern jazz" -- for use as background music. Swervedriver's new album, "99th Dream," would fit comfortably on that shelf -- just file it under "psychedelic alternative" and pull it out to use in Volkswagen commercials.

Had Swervedriver disbanded while MTV's "120 Minutes" was still the secret midnight thrill of pallid suburban kids huddled on their parents' couches, they might have remained a pleasant, silly memory, like the Wonder Stuff or the Ocean Blue. Instead, they've pressed onward, determined not to let their thick blend of distorted college pop drop gracefully off the musical map, despite a host of setbacks. Their problems with music labels have been epic: They've been signed and then dropped by A&M, Creation and Geffen. Their last album, 1995's "Ejector Seat Reservation," wasn't released in the U.S. at all.

Too bad "99th Dream" was. On it, the band has toned down the raucous cacophony of 1993's "Mezcal Head," replacing it with dreary layers of bland guitars and laughable lyrics, including an irony-free cry of "space-age rock 'n' roll." Well, rock 'n' roll is dead, boys, at least this kind of overblown guitar-geek noise is. Sonic Youth can hardly get away with seven and a half minutes of symphonic reverb anymore -- and Swervedriver is no Sonic Youth.

The standard-issue distortion in these songs drones on so unceasingly it's almost sadistic, especially on the monotonous "In My Time." The worst part is that for the first five seconds, "In My Time" sounds like it's going to be a great song. It starts with a sprightly maraca-like percussion that's interrupted by a summery melody. Adam Franklin even carries the tune for a few bars before degenerating into the whiny chorus, which dominates the rest of the song. "In Myyyyyyyy Time," he says over and over and over again, a shrill guitar bleating behind him. Swervedriver repeats this transgression a few times -- setting listeners up for a sweet little pop song and then spitting gallons of prog-rock solos and boring, aimless noise at them. The title song begins with the exact same Dick Dale surf riff that opened "Pulp Fiction," but that instant of energy drowns in the warbling muck that follows. "In These Times" has a spare, melancholy start that sounds almost exactly like the opening of Concrete Blonde's "Joey," but then Franklin's voice intrudes, sounding so weasely it makes Oasis' Liam Gallagher seem like Frank Sinatra.

To be fair, there's one track where the shimmery beginning doesn't lead to complete disappointment. On "You've Sealed My Fate" the melody is able to inch its way above the wall of sound, and the guitar swirls lend atmosphere, grit and poignancy, instead of just obliterating fuzz. Though most listeners will likely be annoyed by the song's lyrics (which essentially consist of a wailing, ad nauseam repetition of its title), the music is lovely and rich -- at least compared to the rest of this interminable album.
SALON | March 3, 1998