Lines, Vines and Trying Times

Jonas Brothers - Lines, Vines and Trying Times
released 15 June 2009 on Polydor

In November 1983, Duran Duran released their third album, Seven and the Ragged Tiger. In an interview not long after, Simon Le Bon told Rolling Stone that the album “is an adventure story about a little commando team. 'The Seven' is for us — the five band members and the two managers — and 'the Ragged Tiger' is success. Seven people running after success. It's ambition. That's what it's about.” This proves two things: firstly, Simon Le Bon is an utter tool (not that their was much doubt surrounding that one) and secondly, simple bands shouldn’t make themselves appear impressive by having “clever” album titles. It didn’t make Duran Duran look deep and philosophical; instead it was a prime example of trying too hard.

Perhaps Kevin, Nick and Joe Jonas (seriously, who calls their kid Joe Jonas?) were big fans of lightweight 80s pop, because that’s the only possible explanation behind this baffling title: Lines, Vines and Trying Times. What with the brothers Jonas being signed to Hollywood Records, a subsidiary of Disney, you would think they’d have had to battle hard to keep that title. You can imagine a meeting between the Jo Bros and some head honcho at the record label (you may wish to imagine said honcho smoking a huge Cuban cigar that he lit using a $100 bill):

Head Honcho: “Nick, Curly, Spud, come in, sit down. Now what are we going to call the album?”
Jonas Brothers: “Lines, Vines and Trying Times”
HH: “That’s a terrible title. We were thinking maybe In Your Face or Rock Da House. Calling it Lines, Vines and Nursery Rhymes…”
JB: “…Trying Times.”
HH: “Whatever. It won’t sell”
JB: “But we feel it reflects our new found maturity or some other similarly empty gesture”
HH: “Well, Joe Rivers might do some unfunny, self-referential skit on the title if he reviews it”
JB (in unison): “Who?”
HH: “Good point.”

Yeah, it probably went something like that.

Anyway, despite the eldest brother (Kevin) only being born in 1987, the most striking thing about Lines, Vines and Trying Times is the proliferation of 80s influences. Not 80s in a cool, La Roux, sleek electro revival kind of way, but 80s in a synthetic, cheap, well… Duran Duran kind of way, come to think of it. There are horn stabs at every turn, meaningless phrases, “triumphs” of style over substance and power ballads. The production (and title) of Poison Ivy take it laughably close to hair metal while Hey Baby bounces along on a slap bass figure which reeks so strongly of fromage that even Flea would think twice before donning the Fender and banging his head around in a mindless fashion.

As you’d expect, there’s nothing to change the world of popular music in Lines, Vines and Trying Times. There’s the obligatory syrupy ballad or three (one featuring the irritatingly ubiquitous Miley Cyrus) which prove to be the vomit-inducing lightweight pap that the pre-teens seem to lap up, and a couple of songs that seem to have crafted solely with the intention of soundtracking the season finalé of some post-Dawson’s Creek solipsism-fest where Johnny’s upset with Janey and Danny’s angry at Jay but Jay’s in love with Janey and is going through a really, really hard time.

So, quelle surprise, Lines, Vines and Trying Times is primarily a box-ticking exercise. The songs are exclusively about relationships but what with them coming from America’s most famous wearers of purity rings, everything’s blandly sexless and free of controversy. Even the tracks about longing and wanting don’t contain a hint of lust and the closest the brothers come to breaking their family-friendly image is the implied rhyme within Poison Ivy (“everybody gets the itch/Everybody hates that…”) which has a squall of guitar instead of completing what would be the least threatening lyric used in song since “Stop - Hammertime.”

Then there’s the singing. Whoever started this style of singing - possibly Mariah Carey - should be made accountable for their crimes as the brothers sing as if (and sorry for descending to this level) they’re attempting to evacuate something particularly obstructive from their bowels. Miley Cyrus is just as bad so the only voice of reason on this album comes from Common. Yep, that Common. Mr Lynn lends his flow to Don’t Charge Me for the Crime; a pitiful attempt at sounding street - careful, they mention the police and pistols - that only succeeds in making the Jonas Brothers seem the kind of people who could have their ice creams stolen by a five-year-old.

Now, it’s time for a small confession and one that may be a sackable offence on the good ship No Ripcord (and if that’s the case, thanks for the memories, it’s been a blast, best of luck for the future and all that). In parts, Lines, Vines and Trying Times can be quite listenable. If you manage to ignore the fact that half the tracks make Starship and Heart sound like the Aphex Twin, those Jo Bros sure know how to write a tune. For all the overblown, bombastic production, when they’ve a spring in their step, the melodies are strong and the songs can be fun. World War Three, Much Better and the aforementioned Poison Ivy are catchy enough that if you happen to hear them, you may find yourself inadvertently humming them to yourself hours later.

Lines, Vines and Trying Times isn’t a good record and definitely isn’t the kind of thing you should be looking to investigate further. But if you’re reading this review, the chances are it’s not meant for you, so giving it a thumbs-down is hardly earth-shattering news. Like it or not, Jonas Brothers and the people behind them know their target market and do what they do pretty well. The abundance of such dated sounds is baffling but consider this: if you had a 10-year-old child who was starting to take an interest in music, would you rather they were into the misogynistic, materialistic world of commercial 21st Century R n’ B or the wholesome, clean-cut image of the Jonas Brothers? While comedian Bill Bailey may have had it right when he claimed there was “more evil in the charts than in an Al-Qaeda suggestion box,” Lines, Vines and Trying Times hardly constitutes the war crime your prejudices may have led you to believe.

Journal for Plague Lovers

Manic Street Preachers - Journal for Plague Lovers
released 18 May 2009 on Columbia

On May 15 1991, Manic Street Preachers, then an androgynous glam-punk outfit on the up, played a gig at Norwich Arts Centre. After the show, an interview with the NME’s Steve Lamacq gained widespread notoriety when Richey Edwards decided to carve the phrase “4 REAL” into his arm with a razor blade. Stupid and misguided as it may have been, it’s an iconic moment that has gone down in rock folklore and was quite possibly one of the catalysts for the success of the Manics’ début album, Generation Terrorists, the following year. The fact that this man who didn’t sing, (allegedly) didn’t even play guitar and only wrote around half the band’s lyrics could be the focal point for such an image-conscious band pretty much summed up the enigma that was Richey Edwards.

Of course, we all know what happened next. Generation Terrorists was followed by Gold Against the Soul and, completing the Richey trilogy, The Holy Bible. Then, in February 1995, Edwards went missing and hasn’t been seen since. MSP soldiered on without him and became one of the leading lights of the British music scene of the 1990s but The Holy Bible remains their masterpiece: a brutal, gruelling growl-from-the-id of an album clearly showcasing the fragile mind of a man on the edge. Unfortunately, at the time, no-one knew quite how close he was. Richey left behind folders of poems, musings and ideas, and these form the lyrical content of Journal for Plague Lovers. So, basically, we’re in for The Holy Bible mark II, right? Well, just to be contrary, yes and no.

It’s clear from track one, Peeled Apples, that it’s Edwards’ words coming from Bradfield. Within a couple of minutes, there’s a reference to Noam Chomsky and there’s certainly no-one around in 2009 who would pen an opening couplet such as “The more I see, the less I scream/The figure eight inside out is infinity.”

But MSP have grown up over the last fifteen years (all three members are now 40) and there’s a maturity to their music now that has replaced the all-out nihilism of their formative years. We’re now treated to a situation where Edwards’ lyrics actually fit the music; something of a novelty for long-term Manics fans. James Dean Bradfield’s voice has softened from the passionate rallying cry of the early 90s too . So, there’s the odd spectacle of a 40-year-old man crooning, “Overjoyed, me and Stephen Hawking, we laughed/We missed the sex revolution/When we failed the physical” as Bradfield does on Me and Stephen Hawking (hey, no-one said all his lyrics were winners).

The most striking difference between Journal for Plague Lovers and any album MSP recorded during Richey’s lifetime is the variation. Rather than cranking up the amps and letting the fury fly, there’s much more thought and consideration in every riff. In fact, it’s the ballads that prove the most powerful throughout the album, where songs such as This Joke Sport Severed add a restrained gravitas to Edwards’ words. The hallmarks of Manics of old are still there to see though: metal riffs, double-tracked vocals; in fact, She Bathed Herself in a Bath of Bleach could have come straight from Generation Terrorists.

Manic Street Preachers really do need congratulating for their efforts on Journal for Plague Lovers. Not only have they crafted an album that is fit to rank among their best, they’ve done so in difficult circumstances (though obviously they have previous in this field with 1996’s triumphant Everything Must Go). What could have been a mawkish album in poor taste has ended up being a fitting tribute to a friend and former bandmate.

On this album of confounded expectations, it seems only apt that it’s left for Nicky Wire to apply the coup de grâce. Not known for his vocal dexterity, he stays true to form here, but he lends his pipes to the best track on the album, William’s Last Words. Like most of the high points on Journal for Plague Lovers, it’s an acoustic-led ballad and this time, a tender paean to Richey. You don’t get to write your own epitaph in life but that’s effectively what Edwards has done. The words could have just been thrown together in five minutes on a piece of scrap paper for all we know, but lines such as “Isn’t it lovely when the dawn brings the dew? I’ll be watching over you” take on a heartbreaking poignancy when you consider the tragic story to which they now relate. As Wire’s wobbly voice strains for the notes on “Goodnight, sleep tight/Goodnight, God bless,” you’d have to have a heart of stone not to feel even the slightest twinge of sadness.

Richey Edwards was officially declared “presumed deceased” in November 2008. Chances are, the truth about what happened will never be found out. The fact that, however crass it may sound, we live in an age where death can sometimes seem a good career move (à la Jeff Buckley or Nick Drake) and conspiracy theorists worldwide can share mutterings across the globe via the Internet means that the cult of Richey Edwards will be with us for a long time yet. With Journal for Plague Lovers, it feels like Manic Street Preachers have finally closed the door on a painful chapter in their career and, rather fittingly, they’ve done it with some aplomb.