It took three albums, but
Jesse Malin
's finally made it. What does that mean? It means that he's finally assembled the record he's been trying to put together since his debut (which was a good record).
Glitter in the Gutter
is a fully realized collection of solidly crafted
pop/rock
songs that are as lyrically substantive and poetic as the music that goes with them. Produced by
Rob Caggiano
and
Eddie Wohl
for
Adeline Records
,
Malin
is the epitome of the street rocker with a poet's heart. Rolling in California, for the first time on a record -- and for the first time above 14th Street in New York City --
recruited old pal
Ryan Adams
to play guitar on a couple of cuts,
Jakob Dylan
to sing a backing vocal, and some guy named
Bruce Springsteen
to help him sing a duet on killer little
ballad
called
"Broken Radio"
complete with strings. This cut is the proof, though the record is filled with it, that
has become one of those fine
rock & roll
storytellers who has equal parts melodrama, hedonism, poetry, swagger and timing. The story of a former lover, someone hidden from the view of the protagonist, as
Adams
' guitars entwine with a piano and strings and ambient sounds, the tempo is slow and
's croon sounds like a man on the fire escape reminiscing to the night sky: "She used to talk about astrology/She was born in June/She danced with strangers and celebrities/Empty stars and full moon/I was thinking about the universe/For what it's worth/Or the one about the phoenix bird/That died and then returned." He jumps right back with the wild rocker
"Prisoners of Paradise"
and evokes all the desperation of the bleary-eyed romantics in the young
Springsteen
with the soul of
Willy DeVille
and the savvy wisdom of
Elliott Murphy
and is louder and prouder than all three.
"Black Haired Girl"
is another city story, it's all blazing guitars and sweet melodies. There's a wild vulnerability in the singer though he's trying hard to be in control.
"Lucinda,"
well, we know who that one's about. There are a few songs on her album
West
about
, too.
But
doesn't have to wait until the middle of the record to shine. He does it from the first cut, when he leaves the
country
-ish tinge present on his earlier records for good. The ringing guitars on
"Don't Let Them Take You Down"
become a lone acoustic that gives way to a cracking snare and big ringing electrics courtesy of
Lizzy Lee Vincent
Justin Lomery
: "We were born in flames, maiden names/Suburban homes, make your bones/Bite your lip, take the fifth...And it's my generation and the whole world is breakin my heart." He goes out of it roaring with all the romance
can promise when it splits reality in two: "Don't let them take you down/It's a beautiful day/Don't let them mess you around." Coming up in the '80s through the
hardcore punk
scene,
's proving that he's matured but that he believes, though he's got no illusions about what's happening all around him. Speaking of the '80s,
's got the cojones to cover
Paul Westerberg
's mighty anthem
"Bastards of Young"
and turn it into a piano-laden
that gives way to screeing feedback guitars that line the background. It's brave but it's a misstep, because with his presence, he might have pulled it off with all the raging six-string power the song is due. It's a minor complaint, perhaps, because that song should never be covered. He shoots right back with a mid-tempo power
by updating
Heat
's
"Since You're in Love"
with
"Happy Ever After (Since You're in Love 2007)."
The dramatics are more weatherbeaten this time out, the wish is more a confession of self-doubt and brokenness, but it's tight.
"New York Nights"
is a fire-escape love song with an acoustic guitar that gives way to the roar of the noise of the singer's heart with a hook nearly worthy of
Doc Pomus
without the retro vibe.
"Aftermath"
is pure
cine-song. There's a movie in here somewhere, but it's everywhere, falling out of the changes and dripping from the words like blood from a freshly opened vein. He evokes images of
rock
's greatest moments in a weary urban tragedy that's not willing to throw in the towel just yet.
provides gorgeous backing vocals and some keen organ work, too.
is aptly named, because
's not posing. There's irony in the reveries and hope in the dustbin. Like
Samuel Beckett
, he's holding out for the glimmer, even when it's covered over by busted hearts, lost souls, and night roamers who cannot bear to see the sun come up because all the flaws will be laid bare. It's a fine look at what's left of
's promise: plenty, it seems, and shows the tatters in the seams of the younger generation's American Dream.
may not be
Bob Dylan
or
, but he doesn't need to be; that was a different time, and he's right on schedule for his own. ~ Thom Jurek