Bobby Conn was so much more charming when he was singing about akwardsexual experiences, teenage cocaine parties and giving blowjobs toadvance in the corporate world. Now that he's aimed his rapier wit atthe ridiculously easy target of the Bush administration, he misses themark almost completely. Perhaps my dislike for The Homelandstems from a fundamental belief that politics and rock n' roll areuneasy bedfellows. I've heard a precious few protest albums that didn'tseem completely dated mere weeks after their release, and they weremade by much shrewder artists that the diminutive Mr. Conn. He and hisband of Glass Gypsies wade through a turgid song cycle satirizing rabidconservatism, "homeland security" and Bush's imperialistic foreignpolicy. Maybe it's me, but don't these seem like rather obvioustargets? Does President Bush - a man so clearly idiotic, insane andwilling to distort the truth in order to further his own nefariouscauses - really need to be lampooned in a series of pastiches on 70'sglam and arena rock? I think The Homeland answers thatquestion, and the answer is a resounding "no." Save for one lonelytrack, there are no memorable tunes on the album, most of the musicstruggling to fit Mr. Conn's convoluted lyrics. Producer John McEntireattempts to compensate for the songwriting's obvious shortcomings byover-arranging every song, introducing a multitude of synthesizers,organs, percussion and strings so that every moment is overwhelmed withcomposition. On the album's opening track, "We Come in Peace," Conntries to graft idiotic lines like "We are your friends, we come inpeace/We brought our guns to set you free" onto the same Boston-styleclassic rock mold that made his last album The Golden Age sohilarious and memorable. Other tracks attempt poor imitations BobbyConn's myriad other influences. Their only entertainment value lies intrying to identify which artist Conn is badly impersonating: the titletrack is Yes' "Heart of the Sunrise," "Relax" takes its cue fromPrince, and "Home Sweet Home" is a piss-poor facsimile of Hunky Dory-eraBowie. "Bus #243" is a lone bright spot, a rollicking song thatdeserves a better place than this record in which to thrive. Then,suddenly and without warning, Conn summarily loses the plot, droppinghis theme for four full tracks before attempting to regain it with thefinal track. I really hate it when artists refuse to follow up properlyon their own stated goals.Read More
