Former D Generation frontman Jesse Malin is an odd mix of Bob Dylan,Mark Knopfler, and Neil Young in the vocal department, and on his debutsolo album, he shows he's straying further and further from his punkrock roots to become a roots rock punk. With frequent cohort Ryan Adamsat the knobs and sliders and on electric guitar, Malin is free to letout his more troubadour tendencies, spinning yarns of lost love anddying dreams. For the most part, the formula works just as long as youcan get past Malin's aforementioned voice and some occasional triteimagery, mostly involving the repeated mention of cigarettes. On thecover, Malin projects the image and feel this album most embodies: asubway performer, strumming away on his acoustic guitar, begging peopleto throw him a couple quarters. He's that unlucky sap with an openguitar case and a Yamaha acoustic, track after track, waiting for hisluck to change rather than try and change it himself. Even though itrocks out here and there, like on "Wendy," and "High Lonesome," thereis an overwhelming emptiness and depression throughout the record.Malin is here, warts and all, including the most awful vocal momentsimaginable in places ("Solitaire" with its strained wails), anddecidedly low production values. He paints a picture of New York Cityfrom the dim side, where people are down on their luck, can't evenafford a beer, and just want someone to notice. It's not a new theme,not a new approach, and Malin's not a new voice; but it's still apretty good debut, with some varied flavors, and he occasionally hintsat a grandeur that might rival New Jersey's favorite son someday.samples:
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