Film Review: Nicotina

It becomes apparent during Nicotina’s 93-minute running time that director Hugo Rodriguez and screenwriter Martin Salinas have watched their share of Quentin Tarantino and Guy Ritchie pictures. Nicotina is packed with the same sort of darkly comic aspects that came to be the trademark of those two directors, but manages to dispense with the “wink-wink, look at my genuine appreciation for obscure, unknown cinema” affectations that burden much of Tarantino’s work. Nicotina is not a heavy film, knowing well enough not to take itself seriously, but it is an adept examination of human vices and how far working-class people will go when they are presented with the opportunity to shed their workaday burdens with one momentous decision.

The story, set on a lazy, warm Mexico City evening, is put in motion by a low-level computer hacker named Lolo (Diego Luna, who’s becoming hard to miss these days), who is the crucial cog in a scheme to rob a Swiss bank in exchange for a cache of diamonds. He spends his down time spying on his comely cellist neighbor, Andrea (Marta Belaustegui) through hidden cameras, but he’s too shy and unassuming to be considered creepy. His partners in the caper, Nene (Lucas Crespi) and Tomson (Jesus Ochoa) tool around the city, waiting for Lolo to acquire the account numbers which are to be delivered to a pair of Russian gangsters.

All the while, Nene puffs away on a constant string of cigarettes, citing their esoteric value while the older, wiser Tomson berates him for neglecting to note the significant health risk. As the title suggests, the cigarettes act as the film’s primary metaphor, every major character either possessing the habit or just having gone cold turkey. Meanwhile, Lolo acquires the account numbers and burns them to a disc; that is only until Andrea becomes privy to his network of hidden cameras in her apartment.

After conniving her way into Lolo’s apartment next door, she sends his CD-R collection of hidden camera footage asunder and sets it aflame while Lolo is locked outside. Once he regains entry, now without the trademark code monkey horn-rimmed glasses, he picks up what he thinks is the disc with the account numbers and bolts down to the street where Nene and Tomson are waiting. As luck and convenient plotting would have it, it isn’t the right disc. 

The Russian gangsters, on the discovery of the disc containing something other than account numbers, react harshly and swiftly, as any classic gangster would once they think they’ve been had. Nene and Svoboda, the chief Russian gangster, take bullets, inciting a cycle of selfish violence that continues to devolve as far as the flawed players can remotely rationalize it. Amidst the unfolding chaos, Lolo scrambles around futilely trying to convince those involved that it was his fault, as others continue to fall bereft of his own awareness of the failed scheme’s spiraling after-effects.

Rodriguez and Salinas push the story forward by repeatedly putting the film’s ordinary characters into extraordinary situations, dropping them headfirst into scenarios where their moral well-being gets put to the test. The cigarettes become the major X-factor, manipulating what would normally be a difficult decision and rendering it a decision that should not be foisted upon any mortal being. The film’s dark themes and violence are softened by a snappy pace, some pop film editing tricks, and clever dialogue, turning what could be humorless material into quite the lightweight, enjoyable morality tale. Never thought you’d hear those terms in the same sentence, did you?

Nicotina is diverting stuff, not anything that will garner any foreign-film Oscar nominations (unlike Amores Perros, a fellow Mexican film from the same production company), but quite enough to wash the foul taste of mediocre late summer fare from your palette. In addition to being a well-thought out film, it is also visually appealing, taking on much the same feel as Michael Mann’s Collateral, with many cool, striking nightscapes. It won’t weigh upon your soul, but it’s not supposed to.

The movie is in a limited release stateside, appearing mainly in metropolitan areas with notable Latino populations, so you’ll have to seek it out. But it’s definitely worth a look if you can find it. And for the first and last time, don’t let the subtitles deter you. That’s no excuse, you son of a silly person.

NICOTINA
Directed by: Hugo Rodriguez
Cast: Diego Luna, Rafael Inclan, Lucas Crespi, Jesus Ochoa

Don’t Look Down – The Fear In Love

I’ve always respected Don’t Look Down on many levels. They have always impressed me with their strong work ethic way back from their younger days. They are a pop-punk band and they don’t care if they are classified as one and they never have; which is uplifting to me since so many bands seem rather cautious when their sound is described as having any facet of pop in it.

With that being said, on their latest full-length, The Fear In Love, Don’t Look Down take their pop-punk roots but transport them to a higher, more mature level. The pop influences on this album aren’t as juvenile as their previous work. This album is gloomier lyrically and musically. It has rough edges to it, which is a big change for these guys but a change that is really welcomed on my account. The songs still follow that basic pop song structure with sing-along choruses throughout the album but in this makeup, they are more than just catchy, they fit nicely and sound competently put together. There is a lot of power and emotion built into the vocals, which provides a nice sense of realism and truth in the music.

One of the biggest changes to the band is the fine tuned technical and production aspect that The Fear In Love embodies. This strong production value on this record really fits well with the overall pop rock sound structure; courtesy of Brian McTernan, whose work on this record is remarkable and his technical insight combined with Don’t Look Down’s music is a match made in heaven. On most albums where a strong technical and production quality is implemented, it can often water down the album too much. Not here though, everything is measured out just right.

The biggest positive musically on this album is the guitar work. Guitar sounds in a pop-punk album can often become very repetitive and annoying. However, this is not the case for Don’t Look Down. These guys really do an incredible job of throwing in several uncommon guitar hooks and riffs throughout the entire album. Both guitarists are incredibly talented and they do a nice job of providing an incredible amount of innovation to pop-punk music.

It would have been easy for Don’t Look Down to take their sound and put out a full length and sell a ton of copies based off the catchiness and solid promotion. Well these guys decided to opt for something different. They decided to take their music to a new level while not settling for something that has been done before, and it has paid off nicely.

(Nitro Records)

Saves the Day – Ups & Downs: Early Recordings and B-Sides

My first encounter and experience with Saves the Day, was way back in the day in a cold basement in New Brunswick, New Jersey. To me, those were the golden days of the band. Looking back, I’ve been there from the beginning with this New Jersey rock band. I’ve watched the band grow over the years, and I’ve listened to the good times and listened through the not so good times. One thing has always remained constant though, is the ability of Saves the Day to progress and advance as a band from one release to the next. It is very difficult to find bands that progress and develop naturally with their music and aren’t forcing changes. Saves the Day have always struck me as band that has the matchless talents of evolving and emerging in the most untainted aspects possible. This was something that always brought great admiration for the band.

Now there is an album that chronicles how far Saves the Day has come while giving a retrospective look at their musical career. Ups & Downs acts like a scrapbook of sorts, where the songs serve as the images. It is a great look at the past and present evolution of the group. You get to hear songs when Chris Conley was only 15-years-old and you get to hear more current songs that just never made it on any of the full lengths.

The album opens with a great new track, “Ups & Downs,” that was recorded during the Stay What You Are sessions. This is a song that I personally can’t believe was left off that album. Then two of the better Saves the Day songs overall in my opinion, that were recently part of a Vagrant sampler, “Sell My Old Clothes, I’m Off To Heaven” and “A Drag In D Flat” are next in line. There are even some songs from the Sefler days and early demo songs of the band that really displays the more aggressive nature of Saves the Day (in the vein of Lifetime). The album also includes the acoustic driven tracks from I’m Sorry I’m Leaving as well as two well-done cover songs paying tribute to The Descendants and The Clash. Rounding out the CD is a live version, recorded in 2003, of the acoustic favorite, “Jessie & My Whetstone.”

The best feature on this album though falls inside the CD booklet. Vocalist, guitarist, and songwriter Conley offers his insight for each and every song in the liner notes. He reminisces on each song and offers a special inside look into them. At times he talks about the story behind the song, the recording process, and various other neat tidbits that only Conley good effectively explain. His liner notes help make this album really personal and intimate. Ups & Downs can be appreciated on all levels by fans of Saves the Day who have been part of the experience from the very beginning. Those just getting acquainted with the band or those who are fans of Saves the Day when they fell into the mainstream, may not fully appreciate this album, but at least they’ll get a little history lesson.

(Vagrant Records)

Citizen Cope – The Clarence Greenwood Recordings

So I’m assuming the way new trends of music get invented is that in the 5(?) major record labels, they have this random word association machine that throws out new genres, and then they go sign groups from them. “scream + emo = screamo!” “rap + rock = …crap” or, in Citizen Cope’s case “R&B + singer/songwriter.” Hey, why not? Why not take the soul of rap and R&B and inject it into the white-bread singer songwriter realm? Why not give it both a heart and a political conscience? It would be a creative spin on what some would argue is a stale genre. Why not? Well, because then albums like The Clarence Greenwood Recordings happen.

For the combination to work, you would need an artist with vision, charisma, intelligence, creativity, and lyrical prowess, and this artist, sadly enough is not Clarence Greenwood, a.k.a Citizen Cope. His self titled debut showed signs of greatness in songs like “Let the Drummer Kick It,” which, despite being nothing more than a laundry list of problems facing the world, was propelled by a solid two-note piano line and a steady danceable beat. Even more impressive was “Salvation,” the solemn, stripped down, tale of Cope’s struggle to lead a genuinely good life. Though the topic is both borderline religious and highly clichéd, in Salvation the words and sparse acoustic arrangement work effectively enough to make you actually feel for the guy. Although it was far from a solid debut, his first album showed signs of promise.

His new album throws whatever promise I may have fostered for Cope in the trash. Although the title The Clarence Greenwood Recordings would suggest a more personal album, and the press release has Cope claiming, “…this time, anything that didn’t enhance the material or make the songs better, I just stripped away,” this album is white funk for the easy listening crowd. The beats would sound just as apt backing Phil Collins or Kenny G. For reasons unknown, he also feels the need to have long sections of each song be instrumental. Now, nothing is happening in these sections, no guitar solos, no solos at all, no variation- just the same rhythm and melody over and over, until you zone out entirely or the song ends, the former being the more likely case. Hell, the last track, Fame is three and a half minutes of waiting for Citizen Cope’s soothing voice to chime in…and then a fade out, thus making this the least essential instrumental track perhaps ever.

While on his last album, Cope showed signs of lyrical authenticity, here he takes the worst of what rap has to offer- tough guy lyrics, (lines like “mister officer / if you come to take her / then that means one of us is gonna leave here in a stretcher” from Pablo Picasso which, really, doesn’t even rhyme) and then litters these gems throughout the album. The strongest track on the album, “D’artagnan’s Theme” comes closest to an original lyrical idea, but its angry and strong chorus of “I don’t know how else to say / in a different kind of way but why don’t you just fade away” is muted by its rambling verses. We don’t find out who Cope wants to fade away, nor are we offered any explanation of why they should, except the Marley-ism of “there’s a battle going on down south of Babylon.” …ok…

Boy how well that machine has worked in the past! It’s given us boy bands and hair metal, among other things. Of course- the R&B/singer-songwriter mix is far from dead- one only needs to look at Jill Scott’s recent album or the work of Chocolate Genius to see exactly how to do it right. Citizen Cope was dropped from DreamWorks, one of the few major labels with a overall relatively respectable roster, after showing them this album (…that is, until they were bought by Interscope recently). One can only hope this release signals his end from RCA as well- I’m sure there’s some soulful guy with a guitar who can write better songs sitting in some coffee shop somewhere who deserves the exposure more than he does.

(RCA Records)

(Note: The Citizen Cope CD also contains an incredibly irksome piece of technology, CD3 technology by SunnComm, which overrides your media player when you play the CD on your computer, instead forcing you to play on its own ugly, full screen, low feature (it doesn’t have rewind or fast forward buttons, but for some reason allows you to listen to the music at three different speeds- fast, slow or normal. It also only allows you to copy the songs to your hard drive in the software’s proprietary format, stopping you from sharing the CD through file sharing software, or copying the CD to an iPod or other such device…although, really, I don’t know why you’d want to do either.) 

The Thermals – Fuckin A

The city of Portland, Oregon isn’t known for much. There is nothing that is remarkable about the city. No specific reason you would ever need to go to Portland. The city itself looks more like a town with a couple of skyscrapers wedged in it. There isn’t a memorable landmark like the Space Needle or a well-known museum like the Guggenheim. Noted musicians are scarce as well. There was of course Everclear, who are now MIA, and no one has stepped up to fill the void left. Portland, Oregon needs something to put them on the map. It needs a little something to be proud of.

Here steps in The Thermals, a band who makes the entire northwest proud. The Thermals formed in 2002 in the desolate outskirts of Portland and later that same year they signed with Sub Pop and in March of 2003, they released their first LP, More Parts Per Million. May 2004 brought their latest release, Fuckin A. That’s right; the band had enough audacity to use profanity in the title. That takes some serious guts; a statement that rings true in all sorts of ways with the Thermals.

First of all the Thermals have the pluck to write and record a record that is under half an hour in length. Lucky for them, this time crunch works to their benefit. If you have ever had a day where your attention span is zero, and no matter what you do you can’t sit still. Forget finding a song that will hold your attention for longer than thirty seconds, because it’s not going to happen. This record is like the soundtrack for A.D.D. America. The songs speed on so fast there is just no possible way anyone could get bored. The longest song clocks in at 3:18, and it’s so good the time just glides on by.

Secondly, the Thermals have the fortitude to write a catchy record. Some rock bands feel that in order to have “cred” they must write music that is boring with lyrics that are so intellectual, they make little sense to anyone, including the writer. The beats will dare you not to move, and the choruses of every song will dare you not to sing along. It’s a battle that the listener can’t seem to win. “How We Know” is a great example of this phenomenon. “You spill water like love and I will take it” will be the line that penetrates itself into your brain. The drum beat on this song alone will stick in your head for hours. If the Neptunes discover this song they will be implanting the beat in the next Nelly song.

Thirdly, the Thermals have managed to mix themselves into a blender of musical influences. It’s hard to pinpoint a genre to place the Thermals in. Sure their latest release could be considered a throwback to a classic punk rock sound, or to others a part of the flooded garage rock genre led by the Strokes. It really isn’t fair to place them in one category. “Let Your Earth Quake Baby” sounds like it could have been the hidden track on Franz Ferdinand’s record. While other songs like “A Stare LikeYours” boast a more aggressive rock quality. Songs like “End to Begin” sit somewhere in the middle of dance rock and aggressive punk.

Whatever genre the Thermals are in, they are important to it. Fuckin A is less than a half hour of catchy, pounding rock that can’t be ignored. Whether your attention span is strong or nonexistent it is thirty minutes well spent. It only takes a few minutes for Portland, Oregon to have something to boast about. The city might have a lack of skyscrapers and a lack of landmarks, but thankfully, they have the Thermals.

(Sub Pop Records)

Felix da Housecat – Devin Dazzle and the Neon Fever

One year after his much acclaimed electroclash comeback Kittenz and Thee Glitz, Felix (real name Felix Stallings) once again pays tribute to his fellow producers and performers in the title of his new album Devin Dazzle and the Neon Fever.

Despite sounding like something you might catch if you drank the water in Bollywood, the Neon Fever and Devin Dazzle certainly lend a different if still unmistakably “Felix” tone to this album- especially after his acrimonious split with Ms Kittin. New recruit Devin coupled with the old guard of Tommi Sunshine Dave the Hustler ensure that very little of the now-defunct electroclash sound have all but disappeared. However their time machine still appears to be in fine working order and has this time taken them back from their eighties-themed efforts into the realm of New York seventies disco funk, his own brand of electronica and… shhhhhhh, whisper it… guitars.

Sounding like a sexually ambiguous Scissor Sisters track, the opening two tracks use this new found toy excessively, with their funkalicious 70’s riffs seemingly lifted straight out of Saturday Night Fever without even having taken their white flares off. As the album moves on the classic and oh-so-cool Felix lyrics permeate every song; giving the impression that everyone he knows smokes like James Dean and only drinks cocktails made in an upturned top hat. Although this can get a tad cheesy all the way through there’s nothing quite so good to get ready to as “Everyone Is Someone in LA,” perhaps best described as the new “Silver Screen Shower Scene.”

Sounding like an even more sexually ambiguous Scissor Sisters track, “Hunting Season” does exactly what it says on the tin and exposes a darker, more explicit side to the album, whilst still remaining firmly tongue in cheek. It also brings with it a shock to the release- a catchy melody. These have become quite a scarcity this time round, with only “Ready 2 Wear” and “Romantique” providing hum along moments, but certainly not as good as any present in Kittenz & Thee Glitz. In fact the whole sound of the album is far more clustered and confused than his previous melody-driven hook-fest. There are perhaps a few songs that take a little too much from his prior effort too, “She’s so D*amn Cool” for example, owes more than a little to “Runaway Dreamer.”

However, one epithet that would be hard to level at this album would be ‘boring.’ A new sound or effect seems to be heard on every track and you get the impression that Felix and his cohorts certainly know what all the buttons do in their studios – yes, even those little fiddly ones at the back. If you’re looking for a repeat of his last work then you had better look elsewhere, however if something more akin to Ladytron is what you’re after you won’t go far wrong here- a pretentiously fun album- if a little too much of mish-mash.

(Rykodisc)

Action Action – Don’t Cut Your Fabric to This Year’s Fashion

From the remnants of upbeat indie pop bands The Reunion Show and Count the Stars comes the dramatically darker and more personal Action Action. Unlike their previous bands, the influences here are more Depeche Mode and The Cure than Blink 182 and Weezer. The music that results is refreshingly different, yet somewhat odd in the way the listener doesn’t react. It’s not quite danceable, not catchy enough to sing along to, and not loud enough to blast at a party. You don’t feel like a badass while it’s pumpin’ in your car stereo with the windows down, and yet it is not one of those albums that you play to unwind and fall sleep. You don’t play it when you’re in a good mood, and you don’t play it when you’re in a bad mood. But damn, it does make awesome background music.

Action Action is a band with a unique sound and potential; what hurts this album is a lack of song differentiation. “This Year’s Fashion” is a great track in its stripped down simplicity, which proves to be the band’s greatest strength. “Drug Like” is a memorable highlight, as is “Photograph,” a lighter song reminiscent of The Cars, and the only track similar at all to The Reunion Show. The rest of Don’t Cut Your Fabric to This Year’s Fashion sounds like Reggie and the Full Effect or Motion City Soundtrack, if they were beaten and stripped of their power chords, sugar, and Prozac. Most of the album is overwhelmingly bleak and moody with little song variety. As a result, many songs get lost and it can be difficult to focus on the music.

While Don’t Cut Your Fabric to This Year’s Fashion is sometimes repetitive and the gloomy, heavy Moog grows old, there are elements of creativity and talent on this album that are missing from so many others. Action Action display a strong band chemistry and solidarity on their debut, especially considering that the ashes of their former bands have barely settled and few live shows have been played. This album displays an innovative sound that will no doubt grow over time. Let’s hope Action Action lasts longer than The Reunion Show and Count the Stars.

(Victory Records)

Breather Resist – Charmer

When you look back a few years, it is not hard to see how hardcore and heavy music has changed in leaps rather than skips. You look at how style, both musically and aesthetically has changed and it is almost too much to comprehend when looking at things on a larger scale. Granted, bands like Earth Crisis and Strife have very little in common with bands of today like Atreyu and Eighteen Visions besides some general similarities, but at the same time, hardcore thrives with an undercurrent of independent bands that are making sure you can still do things the old fashioned way.

Breather Resist exist in that fertile music community of Louisville, Kentucky; where great bands such as Slint, Falling Forward, Endpoint and Elliot have all called home. Some having created some of the most passionate, diverse music around. Breather Resist themselves have a rich history for being a relatively new band. It is not every day that Jade Tree decides to release a stereotypically “heavy” release, but this band obviously sparked their interest; boasting members of The National Acrobat and Black Cross (not to mention the devastating music that they create).

This band just does everything right, from their look to their songs it how it all cohesively comes together in a manner that many bands only wish they could duplicate. With this full length, Breather Resist have created one of the best, if not the best, hardcore records to come out this year. Ugly, desperate and pulverizing, Charmer showcases that even songs that are loud and distorted can be pieced together to make songs rather than noise; which is what most would characterize this as. It hits hard, leaves a mark and would make bands like Deadguy even reconsider reforming to tour with this powerhouse. If you yearn for the days of bands booking their own tours and making enough money to get back out on the road, then listen to only one record this year: Charmer.

(Jade Tree Records)

Green Day – American Idiot

It’s been a good ten or so years for Green Day. Their career path since the release of the multi-platinum selling Dookie boasts the type of longevity comparable to some of music’s most able of servants. And the reason why perhaps Green Day have gone with the ups and downs relatively unscathed is their seeming reluctance to find a formula to their success. Unlike their counterparts of the 1994 explosion, they have never once written a song reliant on a pathetic suburban cliché stretched thin over the course of several albums. And while the Offspring seems to have fallen by the wayside, this Berkeley-bred trio continues to challenge not only their own limits, but test those of their listeners (some of who have been on the journey since the early days when Billie Joe and company were still named Sweet Children).

There have of course, been a few bumps and bruises along the way. The difficulties of writing a successful follow-up to a massive album is one well documented, and some may be quick to point to 1995’s Insomniac as rushed work; heavy on the noise, a few choice melodies, and little discernible ingenuity of any kind. But no matter how comparatively “unsuccessful” that album was standing next to its predecessor, there is no doubt that Green Day never wanted to write a “Pretty Fly (For a White Guy).” Thank God. And instead of looking to recapture previous album sales, they went away after an exhaustive schedule in 1996 to recoup and inevitably, write a bunch of songs that would begin their solidification as premiere artists rather than one-trick ponies and/or gimmick hounds. What subsequently followed were albums that made clear their intentions of musical growth; experimenting with styles (from “Hitchin’ a Ride,” to “Time Of Your Life” to what would make up the majority of their well conceived Warning album) while never once forgetting their principal means to success.

And so four years on from Warning comes American Idiot, their “punk rock opera;” and as the description suggests, their most elaborate, ambitious, and concentrated effort to date. Easily surpassing Warning on almost all accounts, this lavish production is one of introspection, critical deconstruction, and a dose of life’s weary tales that come across as urgent as it does potent. From the brash commentary of “American Idiot” and the breakneck speeds of “St. Jimmy” (packed to the brim with Billie Joe’s trademark vocal sneer), to the marathon medley of “Jesus of Suburbia” (or as listed early on, read: “Jesus Of Suburbia: City Of The Damned / I Don’t Care / Dearly Beloved / Tales Of Another Broken Home / Jesus Of Suburbia” and clocking in at nearly ten minutes), its clear that Green Day show no reluctance in stepping forward to previously uncharted territory. Even though the medleys (yes, there’s two, both topping nine minutes) are the very antithesis of the punk rock norm (tested several years ago by NOFX’s The Decline); they are both grandly visualized (only at times can they both feel rather overdrawn- due prominently to the stretched nature of their disposition), and provide the album with its most challenging efforts.

Nevertheless, the eleven other numbers on here are simply put; bloody brilliant. A selection of crème de la crèmes boasting the kind of wisdom that reminds listeners of mainstream punk’s less maligned qualities- that punk on the radio can be without the shrill bellyaching of emo diarists (the reserved reflective nature of “Wake Me Up When September Ends” and the mournful lament of “Boulevard of Broken Dreams”), without the alienating mutinies of judgmental overthrow (the very Clash sounding “Holiday”), and without the glossy sheen of rockstar wannabes. It’s rewarding to note that the album possesses plenty of concurrent themes and characters that weave in and out of the songs. And like any great production, it transpires with the sort of fluidity and grace associated with the very operatic theme suggested by American Idiot’s description.

To pluck an apex point of the album, one need not venture any further than “Give Me Novacaine.” An authoritative track that comes off as a cross between “Macy’s Day Parade” and “Brain Stew” with brief moments that can perhaps be best depicted as a “punk rock luau.” It’s just another in the many choice moments reflective of Green Day’s perceptive understanding of their career; that growth and strong roots go hand in hand. And unlike the Good Charlottes of the world and/or the recent misguided breaking-out-of-cocoons of the Blink-182s, Green Day have never once forgotten about either of them. It feels like forever, but mainstream punk music can finally fly their flag with a little dignity again.

(Reprise Records)

Review: Green Day – American Idiot

It’s been a good ten or so years for Green Day. Their career path since the release of the multi-platinum selling Dookie boasts the type of longevity comparable to some of music’s most able of servants. And the reason why perhaps Green Day have gone with the ups and downs relatively unscathed is their seeming reluctance to find a formula to their success. Unlike their counterparts of the 1994 explosion, they have never once written a song reliant on a pathetic suburban cliché stretched thin over the course of several albums. And while the Offspring seems to have fallen by the wayside, this Berkeley-bred trio continues to challenge not only their own limits, but test those of their listeners (some of who have been on the journey since the early days when Billie Joe and company were still named Sweet Children).

There have of course, been a few bumps and bruises along the way. The difficulties of writing a successful follow-up to a massive album is one well documented, and some may be quick to point to 1995’s Insomniac as rushed work; heavy on the noise, a few choice melodies, and little discernible ingenuity of any kind. But no matter how comparatively “unsuccessful” that album was standing next to its predecessor, there is no doubt that Green Day never wanted to write a “Pretty Fly (For a White Guy).” Thank God. And instead of looking to recapture previous album sales, they went away after an exhaustive schedule in 1996 to recoup and inevitably, write a bunch of songs that would begin their solidification as premiere artists rather than one-trick ponies and/or gimmick hounds. What subsequently followed were albums that made clear their intentions of musical growth; experimenting with styles (from “Hitchin’ a Ride,” to “Time Of Your Life” to what would make up the majority of their well conceived Warning album) while never once forgetting their principal means to success.

And so four years on from Warning comes American Idiot, their “punk rock opera;” and as the description suggests, their most elaborate, ambitious, and concentrated effort to date. Easily surpassing Warning on almost all accounts, this lavish production is one of introspection, critical deconstruction, and a dose of life’s weary tales that come across as urgent as it does potent. From the brash commentary of “American Idiot” and the breakneck speeds of “St. Jimmy” (packed to the brim with Billie Joe’s trademark vocal sneer), to the marathon medley of “Jesus of Suburbia” (or as listed early on, read: “Jesus Of Suburbia: City Of The Damned / I Don’t Care / Dearly Beloved / Tales Of Another Broken Home / Jesus Of Suburbia” and clocking in at nearly ten minutes), its clear that Green Day show no reluctance in stepping forward to previously uncharted territory. Even though the medleys (yes, there’s two, both topping nine minutes) are the very antithesis of the punk rock norm (tested several years ago by NOFX’s The Decline); they are both grandly visualized (only at times can they both feel rather overdrawn- due prominently to the stretched nature of their disposition), and provide the album with its most challenging efforts.

Nevertheless, the eleven other numbers on here are simply put; bloody brilliant. A selection of crème de la crèmes boasting the kind of wisdom that reminds listeners of mainstream punk’s less maligned qualities- that punk on the radio can be without the shrill bellyaching of emo diarists (the reserved reflective nature of “Wake Me Up When September Ends” and the mournful lament of “Boulevard of Broken Dreams”), without the alienating mutinies of judgmental overthrow (the very Clash sounding “Holiday”), and without the glossy sheen of rockstar wannabes. It’s rewarding to note that the album possesses plenty of concurrent themes and characters that weave in and out of the songs. And like any great production, it transpires with the sort of fluidity and grace associated with the very operatic theme suggested by American Idiot’s description.

To pluck an apex point of the album, one need not venture any further than “Give Me Novacaine.” An authoritative track that comes off as a cross between “Macy’s Day Parade” and “Brain Stew” with brief moments that can perhaps be best depicted as a “punk rock luau.” It’s just another in the many choice moments reflective of Green Day’s perceptive understanding of their career; that growth and strong roots go hand in hand. And unlike the Good Charlottes of the world and/or the recent misguided breaking-out-of-cocoons of the Blink-182s, Green Day have never once forgotten about either of them. It feels like forever, but mainstream punk music can finally fly their flag with a little dignity again. (Reprise)

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