The music made by Dave Matthews and his sometimes cohorts in the
Dave Matthews Band has been called a lot of things – at their best,
dynamic, richly textured, eclectic; at their worst, unstructured,
meandering, self-indulgent. But, boring?
Not likely.
Which is why it’s such a shock to find that this disc, Matthews’
first solo album of new studio material, is flat-out boring.
For his first true solo album, Matthews jettisons the entire DMB
and brings in a fresh crew. Sure, why not? Solo albums are an
opportunity to try something different. And Matthews pulls in
quality players, too: Trey Anatasio (Phish) on guitar, Tony Hall
(Neville Brothers, Bob Dylan) on bass, Brady Blade (Steve Earle,
Emmylou Harris) on drums, plus frequent musical co-conspirator Tim
Reynolds on guitar. The grooves, as you might expect, are confident
and the vibe relaxed.
But therein lies the problem – it’s
too relaxed; there’s no direction. This may be the most
aimless album Dave Matthews has ever recorded, and without the
exotic instrumentation of the standard DMB lineup (acoustic
guitar-sax-violin-bass-drums), the music that emerges is
dismayingly pedestrian.
Lyrically, Matthews seems stuck as deep as ever in the “love and
death” rut he’s occupied for much of his career. For all the gloom
of its lyrics, the DMB’s last album
Busted Stuff does effectively capture the band’s terrific
energy and versatility. By contrast,
Some Devil is languorous and depressed to the point where
the songs blend together like soup, a thin, listless broth without
the spice of Leroi Moore’s bleating horns and Boyd Tinsley’s eerie
violin.
Tracks like “So Damn Lucky” and “Trouble” tease with pleasant
melodies, but fail to go anywhere, simply repeating themselves into
monotony. Others like “Save Me” add some bite to the guitar and
complexity to the rhythm track, but still feel one-dimensional
compared to a typical DMB arrangement.
Interestingly, the best moments on this album lie in the quieter
corners, where Matthews strips things down even farther. The title
track is a standout, an artful self-examination sung with delicate
grace over only Matthews’ own gentle, precise picking on an
electric guitar. Notable also are the meditative, Daniel Lanois-ish
“Grey Blue Eyes,” and the pretty love song “Baby.”
These few bright spots can’t make up, though, for train wrecks
like the maudlin, tiresome “Gravedigger,” where Matthews offers up
not one but two versions of a song he’s already written a
half-dozen times over the last decade. (The dude has a serious
fixation with his own grave, lying in it, the people digging it,
the rain falling on it, etc., etc. Get some help, Dave.
Seriously.)
This album suggests a conclusion sure to be the subject of hot
debate in DMB fan circles – it’s entirely possible that the weakest
link in the Dave Matthews Band may be Dave Matthews himself. Absent
the dynamics of a DMB arrangement, these songs, with a handful of
exceptions, fail to ignite. DM should run, not walk, back to the
B.
