Enchanting Introspection

In a world that’s largely oblivious to the finer aspects of rock music, there was no way in hell a truly gifted talent like Mark Lanegan would ever get the props he deserved for his vocal skills. That sad fact will never change.  Not unless it’s the trend for real rock music to be mainstream. Like some prized jewel buried under layers of archaeological waste, however, Lanegan’s latest album Blues Funeral, will remain undiscovered and cheated of the acclaim he undoubtedly deserves.

Album opener The Gravedigger’s Song - also the album’s first single – has a steady pace that makes frequent appearances later on in the disc. With the kind of guitar riffage Queens of the Stone Age fans are familiar with, the straightforward track treats listeners to Lanegan’s gritty baritone voice that would’ve surely made Queens fans stop and take notice since 2000’s Rated R album. Elements of blues and psychedelia are constant fixtures throughout the album that is largely introspective whilst being abstract and replete with metaphors. There might be some artists who fall back on trends to lure the helpless demographic of teenage listeners into buying their albums. Fortunately, Lanegan does nothing of the sort. The use of drum machines, the odd synth and some decidedly non-rock melodies on tracks such as Gray Goes Black demonstrate his refusal to stick to the tried and tested and venture down some terra nova. Lyrics that delve into Christian themes feature in St Louis Elegy, while The Ode to Sad Disco perfects the art of aptly naming tracks.

Failed love and the dark winding road are the focus of the sweet and redeeming sound of Phantasmagoria Blues, while the shrill opening riff of Quiver Syndrome makes it look like composing a great rock song is child’s play. The tasteful background vocals a la the Dandy Warhols’ Bohemian Like You might earn it added airplay. The new wave vibe (try saying that out loud really quickly) continues on Harbourview Hospital and despite the obviously melancholic lyrical subject matter, the delightful little solo that features at 1.10 might do something amazing to listeners tuned into a certain frequency. If there’s any truth to what at least one artist said about all great art coming from pain, we should be glad that Lanegan felt tortured for whatever reasons he did. The evocative wind instruments and simplistic guitar in Deep Black Vanishing Train give it a folksy tone laced with admonition something that harkens back to the iconic prelude to Chris Rea’s Road to Hell.

I suppose the Tiny Grain of Truth, with its clear Pink Floyd influenced sound, might speak only to the few lunatics and enlightened folk that have the pleasure of actually listening to this album closer. It’s an uphill battle to pick out this album’s top tracks since each one’s got its own kind of flavor, but St Louis Elegy seems to set itself apart, as does Bleeding Muddy Water and Quiver. This album’s not as accessible as say, the Beatles, but in its own special way, it has made me want to dig up some more dirt on good old Mark Lanegan.