Approach to a new Trail of Dead record requires a certain amount of skepticism now. The terrible blow of disappointment that greeted 2005's Worlds Apart can't accurately be described. It shouldn't have been so shocking; after all, they mix it up in a way that offers very little middle ground. They rarely tiptoe into a pool but choose instead to dive in headfirst, not even bothering to look down and make sure there's water in it first. They should be applauded for such grand ambition, but that doesn't necessarily mean the returns are worthy of encores. As good as Source Tags & Codes was is approximately how bad So Divided was. So while they've already left a legacy that contains one more great album than most other bands could ever hope for, it's not easy to forgive their epic failures. Otherwise we'd look favorably on bands like Korn for their brief shining moments floating in a sea of crap.
But no one would compare AYWKUBTTOD to Korn. One is content to carry on meekly, limping ahead towards the destination of complete irrelevancy, while the other tries, really tries, dammit. No matter what you thought of past efforts, you can't fault them for not giving it their all. With Century of Self, they're freed from the big label pressure and have slipped out of their studio skin. Instead of relying on mechanical piecing and overdubs, they just play their songs live. It sounds that way, too. They've lost none of their volume or bombast, but they're clearly more interested in being a less unwieldy Dream Theater than a chop-cut pressing from a pack of electro-rock Meatloafs.
Opening with the apocalyptic rumble and grandiose synths of “Giants Causeway,” you can tell that they're no longer trying to form fit and polish their output anymore (the fault of Interscope or Conrad Keely's inflated self-importance?). Following that is “Far Pavilions,” which plugs the shattered steel wool punk coat of My Vitriol into an arrangement that tends towards arena-friendly prog-metal. To little astonishment, when it's wheezing like 80s Pink Floyd it drags, but so long as the vocals flatten us with velocity and volume, the rawk squawk surges into your chest. But on “Bells of Creation,” Keely can't figure out whether he wants to imitate Perry Farrell or Dennis DeYoung, so he sort of does both; luckily, the bordering-on-traditional chiming rock arrangement works.
Back-to-back six-and-a-half minute epics “Isis Unveiled” and “Halcyon Days” are tumescent firework displays, freed not merely of limitations but also of logic. Gargantuan doesn't begin to describe them; they each contain entire album's worth of crescendos and moneyshots. It might be unfair to say that if Michael Bay was a songwriter he'd come up with these dinosaurs, but it's fitting with his adoration of bigger-is-better and nothing-small-shall-ever-clutter-my-path mentality. Luckily, there are (brief) moments of clarity where we can catch our breath—minus the doomful pound, the center of “Isis” wisps along and there's an odd ethereal flutter dug out in the middle of “Halcyon.” But they're not without truly stirring moments. The last minute-and-a-half of “Isis” should come with a hundred foot flame column and the centerpiece of “Halcyon” sounds like the Sistine Chapel had a soundtrack (if God was wearing a faded Rush tee).
Elsewhere, “Luna Park” wants to get the crowd to lift up their lighters, but it gets pretty exhausting before reaching the feverish climax. “Pictures of an Only Child” sounds like a more artful cover of any generic modern rock power ballad. “An August Theme” is a serviceable segue, but since it's one of the more interesting segments in the second half, it needs to last more than a minute to wind up being worthwhile. The second half of closer, “Insatiable (Two),” is bigger than the piano ruckus that preceded it, but it still ends the album on more whimper than roar.
Sequencing is certainly questionable. The first half is dominated by rock songs so behemoth that they laugh at Chinese Democracy for being so modest and the second side has a lot of drippy, widescreen ballads. They don't become predictable with this separation, necessarily, but there's no doubt that mixing them up would aid the momentum. Plus, they're clearly in better control of a piano line when it's wading through an ocean of guitar pedals and piston-heavy percussion than when its bathed solely in soft blue light. To witness how much muscle they can summon, look towards the album's end. “Ascending”'s explosive opening is much more effective just because it follows the sluggish piano shortie, “Insatiable (One).”
I expect this to be ...And You Will Know Us by the Trail of Dead's most hotly debated album yet. I imagine there are plenty who'll anoint this the favorite for album of the year consideration while others will still mope that it can't touch Source Tags. I float somewhere in the middle. No, it's not nearly as good as their 2002 opus, but I don't consider that to be a failing of this album; it's clearly from the same band, but no one could consider most of these songs to be arty experimental punk anymore. And it's certainly not a great album, even if a few individual moments approach such flowery acclaim. The best way to tell if you'll enjoy this effort is to ask yourself how well you can tolerate the Trans-Siberian Orchestra. If you haven't fled the room, check it out.
"The Century of Self" is on sale February 17, 2009 from Richter Scale.
