Sleater-Kinney, Sleater-Kinney, Sleater-Kinney. There, now that I’ve gotten that out of the way, I can move on. Okay, one more: Sleater-Kinney. It’s almost impossible to discuss the Corin Tucker Band without frequently referencing Slea—I mean, Tucker’s former gig. Not just for quality comparison (which is about as fair as comparing Wings with the Beatles) but also to compare how the music sounds. Is it of the riot grrrl persuasion, or angular, explosive post-punk, or starved and confrontational empowerment, or bluesy rock swagger, or anthemic agit-pop? Any of those could be expected from one of the most reliable guitar attackers and banshee wailers in the last few decades. Yet 1,000 Years doesn’t provide these familiar tactics with any consistency. If anything, Corin Tucker comes off here more like a PJ Harvey type with less acid, Chrissy Hynde with less emotional baggage, or a Jenny Lewis without the country twang. Not that that’s a bad thing, of course.
Immediately changing one’s core aesthetic with a long-awaited solo album—and despite her solid backing band, including drummer Sara Lund from Unwound and multi-instrumentalist Seth Lorinczi formerly of Circus Lips, this is a solo album—can't be easy and is certainly brave, but whether it’s smart or shortsighted will always remain to be seen in the long-term aftermath. Churn out the same old tricks and there’s no escaping the shadow of the past, but diverge too far and you run a serious risk in alienating your fanbase. Luckily, Tucker had proven her versatility in the past by scoring time with a group known for a specific sound (loud twin guitar attack, ferocious drumming, and a car alarm caterwaul that grabbed you by the collar) but playful and exploratory enough to try numerous twists and diversions. The only thing frequently missing here is the overtly heavy inferno backing a primal call to arms. But in the last four years, Tucker has been absent from the scene, raising a child and giving birth to a second, and becoming a “middle-aged mom,” which is how Tucker describes the sound of this long-awaited return to the scene.
Some of that introspective gentleness and simmering rumble pays off instantly, like the gripping titular opener that burns slow with a guitar line buried in crushed stone and a slowly building rhythmic intensity that goes from barely noticed to a tough skip-stomp in the second half. The nocturnal piano piece that closes the album, “Miles Away,” is one of the softest and loveliest tunes that Tucker has ever been a part of. And strings both swept and plucked fill out the ambitious (if marginally confused) melody of “Dragon.” On the rare occasions when Tucker does squeeze out some brash, pounding rock, it’s actually less relief than obstruction: “Doubt” and “Riley” are both satisfyingly scorching, but they do little more than echo of past glory where they simply have no chance of stacking up against so many intense, indelible masterstrokes.
At their best, the songs create practical but imaginative murmurs to which Tucker can pin her weary but independent crises. On “Half a World Away,” Tucker addresses the difficulty of being married to a filmmaker/musician with schedules keeping them apart at great lengths: “The phone in the hotel room/Never rings/How can I complain?/I cannot speak.” The choppy, clanging beat and staccato riffs enforce the singer’s frustration. Similarly, “It’s Always Summer” tackles loneliness, pining and regret (“Tell me, was it our zenith?/Or can you pull me back to where we were?”), and the lively guitar plucking coupled with poignant back-ups give it a windswept urgency, including one of the disc’s best chorus hooks that pushes and pulls like a stormy sea. But later, she sings, “We were spoiled, our whole lives through,” while addressing the now nearly universal woes and fears of the recession. “If this is a test can we see it through?” An elegant piano arrangement doesn’t typically suit Tucker’s strengths but its haunting dream state is effective; it’s when the drums kick in hard that the song takes a bad turn towards something more non-descript.
Being unable (or unwilling) to meet the audience’s preconceptions gives 1,000 Years an immediate disadvantage, but though these songs mostly lack catharsis, they exemplify struggle and longing as they’re best expressed in reality—no easy set-ups, no pat conclusions. I suspect that the two greatest concerns in making this album were to address the current fragile/defiant state of the singer/songwriter and to find her standing apart from history’s shadow. To those considerations, 1,000 Years can be considered a great success. But those seeking the heavy charge and vigorous bite of Tucker’s best work may find these internal songs to be framing the listener as an observer instead of a participant. If so, I’d still be happy watching her for a thousand years.
"1,000 Years" is on sale October 5, 2010 from Kill Rock Stars.
