Has Josh Homme become a little too full of himself for his own good? With adulation routinely poured on the Queens Of The Stone Age and the spin-off Desert Sessions records, you might understand why the, ahem, Ginger Elvis (his devotees’ words, not LAUNCH’s) would start to think that he could do no wrong. The first fruit of this new found attitude was the Eagles Of Death Metal, a sorry joke band that was hailed – yet again – as garage genius. The second was less forgivable – Nick Oliveri, for many the rampaging (and often naked) heart and soul of QOTSA was given his marching orders. Josh was the man now.
But in firing Oliveri for being his usual unpredictable and out of control rock’n’roll self, Homme might have committed a huge, Gerald Ratner-esque, mistake. For how are we meant to believe tales of abandon and extreme behaviour from a musician who expects his collaborators to display a certain amount of professionalism and, gasp, responsibility. Now when Homme sings “I know you’ve got to be free/to kill yourself” in "Tangled Up In Plaid", the couplet comes with a mental image of him pursing his lips and checking his watch, sneering “What time do you call this?” when Oliveri stumbles in late to rehearsal yet again.
Which is a shame, because, for the most part, "Lullabies To Paralyze" keeps up the high musical standard set by its predecessors. Homme has refined his vision of intelligent rock with this record, not so much moving the Queens’ style forward particularly, but crossing the ts and umlauting the os. "In My Head" is particularly excellent, a breezy grunge pop classic that manages a tasteful marriage of melody and fuzz. "Broken Box" sounds like a fantasy QOTSA aftershow: a hip-swinging tune snaking its way between debauchery and something a bit darker. But whereas before you accepted a line like “I’m gonna go and dance in the rain”, now it seems, well, unlikely.
On the odd occasion the quality does slip or Homme takes an ill-advised (pig-headed?) wrong turn, your sympathy and suspension of disbelief tumbles even further. "I Never Came" feels weak and aimless, like (ironically) a watered down version of what we all fell in love with before. "The Blood Is Love" is ponderous and self-important, a six and a half minute slog that can’t end soon enough. Thankfully there’s always a cool-as-boots, lip-licking smirk of a tune like “’You Got A Killer Scene There, Man’” to pull things back on course. But even then there’s still the lingering notion that, somehow, this isn’t quite as convincing as it once seemed.
Don’t get the wrong idea. Josh Homme is a superb songwriter. The vision of rock he presents on this album is still head and shoulders above his peers (and the likes of the Stereophonics, who’ve clearly upped their game, post Queens). But, for a man who’s always been willing to bring in collaborators when necessary, he’s now in the rather ironic position where the best course of action would be to bring in a new singer. As Ratner discovered, you can’t tell your customers you’re selling them junk and still expect them to bite. And you can’t pull the rug from under rock’n’roll and still expect it have that same half-lit allure.
Goodbye Ginger Elvis. Time to step back into the shadows.
