Human Conditions, Richard Ashcroft
Inside Richard Ashcrofts new record, theres a photo of him shaking hands with Brian Wilson. A cynical sort would say the picture is evidence that Ashcroft is trying to position himself as an heir to the Beach Boys erratic genius, a latter-day Composer of Soulful Yet Important Pop Songs. But if Ashcroft believes this is his Pet Sounds, hes even more of a narcissist than hes rumored to be.
Somewhere between his last album with the Verve and his new record, Human Conditions, the man the British press used to call "Mad Richard" underwent a dramatic change. The onetime epitome of fierce, decadent rock stardom has become a flower-picking, cliche-spitting dandy.
Ashcrofts solo debut, the marvelous Alone with Everybody, was among the best records of 2000. A collection of 11 honest pop songs built around simple lyrics and dense, orchestral arrangements, it was a slick but masterly effort. Ashcroft looked then like he was onto something special; as improbable as it now seems, Alone cast Ashcroft as the spiritual (if not the sonic) descendant of Astral Weeks-era Van Morrison.
And now this, an album that despite its fine production represents a low point for Ashcroft, whose creative impulses have been hijacked (at least temporarily) by cloying, trite sentimentality.
The album opens with the title track, an apparently sincere song about longing and confusion. "Can you hear what Im sayin?" Ashcroft sings. "Ive got my mind meditatin on love." Okay, youre thinking. Seems like an honest sentiment, and not a half-bad way of expressing it. But then the track simply goes on forever. His band plays and plays, and the track spins further and further away from Ashcroft, who, for his part, seems fine with it all. Near the end of the eight-plus-minute track he is reduced to nonsequiturs and cornball spirituality. It shouldve been four minutes long, tops, and like most of the albums other nine tracks, its a tremendous missed opportunity.
In the same vein, consider the track called "Bright Lights," one of the most cliche-ridden pop songs in recent memory (which is saying something). "Bright Lights" is, of course, about the "big city," a place where "the time to live" is also "the time to die." During the span of a few minutes, Ashcroft encounters people who are "all messed up," "livin a lie" and "waitin for a sign." He takes a walk beneath "a big, big sky" and decides, "I guess in the end/Were all sick." The sole uptempo track on the record, it is Ashcrofts effort to prove he can still rock. While he was at it, he shouldve paid a little more attention to the lyrics.
After "Bright Lights" the album limps through another seven tracks, songs about a "Man on a Mission," a man who is "Running Away" and a man who has deduced that "Nature Is the Law." The one exception to the drudgery is "Science of Silence," a simple but buoyant number built on Ashcrofts trademark earnest vocal style. The song, like the best of Ashcroft, relies on strings and lyrical repetition, and it sounds more like the heartfelt pieces of Alone with Everybody than the bombast of Human Conditions.
Like Alone, this album was produced by Chris Potter, with help from Ashcroft; it is only this that prevents it from being a truly awful record. Thanks in no small measure to Potter, Human Conditions is a sonically solid and an aurally satisfying albumbut its bloated tracks and Ashcrofts infantile lyrics will leave it soon and deservedly forgotten.