What could be better fodder for a rock critic than an album in which a legend's son (call him Jakob) comes to terms with his genetic inheritance (Bob) while summoning up the Byrds, the Band and early Jackson Browne? Not only does the Wallflowers' third album, Breach, show echoes of all these influences, but it also reveals an even stronger connection with another legendary figure: Jakob's timeless-sounding songs, his throaty vocals and the band's jangly neo-classicism combine to produce an effect not unlike late-'70s Tom Petty, whose singing recalled the Byrds' Roger McGuinn, whose vocals in turn were clearly influenced by the elder Dylan's. And is it mere coincidence that Jimmy Iovine, who now runs the Wallflowers' label, produced the Petty albums from that era?
Like I said, some records seem tailor-made for rock-crit contemplation.
All you really need to know, though, is that in this long-awaited follow-up to the 1996 mega-hit Bringing Down the Horse, Jakob Dylan and his team have fashioned an album that's longer on big guitars, crunchy grooves and cool changes than overt confessionals. All told, Breach is a subtle, seamless effort with nary a lull or misstep — in contrast to its multiplatinum predecessor, the second half of which suffered from a series of pedestrian songs.
That said, Breach doesn't have a single undeniable, galvanizing track — no ""Sixth Avenue Heartache"" or ""One Headlight."" The closest thing to a potential hit would seem to be ""Letters From the Wasteland"", which boasts a loping groove reminiscent of ""Headlight,"" a cryptic but compelling lyric, a surging chorus and a forceful lead vocal. The first single, however, is ""Sleepwalker"", the album's most uptempo track, which features the clever chorus couplet ""Cupid, don't draw back your bow/ Sam Cooke didn't know what I know"" (a reference probably lost on younger listeners, anyway).
Other standouts are the wide-screen rocker ""Some Flowers Bloom Dead,"", whose majesty belies its inelegant title, and ""Hand Me Down,"" featuring Jakob's biting, universally relevant images of rejection.
While former producer T Bone Burnett has been replaced by longtime manager Andy Slater (Fiona Apple, Macy Gray) and artist Michael Penn, the ringers who upped the ante on the last album are back — most notably Heartbreakers guitarist Mike Campbell and drummer Matt Chamberlain, whose in-the-pocket virtuosity renders the band's generally midtempo grooves so forceful. There are no track-by-track credits, but presumably Campbell is rocking away with Wallflowers guitarist Michael Ward. Also playing a crucial role is keyboardist Rami Jaffe (the lone holdover from the Wallflowers' early-'90s lineup), whose thick, churning Hammond B3 recalls Benmont Tench's beefy attack on such Petty classics as ""Refugee.""
At this point, the weight Jakob carries on his shoulders is no longer his DNA. During the last four years, much has changed in the rock landscape; it's now dominated (one might say dumbed down) by testosterone-driven rap-metal, and no longer seems to engender fan loyalty — apart from the Bizkits and boy bands, at any rate. If the Wallflowers weren't a purist rock 'n' roll band in the year 2000, it would seem preposterous to think that this classy outfit, coming off a 4-million-seller and fronted by a guy whose face seems designed for magazine covers, might just stiff.
But follow-up albums by guitar bands are no sure thing these days — look at Fastball — and with Radiohead having demurred (for now, anyway), Dylan & Co. are essentially on their own as the new decade's last best hope. Here's hoping Breach connects with a sufficiently sizable audience to keep the (Bic lighter) flame burning — like a rolling, rather than sinking, stone.
