[rating=4.00]
Few bands have successfully produced two decades of quality music and lived to liven listener’s senses for a third. Even fewer bands staking that claim hail from that musical-bridge between the late 80’s and early 90s. Yet that is exactly what Dinosaur Jr. has re-affirmed with their newest release: Farm. The original trio (Lou Barlow, Murph, J Mascis) has been playing their slacker rock with abandon all over the globe for the last few years in support of their last studio effort, the excellent Beyond. Farm shows that while they still have a lot to say, the vibe is a bit different than past albums.
There is still the classic Dinosaur Jr. fare; crunchy guitar riffs and lock-step low-end, but a mournful tone hangs in the air, especially in the lyrics. From the pleading of a lover to stay in “I Want You To Know”, to the outright despair of “Plans,” in which J pleads in a last ditch effort, “I’ve got nothing left to be/Do you have some plans for me?”. On past efforts the playing, production, singing and lyrics presented by the trio has been criticized as lazy, but Farm unearths a distinct sense of loss that resonates with each listen. More effective and a touch heart wrenching, not something normally associated with these three.
Barlow’s “Your Weather” changes the desperate tone slightly, with J’s guitar solo perking things up, and this positive feeling reappears occasionally as the album progresses. The single, “Over It”, is one of the uppers, containing scorching wah-wah pedal antics and killer rhythmic work in the drumming and bass play, a pure joy in the end standing out as one of the best tracks offered by the boys in some time. A blister raising fret board run intro kicks off “Friends”, before slamming into a layering of melodically screeching guitars and popping snare that is pure Dino. The deftly disguised countrified playing and picking J offers up in “See You” is exciting and pushes this Dinosaur to lumber in the right direction. Yet, even with all of this quality preceding it, nothing can come close to the simply epic guitar work displayed on the almost nine minute “I Don’t Wanna Go There."
A cathartic cavalcade of six-strings sonically reduces the speakers as J still sings depressively but rips gloriously. Fuzz-toned/clean, sunk/soaring, tight/careening out into the ether, this one has it all and when it fades to an end you get the feeling they could keep it going forever, for fans of adventurous rock and roll let’s hope they do.
