Travis Marmon reflects on the band’s rebirth, their new LP and the role one little album can play in crafting self-identity
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I was not even 10 years old when Layne Staley was found dead of a drug overdose in his Seattle home. I didn’t hear of his death. When the band went on hiatus at the end of the 1990s, Sheryl Crow, Sarah McLachlan and Jewel comprised most of my musical exposure (thanks, Mom and Dad). I was still a few years away from falling in love with early 90s alternative rock and discovering one of the heaviest, gloomiest and greatest bands ever to emerge from the Pacific Northwest.
It was only in the eighth grade that I decided to expand my musical horizons beyond the Top 40 and my dad’s classic rock greatest hits collections. I began on a lazy Saturday spent watching VH1’s “100 Greatest Artists of Hard Rock” (a countdown they did in 2000—the last quality list the channel produced). I dug what I heard. Soon after, I started researching all of the bands on the list. Alice in Chains came in at number 34, right in between their more eclectic contemporaries Jane’s Addiction and Rage Against the Machine. My 13-year-old self gave them a shot largely because of Jerry Cantrell, their guitarist, whose solo track “She Was My Girl” appeared on my beloved “Spiderman “ soundtrack. After listening to a 30-second sample of AiC’s “Man in the Box” on iTunes, I knew I’d found a winner.
“Man in the Box” was the biggest hit on Alice in Chains’ debut album, “Facelift”, which I bought on my second CD shopping trip ever. I instantly fell for the combination of Cantrell’s hard-hitting riffs and Staley’s haunting, tense vocals. The pair had not yet honed the vocal harmonies that would make them truly great (though hints can be heard on highlights like “Bleed the Freak” and “Sunshine”), but I loved the album immediately. Hearing it as a more mature listener, “Facelift” now has a few noticeable flaws—the band’s glam metal roots show through in “Put You Down” and “I Know Somethin’ (Bout You).” But the LP is still an essential part of the AiC canon. Songs like “We Die Young,” “Bleed the Freak” and “Love, Hate, Love” are among the best in the band’s back catalogue.
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“Facelift” was the only Alice in Chains album I had until 2009, when I decided to explore the rest of their discography. It was easy to tell that AiC had evolved dramatically during their brief career. For a band with such a distinctive sound, it was surprising how each album had its own identity. They followed up their debut with the equally dark but considerably less heavy “Sap EP” in 1992, demonstrating an ability to branch out beyond pounding riffs and drums. Later that year, they released their magnum opus, “Dirt”, one of the greatest hard rock albums ever made. It’s also one of the dreariest, with drug use and depression being the central lyrical themes as Staley and then-bassist Mike Starr descended further into addiction. “Dirt” was the sound of a band coming into its own, as Staley and Cantrell’s interplay worked to tremendous effect on an album filled with their biggest hits (“Them Bones,” “Rooster,” “Down in a Hole” and “Would?”).
The band cemented its legacy in 1994 with the largely acoustic EP “Jar of Flies”, which showed off a lighter side musically (if not lyrically). The EP is hugely acclaimed with good reason, as it is packed with gorgeous melodies and harmonies that had largely eluded the band’s grunge contemporaries (save for Pearl Jam, arguably). In 1995, they released what would be their final album, the moody and inconsistent Alice in Chains. Although the album scored a Grammy with “Heaven Beside You,” it ultimately lacks the punch of the band’s earlier work and elicits mixed responses from the fan base to this day. An “MTV Unplugged” album followed before Staley disappeared from public view and the band went on hiatus until his death.
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It’s only coincidental that I listened to all of these albums just as Alice in Chains’ post-Staley reunion was materializing. Cantrell, original drummer Sean Kinney and bassist Mike Inez (who joined after the now-deceased Starr was kicked out in 1993) had re-formed Alice in Chains with the largely unknown vocalist William DuVall taking over for Staley after a series of successful live shows. Not only were AiC touring again, they had a new album in the works.
And boy, was I ready for it. Listening to “Dirt” during the summer of 2009 had turned me from a casual fan into a diehard. I was 17, and already self-identified as one of the biggest heavy music fans in my high school, and only guy I knew that listened to grunge. It was Alice and Chains that had encouraged a large part of this identity. I’d even tried to get my easy-listening parents to put down the Jewel in favor of some “Dirt”—let’s just say the response was tepid at best. But to me, the band had gone from “good” to legendary status, true greats whose musical contributions were later overshadowed by the group’s addiction and Staley’s bleak demise. Their new record promised a rebirth, and I couldn’t wait to see what this version of Alice in Chains had in store.
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The public’s expectations were low without Staley, but Cantrell was always the band’s mastermind and chief songwriter. I was unsure of how to feel until I heard the single “A Looking in View,” one of the heaviest songs the band has ever recorded. Cantrell showed that he still had quality riffs left in the tank, and while DuVall was not Layne Staley 2.0, he was certainly a good fit. His rhythm guitar playing also added a new, interesting element to the band’s sound.
When Alice in Chains released “Black Gives Way to Blue” that fall, it proved to be a worthy addition to their discography. DuVall and Cantrell split vocal duties on the album, with DuVall getting his own spotlight in “Last of My Kind” and harmonizing to great effect on songs like “Your Decision” and “When the Sun Rose Again.” It was yet another evolution for the band, who had a newfound identity as a crushingly heavy band that was far above the legions of groan-worthy grunge imitators on mainstream rock radio. It was also clear that, while DuVall was a good frontman, Alice in Chains was Cantrell’s band now.
I spent the next three years properly digesting the band’s discography—cementing my status as a superfan, if you will—becoming intimately familiar with both the harder and softer sides of Alice in Chains. I was in love with everything about “Dirt”, with its combination of dreary atmosphere and gorgeous vocals. “Jar of Flies” grew on me every time I heard a song from it. And “Black Gives Way to Blue” went from serviceable comeback to one of my favorite hard rock albums in recent memory. So when Alice in Chains revealed that a new album was coming in 2013, I was excited.
Once again, the band had to deal with the bar that they set for themselves. The second album of a band’s second life is a strange one. Sometimes, a band can continue making great music after a well-received comeback, as Dinosaur Jr. did with 2009’s Farm. More often, the band’s first comeback receives mixed reviews and they fade away again. After a three-and-a-half-year wait, what did the new Alice have in store for us?
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Unfortunately, “The Devil Put Dinosaurs Here” is the first album that shows Alice in Chains stagnating. The riffs are still heavy, but that’s mostly due to the overbearing production—another victim of the “loudness wars.” DuVall is buried in the mix, and when he emerges it is difficult to tell him and Cantrell apart. The songs are not particularly varied or memorable. There is no ballad as pretty as “Black Gives Way to Blue,” and none of the singles are as simultaneously rocking and catchy as “Check My Brain.”
This is not to say that “Devil” is a bad album. Compared to most hard rock you’ll hear on the radio these days, it’s practically a masterpiece, but that isn’t saying much. The problem is that, for all of his talent, Cantrell makes a lot of questionable decisions. Beyond the title (a half-assed attempt at criticizing the religious right that is repeated in the title track’s quarter-assed chorus), the biggest issue is that the album is 67 minutes long. Only two of its 12 tracks clock in at less than five minutes. Almost every song has some fat that could be trimmed off, which was not a problem on “Black Gives Way to Blue”. There are nice moments scattered throughout every song, but they aren’t strong enough to carry the weight of a six-minute tune.
Furthermore, the choruses throughout the album are simply not up to snuff. As heavy as Alice in Chains can get, they always had great hooks. But on “Devil”, some of the refrains are downright droning (see “Pretty Done” and the title track for example). It’s a big factor in the album’s monotony, only amplified by its massive runtime. Staley’s presence is certainly missed in this area, but DuVall and Cantrell proved more than capable of creating a memorable chorus back in 2009. Today, perhaps because of the poor mixing job, that element is largely missing.
If I had to rate “The Devil Put Dinosaurs Here”, it would be somewhere in the ballpark of a 6.5/10, and I’m a fanboy who tends to rate albums generously, particularly from beloved artists. It’s a decent hard rock record, and its quality is not surprising. But that’s exactly what makes it so frustrating. Alice in Chains never made the same album twice during the first wave of their career (perhaps because it only lasted for six years), so I expected more from them than a retread of “Black Gives Way to Blue” minus many of that album’s strengths.
Alice in Chains occupy a strange position among the wave of 90s nostalgia and reunited greats, as they are one of the only notable acts to come back after the death of their most prominent member. I would still kill to see them on tour this summer (thankfully for my wallet, they aren’t coming near me). But, I hate to admit, now they seem content to coast as far as recording goes.While I don’t entirely blame them, I have a feeling that Jerry Cantrell and company can do much better.
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Photo: AP Photo/Virgin/EMI
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This was a good piece. You give the band the respect they deserve without fawning over them and pretending every single thing they’ve done is genius. The Devil Put Dinosaurs Here is a dull and pointless album, but it’s still a bit better than the brainless radio schlock that permeates pop culture. I have little faith that their next album will be any better, but I too admit I’d love to see them live. Just as long as they don’t play too many post-Staley songs…