By Jef With One F
By Rocks Off
By Chris Lane
By Angelica Leicht
By Corey Deiterman
By Angelica Leicht
By Corey Deiterman
For Finn's new label, Sony/Work Group, the ad seems like the graphic equivalent of a desperation ploy, throwing resume bites out there into the info-saturated media morass in hopes that they'll find their target, whoever that might be. Yet, Finn -- whether he intended it or not -- betrays the look and posture of not really caring much either way: "Okay, so here I am; take me or leave me." Indeed, when questioned about the label's marketing efforts, Finn replies flatly, "There's nothing subtle about them."
Still, you can't blame Sony for playing up Finn's past glories, of which there are plenty. After all, he's been out of the loop for more than four years -- so long, in fact, that some were beginning to worry that his creative mechanism, which once seemed so invulnerable, had suffered irreparable damage. As it turns out, it was simply missing a spring.
In a way, Finn's first-ever solo effort, the new Try Whistling This, is a return to the dark, wistful, intricate cabaret pop that made Crowded House's sophomore release, Temple of Low Men, such a refreshing comedown after the band's deceptively chipper 1987 debut. Some fans, however, might see it as having more in common with the House's all-consumingly tasteful -- and lifeless -- last hurrah, 1994's Together Alone. It's worth noting that those releases, while sonically and texturally more complex than anything on Crowded House, stiffed commercially, as neither was willing to succumb to the easy hooks and inspired simplicity of early hits like "Don't Dream It's Over" and "Something So Strong." For the record, Temple's belated follow-up, Woodface, tried to retrace simpler steps, but by then it was too late: Crowded House's success (in America, at least) would prove mercurial and fleeting: the band became a few-hit wonder. Crowded House deserved more for its trouble but was ultimately felled by a lack of interest, as grunge soiled the pop landscape.
So, you could consider Try Whistling This Neil Finn's definitive post-grunge statement -- and, for the most part, it's a statement that takes some patience to absorb. But the payoff for the effort is an album that consistently exposes fresh layers of turmoil and tunefulness. Befitting its title, nothing about Try Whistling This is easy. Its sampled enhancements and odd fusion of traditional rock instrumentation with other unconventional keyboard fare succeeds in disguising faint echoes of the more linear and uncluttered routes Crowded House once took to charm the listener.
"People say it takes a few listens," says Finn. "There are these sort of pictures and sound scapes; I wouldn't say they're fighting the melodies, but they're certainly presenting something else to you on first listen."
Whistling does have its more elementary moments: "Last One Standing" contains what may be Finn's most compelling chorus to date, while "She Will Have Her Way" is a jangle-pop ringer from start to finish. Yet, such characteristically catchy Finn output is countered by some rather unbecoming experimental diversions. "Twisty" is a drearily atmospheric minor-chord exercise in pathos hobbled by a cryptic cynicism. ("The killer was a priest / Took the first excuse / Made the madness seem cute lipped.") That track abruptly segues into "Loose Tongue," a desperate plea to a former lover (or is it his former band mates?) set uncomfortably to a raunchy chord progression and a scratchy, looped rhythm track. Finn closes out the song with the wrenching line: "How many gone to waste / A good man has been hung." To say that Finn has been battling some unresolved issues would seem like an understatement.
"There's a certain freshness to it for me," Finn says of the more instinctual way in which Try Whistling This evolved. "Things were coming out, and I was committing them to tape fairly soon after they arrived. They came out when they came out, these songs."
Neil Finn did a sizable portion of his growing up in the shadow of his older brother, Tim, who founded the arty Auckland, New Zealand, outfit Split Enz back in 1972. Neil was only 14 at the time, and he'd already taken a shine to piano and guitar, learning pop songs by ear. Loopy, somewhat pretentious progenitors of the eccentric marriage of punk and power-pop that would soon be tagged new wave, the Enz carried on fine without Neil's input for five years. The band moved to Australia in 1975, and two years later, Tim's kid brother was ready to come aboard. Neil was 19 at the time.