“This album is a beginning, says Third Eye Blind’s Stephan Jenkins, of Out Of The Vein, the San Francisco quartet’s first new album in over three years. There’s been enough of a break that it isn’t a continuation. We’ve spent some time soul-searching, getting back to the nitty gritty.“
And when he says the ‘nitty gritty’, he really means the ‘nitty gritty’.
According to Third Eye Blind writer and producer Stephan Jenkins, ‘Out Of The Vein’ album sessions mark the start of a creative period that will generate several more releases, including an EP, a live album and an unplugged album. They say they think they’ve opened a vein.
A can of worms, may however be more accurate.
In the mid ’90s, Third Eye Blind are said to have spent a couple of years coming together, falling apart and coming together again, sleeping on floors and playing on the barely-existent San Francisco club scene. Then came the release of their self-titled 1997 debut album with Elektra. The album sold six million copies, and remained on the Billboard Top 200 Albums chart for well over a year. Their 1999 follow-up, Blue, approached double platinum on the strength of single Never Let You Go and a worldwide tour that lasted a year.
Why can of worms? Well it’s like this. ‘Out Of The Vein’ whilst enjoying some sweet, tender and marvellously meticulous arrangements and moments is rather like a peasant dressed up as a king. And a rather Red Hot and Chilli King, come to that. Occasionally funky (‘Blinded’, ‘Crystal Baller’) occasionally deep (‘Forget Myself’) but always ambiguous, it’s an album that strives heroically at fulfilling it’s promise, but for all it’s wordiness and perplexiveness it seems devoid of genuine substance.
That twelve of the 14 compositions find Jenkins recounting his messy breakup with South African actress Charlize Theron may provide the key to it’s failure to impress. It’s emotional – but it’s indulgent. Jenkins has failed to translate his experience into something we can all understand. It’s only album opener ‘Faster’ that really hits the spot. Syncopated vocals, syncopated riffs, and the whirly, blurry spin of an emotional crash and burn. It’s the only song on the album that you really feel the impact, so to speak. The remainder of the album tries in vain to articulate what the very first song on the album says and proves succinctly enough anyway. The only exception is the understated and soothing ‘Self-Righteous’ featuring (would you believe it) The Moldy Peaches’ delicious Kimya Dawson – one of the few songs on the album whose dense emotional fall-out has not been wrecked by the cod-chilli-pepper funk of Jenkin’s spurious production tactics.
Some interesting moments. But definitely one for the road.