Silverchair
Freak Show
»
Silverchair
Freak Show
Epic, 1997
RiYL: Candlebox, Live, Sponge, Bush, Tonic |
Since then, ignorant teeny-bopper masses have been tricked into thinking these three kids from Australia are the messengers of authentic teen angst.
In reality, Silverchair is the true fakir of rock, shamelessly lining its songs with other artists' inspirations and passing them off as its own. The songs on Freak Show, the group's second album, tread no new sonic territory, they are the kind of Nirvana ripoffs easily written and performed by anyone who can play a barre chord. Daniel Johns' lyrics resemble poetry scribbled onto the desk in study hall: check out "take your mind with you/there's no room for two/I can't handle both/handle both of you" from the sludgy "Roses."
If the lyrics don't scream immaturity, the music does double derivative duty. All the fast songs sound like outlandish Nirvana and Helmet shams ("Slave," "Lie To Me"), while the lighter-waving ballads ("Cemetary," "Pop Song For Us Rejects" and "Petrol & Chlorine") nick melancholy from Queensryche and Smashing Pumpkins, jolting us back to lunchtime popularity contests and trips to the BYOB in mom's station wagon.
Not surprisingly, Silverchair hasn't quit stealing from grunge's other forefathers. "The Door" is an amateur Screaming Trees impersonation, replete with sitar effects on Johns' guitar, while "Learn To Hate" would fit on any Alice In Chains record.
Silverchair realizes its audience doesn't know the difference between brand-name grunge and its generic version, and thus does a fine job of retreading the genre to a point of near absurdity. But what is the point of releasing music that displays not one ounce of creativity? Silverchair doesn't answer this question on Freak Show. Instead, it further desecrates a genre whose pioneers deserve better than feeble mockery.
JONATHAN COHEN | Jonathan Cohen co-created Nude As The News with his Indiana University mates Troy Carpenter and Ben French. When not traversing the globe for business and pleasure, he holds down the fort as a senior editor for Billboard in New York. Stop him and he just may ask, "what for lunch?"