Puddle of Mud
Come Clean


by Lisa Hummel

Puddle of Mudd may be the brainchild of Fred Durst, but the band does more than ride on the coattails of the Limp Bizkit frontman. With Come Clean the Durst-assembled rockers have hit the ground running. The album’s first single, “Control,” is currently receiving ample airplay, memorable for the lyrics, “I love the way you look at me/I love the way you smack my ass.” Catchy, sure. Like the rest of the album, the words and music will stick with you.

A mix of “Seattle grunge and Hollywood polish,” Puddle of Mudd’s sound is one that follows in the proven path of those before them. It’s edgy without being too scary for radio. It’s hooky without being too pop. It’s a nice blend of anger and calm, hammering guitar and mellow acoustic, with a hint of ’90s slacker-attitude for good measure — packaging songs like the sweet “Blurry” (“I wonder what you’re doing, I imagine where you are/There’s oceans in between us but that’s not very far”) aside “She Hates Me” (“She fucking hates me, La La La/I tried too hard and she tore my feelings like I had none and ripped them away”), a relationship-gone-wrong tune that starts out toe-tapping and quirky before quickly morphing into a mosher’s dream. It works.

Released just weeks ago, Come Clean is already gaining its fair share of acclaim. And for good reason. An enjoyable listen from beginning to end, the disc is a solid effort. Lead singer/guitarist Wes Scantlin has a voice that has evoked comparisons to a litany of grunge geniuses, Kurt Cobain, Layne Staley, and Gavin Rossdale among them. Not too shabby for someone who used a fake backstage pass to deliver his demo to Durst.

Puddle of Mudd have not re-invented the wheel with Come Clean, but they do put stock in the sentiment that everything old can be new again. They took the best of grunge and added a nu-rock twist. Sure, it’s been done before, but trust me, it’s worth a listen. (Flawless/Geffen)

Oysterhead
The Grand Pecking Order


by Benjy Eisen

The first supergroup of the 2000’s that actually matters, Oysterhead is the result of three musicians — Les Claypool (Primus), Stewart Copeland (The Police) and Trey Anastasio (Phish) — brought together for a night of superstar jamming at Jazz Fest in “Nawleans” on May 4, 2000. Having sensed that the bastard child could turn into a sonic leviathan, the three reunited at Anastasio’s barnhouse studio in Vermont nearly one year later to record The Grand Pecking Order.

What makes Oysterhead so damn explosive is the combustible mixture of the three P’s — Primus, Police and Phish. And what makes them so enjoyable are the three C’s — Claypool, Copeland, and “The Commissioner” Trey Anastasio. This is psychedelic rock for a brave new world. It’s dark, it’s evil and it’s bong water certified. The album leans heavily towards the bass-driven prog-rock of Claypool’s other supergroup, The Fearless Flying Frog Brigade, while songs like “Radon Balloon” and “Birthday Boys” are more akin to Anastasio’s recent solo offerings. But the album is at its best on tunes like “Rubberneck Lions” and “Mr. Oysterhead,” where Anastasio and Claypool meet in some weird new common ground, held up by the unmistakable contributions of Stewart Copeland, who made a career out of his ability to drive a beat.

But make no mistake — this is not the Police. It’s clear as day not Primus and it sure as hell isn’t Phish. Picture all three of them, however, combined in equal amounts, and, well, you’re still not quite there. Oysterhead is not so much the sum of its parts as it is the result of mixing the parts together and finding that they fit. Then finding that they explode. Then finding that they recombine in a solid, sonic bedrock, shining blacklight images onto twisted psychedelia. And the result is every bit as intriguing as it is heady. (Elektra)