Critical Myth-Interpretations

One of my enduring issues with the Star Wars mythos, even through much of the Expanded Universe, is the treatment of the Jedi vs. Sith. Lucas created the problem when he depicted the Jedi as the bastions of all that is good and righteous, and the Sith as the servitors of evil. Even when the purity of the Jedi was challenged and their weaknesses were exposed in the prequels and beyond, the Sith were still agents of evil.

Other storylines have emerged over the course of the saga, trying to rectify this. Darth Bane, Jacen Solo, and others have been explored in great detail, all with various shades of reasonable justification for their actions. Ultimately, those justifications give way to extreme choices that can only be termed as self-serving evil, a desire for domination. It’s as if there are imposed limits on how nuanced an author can get with the depiction of Jedi and Sith.

So when this novel was announced, I was more than a little intrigued. While it’s always an interesting exercise to see how writers tackling the prequel era try to reconcile some of the discrepancies across the board, this was going to be about the Sith Lord that initiated the events of the saga as most of us know it. Could this, finally, bring some measure of balance to the characterization of the Sith, something more than sheer desire for power?

In some respects, it does; in others, not so much. This is as much the story of how the lofty goals of Darth Plagueis led to his own eventual downfall at the hands of his apprentice Palpatine, who gets more than enough page count of his own. It attempts to reconcile details from the prequels, the animated “Clone Wars” series (at least, up to a certain point), and whatever details from the novels that might still be relevant. (Much of “Darth Maul: Shadow Hunter” is rendered completely moot, for example.)

In the end, the book is better at fleshing out the motivations of Palpatine than anything else. I still don’t see how the Sith philosophy is something that makes sense for anyone to adopt, especially the illogical Rule of Two and its implications. I realize that the author is constrained to work within the boundaries of what Lucas created, but that’s the ongoing dilemma: it prevents anyone, even in an effort as solid as this, from truly developing a viable, logical Sith culture.

Even with that personal disappointment, I enjoyed the scope of the novel as it stands. The interplay between Plagueis and Palpatine is excellently done, and eventually pays off in an unexpected way. There’s also good groundwork in terms of the politics of Naboo, the intrigues with the Trade Federation, the establishment of the cloning program, and the conversion of Dooku. Simply put, those of us who didn’t overly mind the concepts behind the prequel trilogy (as opposed to the execution of those ideas) have plenty of nuggets to enjoy.

At the end of the previous issue, we learned that Buffy Summers is pregnant. That it was implied throughout the story that this was something new and unusual, and something that would disqualify her as the Slayer, was a bit controversial. And naturally, a few (including myself) brought up the example of Nikki Wood. Wouldn’t her status contradict Buffy’s challenged identity?

As it turns out, Andrew Chambliss not only takes that into account, but uses the story of Nikki Wood as a touchstone for Buffy’s soul-searching in this episode. She even has a long conversation with Robin Wood about what it was like to have a Slayer for a mother. The flashbacks are poignant, and lead one to a simple realization: the Slayer doesn’t get to turn off her “chosen” status when she lives long enough to have a kid. And being the child of a Slayer is about as fun as being the child of a street cop in the inner-city. Only, with vampires.

Adding to the complexity of Buffy’s situation is something that never really occurred to me. Buffy has no clue who the father might be. She was drunk at a party and remembers almost nothing. It’s the sort of “ripped from real life” situation that the Whedonverse is known for exploring, but despite Buffy’s questionable decision-making over the years, it’s not something that one would see her doing.

It’s clear meant to keep the plot point viable for future exploration, but it also serves to put any and all decisions about the future squarely on Buffy’s shoulders. While Buffy has been a parent to Dawn, especially in the years since her mother’s death, she was never really given a choice in that. Dawn was mystically bound to her, and even when the truth came out, she just decided to hold on to those emotional ties.

Now Buffy does have a choice, and I wouldn’t be shocked if there were a lot of readers that didn’t recognize where the story was going (and what choice Buffy was trying to make) until it was laid out for them in plain print. Buffy decides to have an abortion. And not just because of all the Slayer-related reasons that the issue explored, which would have made the situation perhaps more palatable. No, Buffy makes her choice also based on her conclusion that she is not ready to be a mother.

I suspect that this is just the beginning of her internal debate, not the end. And I have to provisionally give Joss and his creative staff credit for tackling what is a very difficult subject. This will undoubtedly lead some to stop reading, or worse, never pick up or view a Joss Whedon product again. But if this is handled well, then it should be applauded for starting conversations and making people think. Who thought “Buffy: Season Nine” would accomplish that?

Rating: 8/10

“Eureka” is a show that has traditionally emphasized self-contained episodic content more than long-term serialized elements, so it would seem that a series of tie-in novels would be a reasonably simple matter. The recent decision by the creative team to shift to a new timeline in the fourth season, essentially rebooting the series within the context of the overall premise, has made the job even easier.

This first “Eureka” tie-in novel is set just after the third season finale, so it inhabits a relatively safe corner of the “Eureka” mythos. Since the fourth season resets many character histories and key relationships, the author has much more creative latitude when it comes to telling stories within the original timeline, set after what we already knew. In a sense, it answers the question “what if?”. As in, what if the timeline hadn’t been changed at all?

That’s not to say that the author could take things too far. Everything still has to line up with the beginning of the fourth season premiere, which itself aligned with the status quo at the end of the third season. So characters aren’t going to get killed off, and there aren’t going to be major changes to the town, either.

But it does allow the author to avoid the most rampant pitfall of tie-in writing: the problem of scale. When novels are written for shows where the story is still evolving and past events are referenced, the events of the novels themselves cannot realistically have more impact on character, plot, or even background than the actual episodes themselves. Otherwise, it makes no sense for the characters not to refer to those events on the show. The result is either a tie-in novel that seems unnecessary or one that seems ludicrously out of place.

Because there is no reason for the character in “Eureka” to reference what happened after the third season, since all of the concerns are now wrapped up in new status quo of the new timeline, the problem of scale is avoided. The stories can be massive in scope and impact, and as long as the characters and town all survive more or less intact, it doesn’t break the required suspension of disbelief.

In this case, the story involves an experiment that begins switching people, objects, and eventually entire buildings, at an ever-widening radius from Eureka itself. Obviously, this is a major problem, especially in terms of overall security. Carter and the rest of the usual suspects race against time to save the town and keep the situation under control.

As I mentioned, this is the kind of plot that would normally be hard to reconcile, since it would be well above the scope of the usual “Eureka” episode. But it works in this case. That it’s based in the lore of the show and uses the plot as a means of exploring the characters is a nice touch. Even better, everyone is in character, and there are entire stretches where you can hear the cast delivering the dialogue in your head.

But the book does have its flaws. The nature of the problem becomes apparent very quickly, and before long, the story falls into a highly repetitious series of building swaps that introduce slightly different difficulties for Carter and his damage control team. While the circumstances change, each and every iteration has the same pattern: the swap is noticed, Carter calls on someone to deal with the displaced civilians and Eureka folk, hilarity ensues. By the third or fourth version of that sequence, it gets very old, and the result is that the middle of the book is a bit of a chore.

Also, it seems very odd that Lexi’s personal situation is completely wrong. For one thing, she’s not pregnant, which doesn’t seem to make much sense at that point in the timeline. And the many references to Duncan don’t seem to make sense, either. It’s jarring, because nearly every other character is pretty much in the right context with lots of references to past history. It should be interesting to see if this is adjusted or corrected in future novels.

Overall, it was a good start to the “Eureka” tie-in line, and a nice adventure in the Eurekaverse. The story could have used a little more variety in the middle sections, to break the monotony, but it was still a relatively quick read. I would recommend this to any “Eureka” fans looking for a little light reading!

Rating: 7/10

I heard a lot of great things about this trilogy, but I resisted the urge to look into it because of the dreaded YA label. Yes, I know, that’s the same stigma that kept me from reading the Harry Potter series, and those are now ranked among my very favorite books. But it takes a deft hand to make a teenager’s experience of very serious and adult situations not only readable but believable. And Collins did that brilliantly in this series.

Katniss Everdeen is a winner of a lead character not because she is perfect and loveable, but because she is horribly, terribly flawed. No matter her talents for survival, she is deeply troubled and, as usual, convinced that she’s perfectly fine. In many ways, this is similar to Harry Potter. Harry has superior talent and many resources, but he has a bad tendency to make things so much harder for himself. Katniss has enough self-perception issues to keep a therapist in work for decades.

And that’s before she’s tossed into the gauntlet of the Hunger Games. I won’t get into the details of the future world that Collins has created; it’s best discovered on one’s own. But it’s not revealing much to say that in the future, humanity is on the brink, and this has led to the rise of a cruel centralized federal power and a system of inequity that demands change. And Katniss becomes, over the course of the story, the symbol for revolt.

In the process, she finds herself, somewhat predictably, in a love triangle between her childhood companion (Gale) and her fellow “tribute” (Peeta). Gale is the one who has always been a close friend and confidante, but circumstances have never pushed Katniss and Gale towards true romance. Peeta is a young man devoted to Katniss on every level, and Katniss finds herself struggling to return his devotion and love, even when it becomes a question of survival.

As the story progresses, it’s not just a question of survival for Katniss; it’s also about protecting her family. The story starts with Katniss volunteering to become a “tribute” in place of her sister, Primrose. The entire story from that point forward is a struggle to survive threat after threat, all for the same goal. The scope of her intention expands over time until it forces her to become, in many respects, the one who looks to the survival of all humanity in Panem.

Along the way, I kept waiting for the moment when the plot twists would force the inevitable moment when the internal logic wouldn’t make sense. When the characters would act in ways that served the plot progression more than their own natural evolution. That moment never came. And more importantly, the evolution of the escalating tension and violence in Panem never seemed forced or wrong. Even when things seemed to go from bad to worse in ridiculously short order, it never felt contrived.

It would have been very easy for Katniss, in the final book, to take all that accumulated toughness and rise to the next level. But that would have been unrealistic. Instead, the resolution fit the mold of the first two novels: regardless of what was expected of her, Katniss did what she thought was right within the constraints of the larger conflicts around her. Others tried to use her, and she took measures to survive within that context. In the end, that had consequences that were far more substantial and transformative than Katniss could have contrived by her own devices.

While the love triangle was front and center, I deeply appreciated how well it was integrated into the story. Katniss’ final choice between Gale and Peeta is not incidental; it is directly related to the choices made by Gale and Peeta over the course of the story. And those choices are entirely consistent to the characterization of Gale and Peeta over the course of the story. Having read all three books of the trilogy one right after the other, with no expectations or anticipation of where the story would end (or long-term preference for either choice), I thought the resolution of the romance made perfect sense.

Throughout the story, there is also an interesting and nuanced treatment of politics. The Capitol is filled with the over-privileged and the wealthy, who don’t comprehend or don’t care to acknowledge the suffering in the Districts. In the Districts, the population is hungry, poor, and mistreated. The recipe for social upheaval is there from the beginning, and Katniss simply becomes the catalyst the underground rebellion has been searching for, to use as the popular public face for change.

This scenario is not a match to any current crisis, but it resonates with much of the concern over the destruction of the middle class. The society of Panem has only the rich and the poor. There is no realistic mechanism for the poor to become the rich; the poor are purposefully held down to serve the interests of the Capitol, and these rules are in place to ensure the survival of the privileged. Being clever and resourceful only gets you noticed as a potential threat.

Yet the rebellion, when it emerges, is most successful when it adopts the methodology of the ruling class. So it’s not a simple matter of the poor and downtrodden rising up over the big bad rich people. It’s a matter of recognizing that it’s not enough to topple a dictator, if the ideology doesn’t change. If the end result is the rise of a new power that displays the same cruelty, just in reverse, it just perpetuates the cycle. (And how that ties into Katniss and her personal struggle is rewarding, to say the least.)

In the end, the message is clear: survival is not enough. The Hunger Games are a metaphor, especially when the games expand to envelop the entire world. It can’t just be about being the last one standing. Survival implies that there is something worth fighting for, a reason to live.

This is the first book in the Psi Corps trilogy, and one of the first B5 books to be written based on an outline by JMS.  I still have my first-edition paperback copy of the book, and it was definitely interesting to go back for a re-read after so many years.

The first thing that struck me was how it definitely feels like it was written from an outline from JMS.  And I don’t necessarily mean that in a good way.  The story is essentially the story of Kevin Vacit, the man who would set the Psi Corps on its course through history while also setting up a resistance to keep it in check.  It’s the story of where Vacit came from, how he fooled the world into believing that a mundane was leading the effort to control those dangerous telepaths, and how he begat Alfred Bester.  Along the way, Kevin Vacit manages to learn, and keep very quiet, the truth about the origins of human telepaths.

In terms of shedding light on the hyper-detailed history of the “Babylon 5” universe, the book does its job.  It introduces, among other things, the interesting notion that the telepath underground was a necessary counterweight to the Psi Corps.  Unfortunately, the story is occasionally too scattered for its own good.  It often feels like the author was under a deadline for the first book, and just did whatever he could to get the job done as quickly as possible.  As such, some portions of the book are barely more than a slightly fleshed-out bullet point.  Where the story could use much more depth and consideration, the author jumps to the next bullet point.

The end result is a book that sounds a lot better in theory than in reality.  Fans of the series will definitely enjoy the book the first time around, as revelations abound throughout.  But the book doesn’t hold up well the second time around.

Rating: 7/10

This is the third novel in the soon-to-be-completed “Wheel of Time” series.  Much like the first two books in the series, the narrative is extremely detailed, almost to the point of being overly so.  Jordan writes from the perspective that almost every single possible moment of a character’s life should be conveyed in exacting detail.  It can be overwhelming, but there’s no question that it serves to create a deep and believable fantasy world.

After the previous novel went to great lengths to draw parallels with Arthurian legend, it felt natural for the story to turn towards a riff on the Excalibur lore.  I thought that would mean that the book would focus on Rand, but I was pleasantly surprised.  Rand is barely in the book, and when he is, he’s barely maintaining control.  Instead, the story focuses on the Tar Valon Trio, Perrin, and Matt, all engaged in their own subplots while sliding towards a common resolution with Rand.

Considering how often the characters have mentioned that a potential Dragon Reborn must be “stilled” if he gets too far out of control, it’s interesting to note that none of the rather disturbing effects of Rand’s barely-restrained power qualifies as “too far out of control”!  I suppose it’s somewhat less than the breaking of the world, when one gets down to it.

I can already see where future books could get bogged down in the details and maddening subplots.  In a way, these novels remind me of the fantasy equivalent of a Tom Clancy novel.  As long as there’s a sense that the extreme detail and meandering story will arrive at a logical (if temporary) resolution, then all is well.  But it’s very easy to stray into territory where several hundred pages will go by without much narrative progress.

Thankfully, I’m a relatively patient reader, so my threshold for such meandering is high.  This book, however, is quite straightforward and managed to hold my interest throughout.  Hopefully I’ll feel the same way when I resume my journey through the saga!

Rating: 8/10

Considering how long the editors for the Trek book line planned out the arc that culminated in the “Destiny” trilogy, a rather ambitious “reboot” of the novel version of the Trek continuity, it’s good to see that the very next book managed to set the stage for the next big event.  In fact, this book is all about weaving the fallout of the Borg invasion into the next big thing on a more personal level.

I can definitely see why this wasn’t received particularly well by the masses.  This is very similar to “Articles of the Federation” in style, and that was a definitely “love it or hate it” novel.  I, for one, loved that book, so the similarities were much appreciated.  I’m a sucker for character, so after a massive trilogy focused mostly on plot and continuity, a character-driven novel hit the spot.

Sonek Pran is the main character, and he uses his political connections from involvement in previous administrations to grease the wheels with foreign powers when the cleanup from the Borg invasion starts to break down.  Sonek is a bit of an insufferable character, a bit of a know-it-all, until it becomes clear that he comes from that classic literature mold of the “expert who can’t fix his personal relationships”.  That humanizes Sonek just enough to keep him interesting.

This book actually made me think about the differences between the Star Wars and Star Trek novel lines.  The Star Wars line has been fairly consistent, especially in recent years, with the intention of putting together a cohesive novel continuity.  They extend the story in large chunks with an overreaching arc, usually building out of the previous event.  But as the recent “Legacy of the Force” demonstrated, the writers seem to be caught in a bit of a rut.  They’ve all but played out the reasonable opponents to struggle against, even if the books are still readable.

Star Trek, on the other hand, is blessed with more sources of conflict than one can count (which is ironic, if one thinks about it).  Yet they’ve struggled the most when they try to introduce massive and transcendent enemies like the Borg.  Those threats begin as overwhelming and awe-inspiring as a result, but over time, the only way to keep them at bay for any period of time is to weaken them, bringing them down to size.  And in turn, that sense of awe is lost.

It’s far more interesting when the enemy is more subtle, more relatable from the beginning.  That’s what makes the Typhon Pact so intriguing.  It’s logical within the context of the Trek universe as a whole, and also logical in terms of the fallout of the Borg invasion.  It actually reminds me of the best elements of the Dominion War.  There’s a reason why “Deep Space Nine” was my favorite modern Trek series, and I see the same potential in the Typhon Pact.

As the novel that starts the ramp-up to the Typhon Pact, this sets the tone for something a little more political, a more little personal, and a lot more complicated than invasion by an overwhelming power.  This is also a step away from overused villains like the Borg, which I personally wanted to see.

Rating: 8/10

This is the first novel in a quartet set during the timeline of the original series, rather than the previous prequels and sequels.  On the one hand, this approach grounds the story in more familiar waters.  On the other hand, this serves to highlight the glaring differences between the Frank Herbert continuity and the new canon that has been shaped around it.

All things being equal, I don’t hate the content of the new canon; I simply see it as one vision of how it might have been finished and fleshed out.  It’s the same way I regard the “Second Foundation Trilogy” with respect to the original Asimov material.  It proposes a more definitive ending and interpretation, but it’s just that: an interpretation.  The originals stand on their own, and the new canon is, without debate, a kind of revisionist history.

As such, I’ve always viewed the books from a meta-fictional perspective.  The originals present one view, the new canon another.  Historical novels always fudge facts to support their interpretations, and so the same follows suit here.  I don’t accept much of the new canon as the intentions of Frank Herbert, but they do manage to remain fairly consistent within their own skein.

This is, of course, why the novel is not just a bridge between “Dune” and “Dune Messiah”.  It also touches on a “forgotten chapter” of Paul’s life, resolving items left open at the end of the “House Trilogy”.  In the process, items mentioned in passing in “Dune Messiah” are expanded upon, sometimes in unusually satisfying ways.

Yet this is damning evidence in and of itself.  Brian Herbert and Kevin Anderson are so consistent with their own plot threads, characterization (however shallow), and timeline that it’s hard to believe that they would somehow manage to make so many mistakes in terms of inconsistencies with the original novels.  Several instances in the book are designed specifically to gloss over earlier mistakes and claim that they are, in fact, just the result of propaganda.  In other words, the authors essentially use this novel to establish the novel “Dune” as nothing more than an in-story example of Irulan’s efforts to control perceptions of Paul’s jihad and empire.

This is hubris and disrespect on a level that is practically beyond words.  Had such an interpretation been reserved for the epigraphs in “Dune”, it would have made perfect sense, as it serves the purpose of propaganda within “Dune” anyway.  It would have been consistent.  But placing the entire novel in that context?  It’s effectively saying that the Frank Herbert novels were “wrong”, and the new canon is “right”.

It certainly makes sense of the decision to treat the original continuity with such poor care, picking and choosing what to absorb into their own self-aggrandizing vision of what should have happened.  This is unfortunate, because the book is one of the better “new canon” efforts.  One glaring and unnecessary choice of ego overshadows it all.

Rating: 7/10

The previous two albums by U2, as well as the “best of” compilations in the post-“Pop” era, have represented something of a return to a more straightforward rock approach.  Both albums are an amalgam of “War”, “Joshua Tree”, and “Achtung Baby”, and as such, they touch on all the things that fans love about U2.  At the same time, the past several years have delivered some truly horrible lyrics.  Bono’s writing can go from poetic to clunky in a matter of seconds.  So the question going into this album was twofold: 1) will U2 continue to deliver more of the same, and 2) will the lyrics be more inspired?

1) No Line on the Horizon – This song gets the album off to a decent start.  It sounds a lot like the more rousing anthems from recent albums, with a bit more atmosphere.  One thing that I did notice, of course, is the continued degradation of Bono’s upper register.  He struggles a lot in this song.  (7/10)

2) Magnificent – This is easily one of the highlights of the entire album, and even transcends much of the material from the past decade.  There are immediate comparisons to “The Unforgettable Fire” and its more experimental “European” sound.  This would be great live!  (10/10)

3) Moment of Surrender – The experimental tone continues here, with a gorgeous and meditative epic.  The music here is wonderful, and while the lyrics are a bit pretentious here and there, they fit the tone of the piece.  (9/10)

4) Unknown Caller – The song starts out well, continuing pseudo-“Unforgettable Fire” vibe.  The music is particularly strong.  The chorus, however, is weak and fails to match the excellence of the musical landscape.  The unfortunate thing is that the song would work perfectly without it!  (7/10)

5) I’ll Go Crazy If I Don’t Go Crazy Tonight – This song is a bit of a step backwards, and sounds like it would fit better on “All That You Can’t Leave Behind”.  It’s the kind of song that would never be missed if it was absent.  Distressingly average.  And that opening falsetto is just plain awful.  (7/10)

6) Get On Your Boots – Easily the weakest song on the album, and tonally, it doesn’t really fit.  I have no idea why they would have chosen this song as the first single; it doesn’t really represent the album very well!  It makes the band sound unfocused and out of touch.  (5/10)

7) Stand Up Comedy – This brings things back in the right direction.  This is often a standard rocker, but moments soar, and this is going to be a great song live, particularly during the chorus.  (8/10)

FEZ – Being Born – This is quite unusual for a U2 album, but it works beautifully.  It fits the overall experimental tone of the album, and it highlights the musical ability of everyone involved.  This is the kind of song that works within the context of an album.  (8/10)

9) White as Snow – This song starts out in the same vein, and continues with a maudlin tone that is reminiscent of certain songs from “Rattle and Hum”.  It never quite soars, never quite touches that next level, but it is a solid track for the album. (7/10)

10) Breathe – Starting with a roar, this is another song that will be incredible live.  There are some lyrical issues along the way, but nothing too horrible, and the structure of the vocal lines is different in a good way.  It’s the last major statement for the album, and in that capacity, it’s a strong one.  (9/10)

11) Cedars of Lebanon – This is a relatively quiet coda to the album, touching more on the atmospheric elements of the album and tying them together, beginning to end.  The lyrics are a bit hokey, to be honest, but this is more about mood and message, so the preachy tone is to be expected.  The ending, however, is a bit abrupt, leaving the album feeling unfinished.  (7/10)

With this album, U2 avoided the temptation of repeating themselves again, and for the most part, took the better elements of the past few albums and incorporated them into material closer to their artistic and experimental leanings.  While the music certainly continues to be excellent, in some ways expanding on the established sound, the lyrics remain a weak link, continuing the trend that began in the wake of “Rattle and Hum”.  Interestingly, the band has noted that they have more than enough material for a second album, closer to their usual sound, and they may be releasing that in the near future.

Final Rating: 7.6/10 (above average)

Morrissey was one of my favorite artists in my college years, and I associate his music very strongly with a certain old friend from that time of my life.  I was always sorry to see the Moz drop off the map, and was thrilled with “You Are the Quarry” when it was released.  I was less moved by “Ringleader of the Tormentors”, the follow-up, so I was a bit concerned about this latest collection.

1) Something is Squeezing My Skull – The album gets off to a rousing start with this track.  The lyrics, as usual, are clever, cynical, and sardonic.  I particularly the laundry list of antidepressants in the middle of the song.  This is the kind of song that will be awesome live!  (8/10)

2) Mama Lay Softly on the Riverbed – This song has its good points, including a driving rhythm, but the middle section is a bit of an unnecessary noisy mess, and that takes a bit away from the overall effect.  What is essentially a song about wanting to lie down and die next to a dead mother is remarkably perky.  (6/10)

3) Black Cloud – Another good rocker, and another one that should be great live.  Nothing particularly distinctive, but a solid addition nonetheless. (7/10)

4) I’m Throwing My Arms Around Paris – This is the first single for the album, which I suppose I can understand.  The song fits the classic Morrissey mold, both in musical style and tone.  Even so, it’s nothing amazing, about on the level of “Alma Matters”.  (7/10)

5) All You Need is Me – This brings the album back to a harder sound and a bit more vocal variety.  This is sounds like a great bar song, especially as the end of a lively late-night set.  (8/10)

6) When I Last Spoke to Carol – I’m not quite sure I get this song, from a lyrical point of view or the musical mash of rock rhythms and Latin horns.  I’ll give them props for originality, but this is not the kind of song I would listen to often, that’s for sure.  (6/10)

7) That’s How People Grow Up – This one starts out very oddly, with bizarre operatic singing over the usual rock chords.  It never really transcends that beginning to find a particularly engaging identity.  (7/10)

One Day Goodbye Will Be Farewell – This is a dark little rocker that will likely become a live anthem for fans.  Those horns come back in again close to the end of the song, and the keyboards are a bit much, but it’s still solid enough to compete.  (7/10)

9) It’s Not Your Birthday Anymore – This builds into quite a cruel rock ballad, to say the least.  I can see this being used to good effect in some film and television montages.  It’s about as close to a soaring U2-esque arena anthem as Morrissey will ever get.  (8/10)

10) You Were Good in Your Time – This is a lot slower than most tracks on the rest of the album, and it seems out of place right from the beginning as a result.  And then the song descends into a morass of noise for half the running time.  It might work for some, but it didn’t work for me.  (5/10)

11) Sorry Doesn’t Help – This is certainly a lot more upbeat than the previous track, and gets the album back on its original rocking course.  It’s nothing distinctive, but at least it has a solid beat and charge to it.  (7/10)

12) I’m OK By Myself – This is very much like the prior track, and really, like most of the album.  It has a solid heavy sound, and the lyrics have the same snap and crackle, but it’s not soaring.  It does, however, gather into a much heavier sound than the rest of the album before it ends.  (7/10)

If Morrissey was looking for the chance to put together an album that would work for a brawling bar tour, then he was for the most part successful.  Other than the obvious leading single, this is not the most radio-friendly fare, and if it wasn’t for Morrissey’s typical crooning or poetically devious lyrics, it wouldn’t sound like a Morrissey album at all.  It’s a solid enough album, but there’s definitely better Moz material out there.

Final Rating: 6.9/10 (average)