Sometimes I feel like that sad sack from the Alka Seltzer commercials of 70s advertising immortality. I can’t. believe. I listened. to the whole. thing. And while the feeling I get from From the Vanishing Point isn’t one of acidic regret, this forgettable effort by Midwestern alt-rockers Red Wanting Blue nevertheless leaves me feeling glutted as if on copious amounts of bland, mass-produced fare.

This is not as surprising as it is still disappointing from a band who has managed to keep their act together for twenty years. RWB had a decent gig in the 90s embodying the slackerish, devil may care zeitgeist of pre-9/11 Alternative Rock. Since then, i.e. for the past decade, it seems they have settled into lackluster pop without much of a fight, never really pushing their sound in any distinct direction. Other acts with the same kind of longevity and similar alt roots, like the Chili Peppers, the Tragically Hip or Stone Temple Pilots, have managed to reinvent their sound and age gracefully (we will humanely overlook Scott Weiland’s Christmas album), as has that steward of all that is totally excellent about the 90s, Eddie Vedder (just look at last year’s ukulele sales numbers!). The point is, Red Wanting Blue’s latest album already sounds dated coming out of the gate, and not in the “so 2012” way that at worst secures spots on any obscene number of internet hot lists.

It can be argued that From the Vanishing Point’s main strength is this consistency, that is to say its adherence to RWB’s uncompromisingly formulaic, commercially viable brand of alt-rock. The group churns out track after predictable track, each one alternating between emotive, midtempo verse and a raspy, heart-on-sleeve hook that seems bound for a CW orginal series or chain retail soundtrack or near you. And it’s true, there is something to be said about the precision with which Red Wanting Blue nails a genre so nondescript. Their modern Americana, with vocalist/songwriter Scott Terry’s vocal mix of Eddie Vedder and Jakob Dylan, still has a place in the top 40, or at least has had one as recently as similarly-throaty American Idol vet David Cook enjoyed a short-lived stint at the top.

In the end, none of the songs are disproportionately “bad” in a technical sense, just unanimously uninspired. At the album’s best, most merciful times, it’s almost possible to close your eyes and pretend you’re back in the heyday of alternative rock, listening to an obscure album track by Counting Crows, Son Volt, the Wallflowers (I’m thinking of “Walking Shoes” or the new recording “Audition,” actually from the 90s). This is fleeting, however, as Terry strings together tired metaphor after tired metaphor, albeit occasionally with a kind of intuitive delivery. “Cocaine”—despite its catchy hook that showcases his gravelly baritone—is cringe-worthy in the sincerity with which it beats the living fuck out of perhaps the deadest horse in the rock lexicon, and it is representative of all that is wrong with this album. It’s formulaic, it’s riddled with terrible clichés (I counted at least 13 in “Running of the Bulls” alone), and it’s been done better by multitude artists before.

1.5 / 5 bars

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Red Wanting Blue – Audition

Red Wanting Blue – White Snow by fanaticpro