Everclear

Everclear was initially touted as yet another instamatic Nirvana rip-off when they first arrived, but in fact they honorably represented grunge's tauter, punkier fringe. And in a sense, scene veteran Art Alexakis is the anti-Kurt Cobain. His gift is to make the base, crass motives that alternative rock used to look down upon seem desperate, even heroic, a slob's way of exerting his tiny bit of control over a cruel world. Class consciousness permeates "I Will Buy You a New Life," about the transformative power of new money, and "Rock Star," about a guy (possibly Alexakis himself) who wants to get laid and "a girlfriend who does not drink beer."

The tangled World of Noise was too aptly titled, but Sparkle and Fade was everything a radio-ready rock record should be: explosive, soul-searching, belligerent. When his proudly flaunted "black girlfriend" on "Heart Spark Dollar Sign" declares "You're possessed by a power bigger than the pain," you want to kick him in the shins. But the awesome "Santa Monica" encapsulates Alexakis' cynically escapist worldview -- walking hand in hand away from bland normalcy, "we can watch the world die." The perfectly titled So Much for the Afterglow is a worthy successor.

With grunge gone, the two volumes of Scenes From an American Movie ply Art's sentimental side, intending to establish him as power-ballad troubadour of nuclear-family fission. But having a pop sensibility isn't the same as possessing pop gifts, and Alexakis employs the same tunes over and over. But the first volume contains nice reminiscences, both personal and cultural, as well as decorative but unobtrusive strings and horns, and the repetition of similar melodies has a cumulatively heart-tugging effect. Volume two thrashes about with less focus, often adequately if not fully convincingly. But the refrain of "Babytalk" ( "She's got him by the balls") won't reassure anyone who hoped maturity might temper Art's woman issues. A guy can only rehash his troubled youth so often, however, and so Alexakis surveyed the present on Slow Motion Daydream. The best he could come up with was the tepid social commentary of "Volvo Driving Soccer Mom." This is the way alt-rock ends -- not with a bang but a whimper. (KEITH HARRIS)

From 2004's The New Rolling Stone Album Guide