Lenny Kravitz

Lenny Kravitz is a fanatic, an obsessive student of all things classic rock, soul, funk, and psychedelic. He is the peace-and-love candidate for superstardom, the black hippie Jew with tattoos and dreads and an in-satiable jones for Jimi, Sly, and the Beatles. That is how Kravitz first emerged at the end of the ’80s, oblivious to hair metal and gangsta, embracing the feel-good soundtrack of his childhood with naïveté and feeling, not merely nostalgia for the Age of Aquarius. And he’s faced criticism ever since for appropriating only the finest sounds of the period and for dressing the part in epic rock-star threads, all bell-bottoms and feather boas. He is not groundbreaking. But his early albums at least sound in retrospect like a man tapping genuine emotion, using ancient pop styles as a setting for revealing messages on love and faith that rarely sound secondhand. As later recordings drift into a sound more identifiably his own, the result has mostly been slick, manufactured, and cold. The paradox of Lenny Kravitz is that his most derivative music is also his most personal.

On Let Love Rule, he plays virtually everything himself (guitars, bass, organ, drums, etc.). The sound is raw and largely acoustic, just beats, bass lines, and Hammond B-3’s, like a collision of Sly Stone and solo Lennon. As a lyricist, he’s best served when focused on the personal, and much less so as a rock & roll messiah. He is a flower child in a computer age, singing praises for his wife and daughter (“I Build This Garden for Us”) and fighting curbside racism on the anxious “Mr. Cab Driver.” Mama Said is already a step up in sophistication. “Fields of Joy” opens with light and loving acoustic guitar as Kravitz sings at his most falsetto. He is less of a one-man band, even as he expands his chops as a writer, arranger, and ringmaster. The sticky funk of “Always on the Run” mingles horns with Slash doing Joe Perry on guitar, and Kravitz sheds real tears of commitment and regret on the soulful “Stand by My Woman” and amid breezy Al Green strings of “It Ain’t Over ’til It’s Over.” Are You Gonna Go My Way introduces new permanent sideman Craig Ross on lead guitar, unleashing his inner Jimmy Page in time for the Zep textures and Sly Stone preaching (“Being free is a state of mind!”) of “Believe.” As always, Kravitz is careful not to sound any slicker than Stevie Wonder circa 1972, even using vintage tape in the studio. The goal isn’t lo-fi but high concept, as if the limitation of period technology is as crucial an instrument as his guitar. But the songwriting is slipping on Circus, even as he cranks up the guitars and declares that “Rock and Roll Is Dead,” making a point that isn’t exactly clear (“You can’t even sing or play an instrument/So you just scream instead”).

With 5, Kravitz seems to surrender to his critics and resorts to digital technology and computerized sounds, straying deep into other styles, announcing that he’s “getting straight in ’98, y’all!” But he’s no Bowie chameleon. “Black Velveteeen” sounds like a Depeche Mode outtake circa 1988, with cheeseball effects and beats. Kravitz is still a decade behind. He can sometimes hook into a moment of real emotion, but that’s less and less often, as if without his core influences, he’s lost. The silky soul of “I Belong to You” is as moving and elegant as anything he’s done, with a bit of romantic desperation in his voice. A ham-fisted remake of the Guess Who’s “American Woman” was a crossover hit, but 5 is his most forgettable album. Lenny is a slight improvement, while admitting on “Stillness of Heart” that “the things that were so sweet no longer move my feet/But I keep trying.” He goes metal sludge on “Battlefield of Love,” as the true funk finally slips away. Baptism is where Kravitz finally comes up with a modern sound that reflects his obsession with the rock & roll past without sounding stuck there. Lyrics remain dubious and overblown (“I am a minister of rock & roll/I can heal you, I can save your soul!”) whenever he steps away from issues romantic or personal. And yet it is his best album in a decade, riffing easily like a Kiss wanna-be amid pop and handclaps on “California” and the glam funk of “Lady.” The agitated “I Don’t Want to Be a Star” rocks harder even as he denies his own fabulous lifestyle of limos, furs, and anonymous fashion models: “Just want my Chevy and an old guitar.” Right. But this time, the illusion sticks. Kravitz finally sounds like no one but himself. (STEVE APPLEFORD)

From 2004's The New Rolling Stone Album Guide