Purple : Stone Temple Pilots : Review : Rolling Stone

By now, dissing Stone Temple Pilots has become as predictably indie rock as worshipping Sonic Youth. The higher the quartet's 1992 debut creeps past triple platinum, the more alternative-rock hecklers sling Pearl Jam wanna-be jokes like rotten fruit. The accusations wouldn't be so harsh if Pearl Jam hadn't already been labeled Nirvana rip-offs, making STP knockoffs of a knockoff.

STP's singer, Weiland, does sound like Eddie Vedder, probably because both vocalists lift from various '70s rock gods. But unlike Nirvana, STP and Pearl Jam play arena rock in the tradition of long hair and pot smoke. There is nothing grungy or alternative about STP's palatable suburban riffs.

But Stone Temple Pilots have hardly slunk back out on their bellies with a token second album. Purple seems to come more naturally to the band than its predecessor, Core. Although you can still easily pick out Zeppelin and Sabbath riffs, STP feed more diverse elements into the grind. Weiland's emotions are now willing to soar, while the music is confident enough to expand inside its chosen pop-rock arena.

Weiland's throaty croons break into raspy, pubescent climaxes and even cool down to harmonize in spaced-out ballads. His lyrics are cryptic and sensitive -- their sweetness played down under echoey effects and thick production.

A woozy and sliding guitar reels back and forth, wrapping itself around repetitive beats and menacing bass lines. Mystical interludes and acoustic melodies could be hokey but instead are naively pretty. A campy untitled lounge tune hidden at the end of the album hints that STP don't take their music half as seriously as their detractors do.

In all its derivative glory, Stone Temple Pilots' Purple will blow your skirt up -- if you let it.