ADRIFT: UNCLE WINO’S CAMPFIRE CLASSICS, VOLUME ONE
In retrospect, when you take the ’90s Unplugged craze out of the equation, stripping your band to its acoustic core is a pretty ballsy thing to do. As the last few decades have lead to exponentially more overdubs and walls of amps, “unplugging” one’s self is a good way to show one’s chops as a songwriter (or one’s lack of them). Obviously, “unplugged” has become a slang term for shamelessly neutering your music for a blunt and/or vulgar attempt at crossover appeal, a condescending cash grab that assumes, “Hey, girls don’t like my band ‘cuz it’s too loud, but what if I sit on a barstool and play this acoustic guitar?” Acoustic albums have generally been driven out of the collective consciousness, and, in retrospect, for good reason.
Which is why Wino’s acoustic album, Adrift, is such a pleasant anomaly. It’s at once a cogitatively dissonant idea (one of metal’s biggest non-Dio legends puts out a completely non-heavy album?) and a perfectly sensible one (Wino’s bands and solo material haven’t exactly been an exercise in atonal brutality). Like any other doom metal innovator, if you stick a guitar in his hand, quality riffs will spring forth. But hearing them in exclusively this context is interesting: metal can use heaviness as a crutch, and Adrift never relies on it. Though it’s not perfect, the album never lapses into dullness. You never wish a band would kick in. Metal isn’t exactly known for being intimate, but here, Wino leaves himself completely vulnerable. Adrift’s success or failure rests entirely on his shoulders, and if there’s anyone who could flourish under that sort of pressure, it’s him.
But even though the album leaves the man completely exposed, he doesn’t appear frail or melodramatic. That being said, Adrift is packed to the gills with soul. The good kind, too: no awkward confessionals to be found, just a heavy tip of the cap to classic rock (though fans of his umpteen previous bands won’t find that THAT much of a surprise). The record is folky and bluesy, sure, but funneled through a Kansas/Skynyrd/Zeppelin filter. The only thing experimental about Adrift is its acoustic concept: the rest is just straightforward songwriting. Electric guitars drop in and out, but only for smoky solos or rich Floyd-ian ambience. There’s a Motorhead cover that’s warped into what resembles a Neil Young song. Even in its off moments, Adrift is immensely listenable. Some of the chunkier, lower register string work makes you wonder why Wino decided to let the songs be introduced in this context, but none of it falls flat.
It’s that wide-open nature that causes Wino to falter every now and again. Things aren’t always on point lyrically, and occasionally songs come off as words thrown at a rhyme scheme instead of an expression of what’s on the man’s mind. This sort of thing can easily be hidden behind a wall of nut-kicking heaviness, but here, it’s out in the open to be dissected. But that’s part of the appeal: this is the purest distillation of Wino, warts and all. The production is absolutely perfect for it, too. There’s rich clarity, but nothing’s overly polished. Wino’s vocals are in the mix, but they never overpower the guitars, and vice versa. Arpeggios and open chords have an oaky presence. It’s lush but never saccharine. Adrift never comes off as a gimmick, but instead an extension of what Wino’s always done. The man can write a damn song, and here, it’s simple and incredibly apparent.
(3 ½ out of 5 horns)
-SO
