Review Summary: More of the same. Literally.
Dinosaur Jr’s early days could well be the incarnation of “live fast, die young” in band form – four extremely intense, tumultuous years of unbridled anguished creativity, leaving behind a trio of albums before imploding just as the band leapt to the majors. The first record was explorative, setting the stage for what was to come. The follow-up capitalised on all the promise, getting every last detail perfectly right, setting the bar insurmountably high for the next album. Bug predictably failed to reach said bar, shuffling off the stage with a bit of a “what now?” feel. When J, Lou and Murph reunited 20 years after their debut, the premise was quite different, but the end result turned out similar in a way. Things were taken slower, songs were simpler, with the main attraction being a downright infectious band chemistry that breathed life into the material and made it fly off the disc. Farm expanded on Beyond’s groundwork, and I Bet On Sky had no chance of living up to it. The formula was starting to show wear around the edges, and the “what now?” feel was returning. Cue fourth album.
Give a Glimpse of What Yer Not is easily the worst Dinosaur Jr record to date through a multitude of unfortunate factors coming together. The one that’s immediately noticeable is that the magic of playing together has faded into normality. The band can’t really be blamed for this one, it’s been 11 years since the reunion and there’s only so long the chemistry pony can be ridden before it becomes everyday. In spite of its inevitability, the de-energised state couldn’t possibly have arrived at a worse time, as the theme of the album is keeping things incredibly basic. Dinosaur Jr were never renowned for much arrangement fanfare, but right from the get go of “Goin Down” and its choppy fourths an air of a band in a garage comes to mind. A very, very sluggish band in a garage as the riff just droops out of the speakers and falls flat on its face. We’re talking opening moments of an album here. Not a good sign.
It takes until the verse of the aforementioned opener (a full 20 seconds into the song, mind you) for the final major problem with the album to become apparent. The guitar parks on the well-treaded C major seventh that’s been a mainstay for the past 30 years before heading back to the opening riff, creating an awkward low-key lampooning of “The Wagon”. A moment later, the chorus rips “Almost Ready”. J Mascis has always had tendencies towards self-redundancy (“Drawerings” following “Get Me” on Where You Been for an immediately noticeable example), but things have been snowballing more intensely since the reunion. Most of the songs feel like a desperate attempt to wrangle the last few drops of juice out of a squeezed orange. The man never had a particularly broad musical vocabulary, and the decision to launch a solo acoustic career alongside the band has proven disastrous to the quality of the material. This won’t be distracting to casual listeners, but if you’re a casual listener you have no business being here – go check out You’re Living All Over Me and Farm to witness Dinosaur Jr at their best. By the time you work your way here you won’t be a casual listener anymore, and the self-plagiarism will irk you just as much.
That’s not to say that the record is entirely disposable. While the musical backdrop rips heavily from “Almost Ready”, the melody floating on top of the chorus of “Goin Down” is oddly infectious, and things click even more when the falsetto backing appears midway through. For the second record running, Lou Barlow’s contributions are among the strict highlights, with the songs projecting a delightful electrified hippy vibe and distinctly separating themselves from J’s material. The closer in particular knocks it out of the park. “Mirror” manages to hark back to the awkward vibe of “The Post” and sports an engaging, woolly lead. Unfortunately, in between those we have to endure simplistic, directionless four chord rockers (“Tiny”) and malformed messes that turn into misguided “Feel the Pain” rip-offs (“Knocked Around”).
From a creative standpoint, it might be best to put Dinosaur Jr out to pasture, along with J Mascis’s solo albums. The revitalising enthusiastic energy of the first reunion albums is nowhere to be found, and the release stream strains the song writing to the point of everything going in ever decreasing circles. That’s not to say the man’s necessarily said his last word – fading out in 2002 with the foul Free So Free felt like a horrible way to go, but he made a triumphant return five years later with the reunited band. Maybe a similarly non-strenuous, extended sabbatical is in order again.
