Review Summary: Protest marching all the way to Wal-Mart.
Back in 2004, following a commercial slump of several years, Green Day released
American Idiot, a concept album which, against all odds, managed to combine radio-friendly pop punk and political outrage to not-entirely-disastrous results. Though far from being an artistic masterpiece,
American Idiot was catchy and angry enough to strike a chord with the the suburban mall-rats toiling under the oppressive regime of George W. Bush at the time, and ended up being one of the biggest fluke hits in recent memory.
So, given the blessing Green Day received in the form of a second chance at relevance, you’d think they would have known better than to screw it all up by trying to make lightning strike twice. 2009’s
21st Century Breakdown is everything annoying about
American Idiot cranked up to 11, sans that album’s overall sense of when to give it a rest. Frontman Billie Joe Armstrong’s still peddling the same generic Bush-era political diatribes, but this time around, Dubya isn’t even in office, and the concept album schtick has thoroughly worn out its welcome. The quote-unquote “plot” of American Idiot may have dealt in broad themes and archetypal characters, but here the story is nebulous to the point of absurdity, concerning two teenagers named Christian and Gloria who… run away together? Because of politics? I guess? Honestly, there’s very little actual narrative here, and that open-endedness doesn’t do the album any favors. It’s simultaneously too bloated and not fleshed-out enough.
Luckily, the album as a whole isn’t entirely without merit: “East Jesus Nowhere”, easily the best song on the album, serves up a heaping helping of the rebellious, snotty attitude and catchy punk rock energy Green Day built their reputation on, with nary a hint of the rock-opera pompousness infecting most of the other tracks. “Murder City”, “Christian’s Inferno” and both sections of “American Eulogy” move along at a nice clip, have some serviceable hooks, and don’t overstay their welcome (this is pop punk after all- brevity is a virtue). And the terse acoustic strumming and minor-key mariachi vibe of “Peacemaker” offers a nice reprieve from
Breakdown’s overall aesthetic of slamming power chords and saccharine balladry.
Unfortunately, this is where my well of praise for this album runs dry. The issues become apparent almost immediately- The title track contains both these lines: “Born into Nixon, I was raised in hell” (implying the perspective of someone born in the early 70s) and “We are the class of ‘13” (implying the perspective of someone born in the mid-90s). Is there more than one narrator? If so, why isn’t this abundantly obvious? All 3 members of the band are capable singers- Why couldn’t Mike Dirnt or Tre Cool have lent a hand, to indicate that a different character was narrating? It’s a small thing to harp on, but it’s indicative of what proves to be a recurring problem with
Breakdown- In many ways, it simply doesn’t seem very well thought-out. Why does “Know Your Enemy” repeat the verse 9 times before the first chorus? Why does “Viva La Gloria” stop being a ballad and start ripping off “Letterbomb” a minute into the song? What in the hell do any of the lyrics to “Last of the American Girls” mean? Why does “Restless Heart Syndrome” think a ‘brain ulcer’ is a thing that exists, and why is the solo mixed so damn quietly? Why do they call back to “Song of the Century” at the beginning of “American Eulogy” and then not make it the last track? For a so-called concept album, it all just seems so slapdash.
The production doesn’t help matters much, either. Green Day, with the help of co-producer Butch Vig, slathers the entire affair with a glossy, radio-ready veneer, sapping these songs of any of the rawness or grit that might have lent them some sense of authenticity or emotional heft. And given that
Breakdown is so clearly intended to be a ragged cry of rebellion against, er… whatever this album is against, that slick, polished sound actively works against the album’s message, and the end result is music that feels too toothless to be convincingly anti-establishment, yet too political to work as mindless, fun radio rock.
As a cherry on top of this sundae of mediocrity, the musicianship is almost uniformly lackluster throughout. Tre Cool’s drumming, never a marvel of technicality even on their better records, remains as competent and unobtrusive as ever here. But Mike Dirnt, once one of the more talented and technically proficient bassists of the ‘90s pop-punk scene, turns in such an uninspired, by-the-numbers performance here that one can hardly believe this is the same man who once regularly concocted snappy, memorable basslines for songs like “Longview”, “Minority” and “When I Come Around”. And as for the guitars, constant slamming power chords. That is all. Sure, there's a little arpeggio here, maybe a quick solo there, but pretty much just constant. Slamming. Power chords. And yeah, it’s not exactly fair to criticize a Green Day album for a lack of inventive guitar work, but boy does it get tiring listening to such basic fare for 18 tracks and nearly 70 minutes.
Oh, and by the way, this album is 18 tracks and nearly 70 minutes long, a running time Armstrong and co. handle… less than gracefully. Sure, long punk albums
can be good, but more often than not that involves incorporating other genres into your sound, or just generally mixing it up a bit so the end product doesn’t feel so tedious.
London Calling flirted with a wide variety of styles, from ska and reggae to jazz and rockabilly.
Zen Arcade spiced up its monolithic post-hardcore with psychedelic and folk influences. For The Clash and Husker Du, the extensive runtimes of these albums were meant to give them room to stretch and experiment, or indulge in more obscure facets of their musical identities. In the case of
21st Century Breakdown, every sonic avenue feels market-tested and fine-tuned to exhaustion, and the majority of the tracks employ more or less the exact same styles Green Day have already done better on previous outings. None of it feels thrilling or subversive. None of it feels off-the-cuff or spontaneous. None of it feels like a risk. And ultimately, that’s
Breakdown’s biggest sin. While it may only bear the merest of passing resemblances to punk musically, look at the album artwork. Look at the recurrent lyrical themes (however clumsily handled) of youthful rebellion and individualism. In spirit,
21st Century Breakdown clearly aspired to be a punk album. But it isn’t. Because punk is a risk, and
21st Century Breakdown is anything but.
