Here Come Steve Wynn's Miracles

This polejack used to head up a band called the Dream Syndicate, the ultimate son-of-the-Velvets aggregation. The unmistakable influence of the VU has been stamped on many groups: Hackamore Brick, the Modern Lovers, the Feelies, Yo La Tengo, Love Child, the Mistaken, etc. But no group was ever more unabashed about it than the Dream Syndicate. Not only did they take their name from one of Cale's pre-Velvets avant-garde outfits, but Wynn sang like Lou Reed, played "Ostrich" guitar, and constantly paid verbal homage to his mentor ("I dreamed last night I was born a thousand years ago," went an early lyric). Despite an underrated second LP called Medicine Show that saw 'em mining a more Blue Oyster Cult/Neil Young "classic rock" vibe, the band could never get over the Velvets stigma. Since then, Wynn has attempted to pursue something resembling a solo "career" with a number of releases for tiny labels, toning down the Velvets influence and pursuing a more Nils Lofgren-ish MOR approach. But Here Come the Miracles is the first time he's been able to really put it together into a cohesive package and for Steve Wynn it's a major achievement.

Actually this record might be a major achievement for anyone at this point, considering it's a double. It takes nerve even to try such a thing, especially when, considering Wynn's previous output, one might think he'd be overtaxed to come up with one decent LP, but most of this is pretty damn fine, ornate, how do I say it?rock 'n' roll? All that means at this juncture is that it's played and sung and arranged using more or less "traditional" means?no excessive technical embellishments or stylistic variants, just folks stompin' on drums and guitars like they have since the heyday of the Grand Ole Opry. Wynn has never abandoned the Neil Young influence, but this album easily smokes any Young offering since Freedom. "Southern California Line" for example is a stompin' fuzzduster that gristles with the same static cling as Crazy Horse. The point/counterpoint guitars of Wynn and former Come member Chris Brokaw easily rival the similar duels staged by Wynn and Karl Precoda in the Dream Syndicate.

It's obvious that Wynn invested a lot of effort into this project. The production is one of the high points, perhaps the best Wynn's ever got on a record. It's very similar to Jimmy Miller's job on Exile on Main Street?all crisp highs with the drumbeat right up front. Of course when any musician as self-consciously "retro" as Steve Wynn makes a double album he's undoubtedly thinking Exile on Main Street (you knew it wasn't Daydream Nation or Double Nickels on the Dime). While the influences here aren't limited to the Stones or Neil Young, Here Come the Miracles has a definite 70s sound. Wynn's always been a bit of a cornball, and one sometimes has to wince at lyrics like "riding against the minutes/Outside the city limits," but the whole delivery is rich enough to excuse such obtuse factors. If I could give Wynn any advice it would be to take a hint from his California soulmate Scott Miller (former Game Theory and current Loud Family honcho) and stop being so goddamn earnest all the time. Does anyone ever use the term "pomo" anymore? That's what Wynn needs?more ironic posteverything contempt and less giddy exuberance.

Like any good double album, there are textures galore on Here Come the Miracles. The second disc in particular rocks: "Strange New World" is an aggressive knife-twirling slam-around that could've fit on the Flamin' Groovies' Teenage Head album. "Charity" begins with some Velvets drums and undulates into a hazy mist of late 90s Yo La Tengo (same organ sound). "Smash Myself to Bits" combines Los Bravos' "Black Is Black" with Traffic-style dynamics and the churning mechanical beat of Yo La Tengo once again before Wynn whips off some Bevis Frond-like psychedelic guitar. If one can ignore the blatant homage to Dylan?whom Wynn effects as shamelessly as he once did Lou Reed?that closes the LP, it's not a stretch to say this ambitious offering is "atmospheric" enough to keep rebounding in my head all summer long.