Can we get some weed over here? STAT!

I make no secret of the fact that I'm a bit retarded for the Stereophonics.

I'm also strangely attracted to Kelly Jones, which I find surprising only because he's roughly the size of a 12 year-old girl. But when his hair is on point and he gets his strut on, he's pretty much like sexy from concentrate. And his casual whiskey-and-cigarettes habit seems to be working in his favor, much in the same way it did for Paul Weller. In fact, I would not be at all surprised to find that he was generated in a lab using some closely-guarded Weller DNA. Unlike Paul, though, KJ's vocal range is about as big as his waist measurement. But he's smart enough to only sing that which he knows he can make his bitch. Often without even breaking a sweat. Part of the reason why he's a little fox is the sheer effortlessness with which he, for instance, shows up the Black Crowes with their own song.



This is not to say that I will buy everything the Stereophonics machine tries to sell me. There is the unnecessary cover of the Rolling Stones' "Angie" - a song not even the dulcet rasp of Kelly Jones can endear to me. There is the hero worship of John Fogerty. Not to mention the song about the white trash wedding. But, much like his hair, when KJ is on point, he can make almost anything work.

My favorite Stereophonics album, as it turns out, was the one KJ wrote when they were all really, really high. As you do. It was full of dirrrty blues-rock about making out / breaking up with the laydeez. I loved every aspect of it - the hair, the wearing of scarves, the back-up singers. It was critically maligned across the board, although no one could deny that it spawned the "Maybe Tomorrow," the Best. Song. Ever.



I have 4 different versions of it. I never get tired of it. I love it acoustic, electric, solo, in a house, with a mouse. Really, the only thing that could make it better is if Kelly Clarkson covered it. It firmly cemented KJ as someone whom I would follow, if not blindly, than at least willingly enough to excuse the time he went onstage dressed like Hunter S. Thompson.

But then the next album came out, and there was an unfortunate dearth of back-up singers, keyboards and, apparently, marijuana. KJ was now all about leather jackets, wearing sunglasses onstage like a pocket-sized Bono, and one-word song titles. They made a bunch of wonky concept videos, one of which involved Jesus at a fashion show and KJ singing mostly in falsetto. It's not as bad as it sounds, but it was still not as great as I wanted it to be. I'm not even going to get into my distaste for "Doorman," which now seems to be a permanent fixture in the live set. Or the fact that someone I often point to as a gifted lyricist actually came up with "Suck my banana / Suck it with cream." Yeah. Let's not talk about that.

KJ now seems fairly determined to churn out a new release every year, reinventing the band in the process. So I was holding out a faint hope that the album that's due this fall would be somewhat of a return to him serving up some sex with that violence. Maybe a little more introspective, as opposed to punk songs directed at the bouncer who wouldn't let you into a club because doesn't he KNOW that you're Kelly Motherfucking Jones?

Apparently? Not so.

At this moment, I'm underwhelmed by "Bank Holiday Monday," which is evidently the first single in the UK. It's fast and shouty and seemingly devoid of any bump to go with its grind. I'm intrigued by the idea that "Daisy Lane" is a Beatles-esque track about a stabbing, so points there. They played "It Means Nothing" at the BBC's Radio 1 concert recently, and while I like the melody line, it seems to be a weak attempt at recapturing "Maybe Tomorrow." Except that it goes in circles and isn't half as lyrically interesting.



And did they really write a song about the war? Seriously? DO NOT WANT.

Come on, KJ. Be mama's little sex pixie again! Let me find your bong and pour you Crown Royale until you start dressing like Keith Richards and wailing about those bad, bad women who broke your heart.

But, if I'm going to be completely honest? I would listen to KJ read the Boise phone book while accompanied on the sitar by a drunk monkey. And so...I will buy the new album the day it hits iTunes, and I will learn all the words to the song about the stabbing. I will sing those words loud and proud when KJ and his cohorts, Big Rich and Javier The Happy Drummer, come back to the Bowery Ballroom to unleash their singular brand of slightly-less-sexy rock panache. Sans back-up singers, of course, but what can you do?

However I will be going to the bar during "Doorman."