Wallflowers – Bringing Down the Horse

It might have been easy to write off Jakob Dylan’s band as just another son-of-a-legend dalliance, a la Julian Lennon or the brothers Nelson. Fortunately, he proved right out of the gate, on the Wallflowers’ debut album three years ago, that he had earned his major-label deal with more than just a famous last name. On the other hand, for all its promise, that first record ultimately collapsed under the weight of a preponderance of overly long, drawn-out songs, some extending into the 8-to-9-minute range.

On Bringing Down The Horse, everything has fallen into place. There have been lineup changes — the original drummer left to play with Natalie Merchant, and former School of Fish/John Hiatt guitarist Michael Ward was brought on board — but those shifts appear to have only strengthened the band. Most importantly, their tendency to go off on distracting tangents has been reined in, and what’s left is an album full of four-to-five-minute pop songs that are almost uniformly excellent.

The opener, “One Headlight”, strikes a subtly urgent groove from the outset and builds into a more frenetic chorus, with Dylan and Ward carrying home the key line: “We can drive it home, with one headlight.” Next up is “Sixth Avenue Heartache”, a sure-fire smash on a record that’s full of potential hits. It’s one of those songs that seems like it has been around forever because its melody is so memorable and its structure is so sound; yet it’s also delivered with the kind of fiery passion its chorus demands: “And the same black line that was drawn on you / Was drawn on me too / And now it’s pulling me in / Sixth Avenue Heartache.”

As the record continued, I kept waiting for a clinker, or even just an average song, to bring this one back from the stratosphere, but it never came. Which isn’t to say the pace doesn’t change — there’s a good balance of energized rockers such as “Angel On My Bike” and “The Difference” with more languid, country-influenced tunes such as “Josephine” and the closing “I Wish I Felt Nothing” (with its simple lament of resignation, “When you’re alone, it’s better, ‘cuz nobody knows you”).

What’s consistent throughout is the remarkable quality of the songs, and the punch with which the performances were captured (some credit for that is undoubtedly due to producer T Bone Burnett). Indeed, if every band put out a record this good their second time out, there’d be no need for the term “sophomore slump”.