Gavin Rossdale was wise to let six years lapse between the implosion of alt-frauds Bush and embarking on a solo career. He learned the hard way just how bad a taste he’d left in the public’s mouth when his short-lived follow-up band, Institute, failed to make any headway at all in spite of getting plenty of exposure opening for U2 on their Vertigo Tour in 2004; people were simply not ready or willing to subject themselves to Rossdale’s form of generic pantomime. Could it be ready now – if he changes is up a bit? What the singer’s solo debut illustrates beyond the shadow of a doubt (if everyone hadn’t figured this out already) is that Gavin Rossdale doesn’t actually have a bone in his body that isn’t on loan from the mainstream music business. For Wanderlust , the singer has been reinvented (the verdict is still out on whether or not he did it himself) as the new doe-eyed heartthrob of the adult contemporary casual airwaves with the strained and tortured vocals that have been his hallmark for over a decade now augmented with just a hint more professionally trained melodic sense.
It sounds strange to say it, but the name that comes to mind most comparable to the sound of Wanderlust is Phil Collins; like the former Genesis drummer, Rossdale has traded every aspect of the music he’s made since Bush first appeared in 1994 that may have been (mistakenly) construed as new, original or simply ‘not derivative’ for a series of static, formulaic and blessedly forgettable songs/ Tracks including “Forever May You Run,” “Drive,” “Love Remains The Same” and “Another Night In The Hills” all play like a series of mid-paced, mid-tempo mud to sit at an arena show and swig Metamucil to.
Assisted here by such studio greats as Josh Freese and producer Bob Rock as well as former Bush compatriot Chris Traynor further adds to the aged and competently professional vibe of Wanderlust (it also handily lays the argument about whether or not everyone can be bought for the right price to rest) that seems destined to draw a multitude of disgusted sneers. At no point does the record progress into any territory other than the easy-to-listen-to pseudo rock that most of the people who would buy this album on name recognition alone once abhorred. It calls into question what market Rossdale is making a play for; of the former fan base he’d amassed, the only ones that might pick this record up are those that want to believe their record collection isn’t as bad as their kids say it is.
For more information, go to http://www.gavinrossdale.com/ or http://www.myspace.com/gavinrossdale
