Adam Green is back with his fourth solo album, another Molotov cocktail with a little less bathroom banter, a little more drugs. Clearly, he’s out there — but after listening to Jacket Full of Danger about ten times, it’s starting to grow on me. Like a hard-to-kill fungus. Yet, I must give credit where credit is due. This guy not only takes risks, he jumps off the cliff with a worn-out cord – and who knows when that rope will completely sever, but for now he’s enjoying the ride. Whether or not anyone else is, is definitely the question.
Green’s not new to the circuit. The former Moldy Peach has traveled in the very hippest hops dressed as Peter Pan or something of the fairy tale sort. But don’t be fooled by his boyish looks - he will corrupt and offend in the boldest of manners. He was anti-folk with the Moldy Peaches and he’s anti-everything since going solo four years ago. Well, not everything – he’s definitely pro-drugs, a super-firm believer in all mind-altering substances that exist on this Earth. And he’ll make sure you know that on not one or two occasions, but several of the tracks on JFOD.
The CD opens up with “Pay The Toll”, which sounds like Glen Campbell on drugs. Except he wrote much better music on his drugs than Green does. And Mr. Campbell didn’t ask us repeatedly, “How many drugs does it take to find something to do?” (Like write a good song, perhaps?) Fairly forgettable.
“Hollywood Bowl” unwraps Jerry Lee Lewis-style and morphs into something Neil Diamond-ish. “Ish” is the key word here (or is it kitsch?) It’s perky and ultra-corny but if you like Neil Diamond, you’d be better off listening to the real McCoy.
The same can be said for “C-Birds” and “White Women” – Green’s attempt (correction: failed attempt) at resurrecting the Lizard King himself, Jim Morrison. On “C-Birds” the strange tiki-tiki chant in the background tempts me to sing “unga-chaka-unga-unga-chaka” from the seventies cornball hit, “Hooked On A Feeling”. “White Women” is a real charmer with Green droning, “You know I wanna bone you” and gets even better with a refrain of “F*ck, F*ck me baby”…oh, touché. Jim Morrison had more tact, even on an acid trip.