By shelz.

It was an ambitious idea; a Lou Reed / Metallica concept album about the dissolute, emotionally vacant woman who served as main character in a pair of plays written at the turn of the 19^th century.  Their catalogues were disparate and the concept was about as lofty as either had attempted.  Interesting, right?  Well, expectations have led cerebral music fans astray.  The final product, Lulu, is a rambling and monotonous disappointment.I’m sure few believed there was a place in headbanger heaven for bands that absorbed obscure German literature into their playbook, but artistic evolution is a beautiful thing, even if it is a bit strange.  Lulu, however is hella light on the beauty, and almost all strange.

All of the songs save for the opening track, “Brandenburg Gate,” are entirely too long.  The closer, “Junior Dad,” weighs in at almost 20 minutes. The last six are one note.  I kid you not.  The crew threw standard song construction to the wind, instead employing droning loops of guitar, punctuated with interfering drums and mortifying lyricism.

One major problem with the album is the confusion the lyrics will cause anyone who isn’t familiar with the Frank Wedekind’s Lulu plays, which would be just about…well…everyone.  Reed is speaking from a female perspective most of the time and I’m sure no one knows why.  The opening line of “Brandenburg Gate” seals the sad fate of the befuddled listener.

I would cut my legs and tits off/  When I think of Boris Karloff and Kinski / In the dark of the moon

What?

I’m familiar with Wedekind’s work and I have no idea why anyone would be cutting their tits off, let alone thinking about two actors who had yet to start acting when these plays were written. Kinski hadn’t even been born yet.  Artistic license, yes I know.  But hell, if you’re going to be all haughty with your music you could at least get the dates right.

It gets worse.

Reed moves from the confusing to the disgusting in “Mistress Dread.”  Seven minutes of a tedious, speedy riff with only subtle changes, topped with Lou begging to be fisted, beat bloody and forced to eat poop.   “Dragon” starts with an atmospheric holding pattern that doesn’t break into any semblance of melody until three minutes into the song, only for Reed to ramble on about this woman’s armpits and vulva.  The most interesting part of this piece is some squiggly guitar work that sounds like the squeegee guy cleaning your windshield.  He did coin a new nickname for the vajayjay though: a Kotex jukebox.  You heard it here first.  Last but not least is Reed’s decision in “Pumping Blood” to sing about “colored men’s dicks.”  I mean I know Lou Reed is almost 70, but colored? Someone take this dude to an NAACP meeting or something.

Sigh.

Then to add another problem to the pile, Reed doesn’t seem to always respond in kind to the cadence of the tracks, almost as if he recorded without his foundation and then just threw it on top after he was done. And honestly, the rickety wavering of his delivery is just hard to listen to.

Are there any redeeming qualities you ask?  “The View” and “Iced Honey” sound like actual songs; just not good ones.  That’s about it.

As with any project that deviates wildly from the beaten path, some folks will claim to “understand” Lulu completely and question the intellect of those who do not.  That’s fine. Years from now some artsy weirdo apologists may even herald this as a significant piece of misunderstood art. That’s fine too.  It still wont make this album any better.

Metallica’s fans have been with them through all of their perceived missteps; from the Load era haircuts and GQ makeovers to Napster-gate to the head scratcher that was St. Anger.  I just don’t know how much more they can take.  Lou Reed is one thing.  He’s always been strange.  Metallica, however, has some serious explaining to do.

out of 5

Follow shelz. on Twitter @ http://twitter.com/shelzp

Follow Us on Twitter @ http://twitter.com/planetill

Join Us on the Planet Ill Facebook Group for more discussion

Follow us on Networked Blogs