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Robin DiMaggio - Blue (Favored Nations)
Hmm... this is another album I'd have to put in the 'emptiness of
virtuosity' category. While I'm not suggesting that everyone who excels at
playing their instrument makes bad music (I'm a prog-rock fan, after all), it
seems that too often musicians seem to lose all or most of their taste (Neal
Schon, anyone?) in the quest to perfect their musicianship. Although nowhere
near as bad as Neal Schon's last snooze-fest, Robin DiMaggio's album does
paint a rather sad portrait of a talented musician who, somewhere along the
way, seems to have lost sight of the idea that musicians are supposed to make
music that engages the listener on some level.
One interesting similarity between the aforementioned Schon and DiMaggio
is that their forays into overproduced easy listening music ultimately do
little to show off their alleged virtuosity. In fact, I never would have
thought that DiMaggio is an extremely respected drummer (or at least he seems
to be in various drummer magazines) simply from listening to this album.
However, most of the songs on this album have a spark of something
interesting in them, but it seems that through the course of each song the
interesting factor gets diluted by cheese. In particular, there are several
songs with interesting Eastern influences ("Child of Bedouin," "La Nuit
d'Oran") that get ruined by diva-esque posturing by the singer and cheesy
production, respectively. "Child of the Bedouin" also features some
embarrassing spoken foreign language passages, as does the Brazilian "Poema
do Brasil." Don't get me wrong, I don't mind people speaking foreign
languages (I cringe to think of how ridiculous it would sound with English
spoken passages), but the passages in question sound like they come from bad
foreign soap operas, just judging from the melodramatic tone of voice alone.
The larger problem with all these songs is that none of them seem to go
anywhere. As a theoretically talented drummer, one would think that DiMaggio
would know how to infuse his grooves with life, vitality, and momentum.
Instead, they just crawl along. Worse still, he often uses a simple
unchanging percussion loop throughout the whole song, a particularly curious
choice for a drummer's solo album. It would be laudable, true, if the songs
really needed such a loop, but it seems like such songs only exist on the
album to show his modesty. That's just as boring to me, the listener, as him
showing me his virtuosity.
The album's most interesting aspect is the way it moves through many
different genres. The more exotic styles of music seem somewhat interesting,
even with DiMaggio's rather bland approach. But in the styles of music that
I'm far more familiar with than I want, DiMaggio's utter of lack of common
musical sense and taste is painfully apparent. Particular offenders are the
so-lame-it's-funny "poetic rap" remake of Toto's "Africa" (who thought this
would be a good idea in the first place?) and the dance/pop number "It
Happened to Me," which features one of the most misplaced guitar solos ever,
courtesy of, oddly enough, Steve Vai.
Of all the "emptiness of virtuosity" albums I've heard, this is one of
the most "empty." It is not, like Neal Schon's last album, so bad that it's
amusing in a "Plan 9 From Outer Space"-type way, but in a way that's almost
worse. As a whole, it fails to connect with the listener on any level, not
even inspiring the listener's contempt. Like most of the grooves, it's simply
there, seemingly content in it's own mediocrity. Mr. DiMaggio, I'm sure you
can do better than this.
~Jon Murphree~
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