I've read review after review of Tricky's "Vulnerable", and they all seem to go like this: "Bleh, a mediocre effort from Tricky, watch out for those cover versions. It's really too bad, since Tricky's such a singular talent and "Maxinquaye" was the most bloody brilliant awesome album maybe ever, I wonder if he'll ever regain that form?"

I never understood the "Maxinquaye" fetish. Actually, I never understood the entire Bristol fetish. The Big Three were good, even bordering on great, but I couldn't get behind the deification movement. I think my love for beats peaks at 130 bpm, and falls off logarithmically in both directions. For that claustrophobic feel, I lean toward isolationist ambient, it was true then and it still is. Aphex's "SAW II" : listen and learn. Nevertheless, the Bristol legacy is a strong one, even though it is oft-ignored these days. Everyone remembers the mid-90's as the years of Britpop, but "Maxinquaye" earned Album of the Year (1995) in *both* NME and Melody Maker, and Portishead's "Dummy" earned top honours in MM for 1994. [side note: "Maxinquaye" actually tied with "Different Class" for the top spot in MM, but they *were* the better mag then, you know] [side note #2: everyone remembers 1989 as the year of the Roses + Mondays, but NME picked De La Soul's "3 Feet High and Rising" for Album of the Year, and MM picked The Cure's "Disintigration". Once in a while, when reading the scores of contemporary Madchester reminiscences, remind yourself of this ironic tidbit. I always do. But British music was so kick-ass after 1989, it earned the right to be inward-looking, ego-centric, and to rewrite history a smidgen]

I thought Tricky's most interesting period was "Angels with Dirty Faces". He bowled me over at Lollapalooza 1997 with his intensity. The rock instruments, mantra-beats, and vocal work not unlike that of a possessed preacher were the last things I expected from Tricky. I figured he'd pigeonholed himself into a world of ganja and armageddon ramblings. Suddenly, it was a new world of speed and wildman rantings against record companies. He'd finally captured the rage he'd hinted at with his cover of "Black Steel", and his newfound mobilities from more active drugs had given him the volition to get all good and pissed off about stuff. Critics complained that the album was musically primitive, not even a chord change to imply he'd run through a cursory songwriting process. That's certainly a valid reason to dislike the album. But mantras must be built through a minimalist construction. And I enjoy a dose of minimalism with my paranoia (SAW II, yet again)!