“It was a long time for you, it was a long time for me, it’d be a long time for anyone, but looks like it was meant to be…”

* * * * *

I am, right now, listening to Chinese Democracy.

You could have bet me anything I own that I would never get to type that sentence. I’m staring at those words now, and I still can’t really believe it. My pilgrimage to Best Buy, the only store selling Axl Rose’s Xanadu-like project, on Sunday the 23rd was plagued with doubt and uncertainty. What if the months of buildup have been an elaborate hoax? What if Axl pulls a shit fit at the last minute and recalls the release because guitar solo number 83 needs just a little more reverb or something? What if the CD actually ships, but it’s blank?

I did not believe Chinese Democracy had actually seen the light of day until I’d played the entire thing through. And even now, with Rose’s surprising silence continuing unabated, I’m unsure. Is this the real Chinese Democracy? After 15 years of work, is Axl finally happy with it? Or did Geffen Records set an immutable deadline and force him to put this out? It sounds finished to me, but that’s a question no one but Axl Rose can answer. And he doesn’t seem to be talking.

Here is what I know. I have a CD in my collection that has the words “Guns,” “Roses,” “Chinese” and “Democracy,” complete with the contraction “N’,” printed on the cover, and until someone tells me differently, I have to believe this is actually the finished product. I am, right now, listening to Chinese Democracy.

Seriously, holy shit. It’s really, truly here.

* * * * *

I was 13 years old when Appetite for Destruction came out.

I had just transferred to Mount Saint Charles Academy, a conservative Catholic school in Rhode Island. I was a churchgoing lad then, and I even had my very own godawful Christian rock band. (In retrospect, Godawful would have been a very good name for that outfit.) I was just starting my teenage metalhead phase, and I was listening to a lot of what I thought was heavy, important stuff. Poison, Motley Crue, Ratt, Dokken… in retrospect, some terrible, terrible bands. But at the time, I thought this was truly dangerous music.

Appetite for Destruction, the explosive opening salvo from Guns n’ Roses, slipped quietly into record stores in July of 1987, but we didn’t really hear about it for almost a year. I was well into 8th grade when the video for “Welcome to the Jungle” started its assault on MTV. Immediately, I could tell this band was the dark mirror of all the other bands I liked. This was seriously sleazy, ass-kicking stuff.

While Poison and their ilk were singing about fun and sex, Guns n’ Roses populated their debut album with tales of drug abuse, violence and paranoia. But there were also rays of sunlight – the still-awesome “Sweet Child o’ Mine,” for example, and the underrated “Think About You.” I knew, even at 13, that this was a monolithic album, one for the ages. Of course, I also would only listen to it through headphones, afraid my parents would catch me with it, while I counted instances of the word “fuck,” as if it were some mark of quality.

I understand now the real difference between Appetite and the records I was listening to at the time (and even afterwards). Where those bands were talking about fantasies, about the loose groupies they met backstage or the kind of eternal, spotless love that only exists in fiction, Guns n’ Roses were talking about real people. Michelle Young, of “My Michelle” fame, is a real person, who really was hooked on cocaine at the time, and whose father really did work in the porn industry. It was like the difference between DJ Jazzy Jeff and the Fresh Prince, and Public Enemy. Not that there’s anything wrong with making up your own world, but describing the one outside your window in terrifying detail is always more jarring.

For a time, Guns n’ Roses were one of the best bands in the world to me. “Patience,” off of their 1988 EP Lies, only cemented their reputation – here was a fragility and beauty not really heard on Appetite, another side to this band. And when I heard they were set to release a double album, in the early weeks of my senior year of high school… well, I was heavily into Queen at the time, so an over-the-top gesture like Use Your Illusion went over very well with me.

I remember the shockwave the album sent through my class. I recall the panic settling in as the long school day dragged on. Could I get to the record store before the album sold out? Would there be enough copies? (Of course there were, but I didn’t know any better – I believed the hype.) Could this be the defining masterpiece of my teenage years?

Use Your Illusion was two albums, and ran more than two and a half hours. It was a glorious mess, on which raw punk songs sat next to expansive epics and acoustic throwaways. It was the Guns n’ Roses equivalent of the White Album – there were no outtakes, everything recorded in these sessions made the final cut. It gets by on sheer ambition, and the fact that a surprising percentage of it is marvelous. Here was our first indication of just what kind of band Axl Rose envisioned – one that could do anything, could play all the music in his head.

But of course, the original Guns n’ Roses was a band, one that thrived on the push-pull tension between its megalomaniacal frontman and its down-to-earth guitarists, Slash and Izzy Stradlin. Some might say the best stuff on the first GnR records came from those two, particularly Stradlin, but I think it’s the battle between their rawness and Rose’s perfectionism that made it what it was. Appetite for Destruction remains one of the best debut albums ever because of that back-and-forth, and Use Your Illusion depicted it coming apart at the seams.

We had no idea, at the time, just how far apart those seams would split. We also didn’t know, as we cracked up at “Get in the Ring,” marveled at Axl’s masterpieces “November Rain” and “Estranged,” and wondered just what the hell he was thinking with “My World,” that this would be the last new album of Guns n’ Roses music for 17 years.

* * * * *

Here is a brief list of everything Guns n’ Roses has released since 1991: An album of punk covers, in 1993. A live album, in 1999. A new song, called “Oh My God,” that same year. A greatest hits album, with a new (and horrible) cover of “Sympathy for the Devil,” in 2004. That’s it.

For 15 of those 17 years, Axl Rose has been working on Chinese Democracy. He’s 46 now, which means he’s devoted a full third of his life to this project. His Howard Hughes impression during that time has been remarkable – he’s been a recluse, surfacing only sporadically to say, “We’re working on it,” or, “It’s almost done.” Chinese Democracy has consumed Rose while all his former bandmates have walked away. Izzy’s got a solo career going (nine albums and counting!), while Slash, bassist Duff McKagan and drummer Matt Sorum formed Velvet Revolver.

In their place, Rose has brought in an ever-changing roster of studio musicians – basically, people who will follow his orders and play what he wants them to. The push and pull of the original Guns n’ Roses is entirely gone. Axl Rose has won the tug of war, and Chinese Democracy is his attempt to get the music in his head down on disc. To that end, he’s recorded and re-recorded and mixed and started over and re-recorded and tweaked and obsessed over every tiny detail of this thing. And he’s done it at his own pace, spending whatever he likes – some estimates put Chinese Democracy’s final cost in the neighborhood of $13 million.

Along the way, it’s become an industry-wide joke. Entire careers have started and flamed out in the time it’s taken Rose to finish his work. Chinese Democracy has been called the most expensive album never made, since many, including yours truly, had given up hope that it would ever see the light of day. Sporadic public appearances by Axl and whatever group of hired hands he was calling Guns n’ Roses that week didn’t help matters – Rose’s out-of-breath performance at the MTV Awards in 2004 was just embarrassing.

It’s impossible to listen to Chinese Democracy without thinking about all of this. Nothing, let alone an album of music, should take 15 years to complete. No single record should cost $13 million. No matter what this album actually sounds like, it can’t possibly live up to the expectations that have been set for it. Half of the audience for this record expects it to save rock ‘n’ roll, cure cancer and lead humanity into a new golden age. The other half expects it to suck beyond all reason, and is just waiting to see Axl fall flat on his face.

And I think the surprise of Chinese Democracy is very simple: it’s an album of 14 songs. No more, no less. It comes modestly packaged in a normal jewel case, with an understated cover shot of a bicycle leaning against a wall. The booklet contains no explanations, just pictures, lyrics and credits. It will not save the world, nor will it suck us all into a bottomless pit of despair. It’s an album of 14 songs.

So let’s talk about those songs.

* * * * *

But let’s tackle the album as a whole first. If you’re going to listen to this album (which I definitely recommend), you have to get one thing straight up front: Axl Rose doesn’t care what Guns n’ Roses means to you. This album is all about what Guns n’ Roses means to him. And if Chinese Democracy is anything to go by, it can mean absolutely anything – except, of course, the sleazy gutter-rock the original band was known for.

By now, you’ve all likely heard the title track, which kicks off the record. It’s a simple yet appealing stomper, a modest song that sounds like any modern rock band could have knocked it out in two days, right? Just for fun, and so you can see just how much work Axl put into this thing, here’s the complete list of credits for “Chinese Democracy”:

Guitars: Paul Tobias, Robin Finck, Buckethead, Ron “Bumblefoot” Thal, Richard Fortus. Bass: Tommy Stinson. Drums: Frank Ferrer. Keyboards: Dizzy Reed, Chris Pitman, Azl Rose. Background vocals: Dizzy Reed, Tommy Stinson. Sub bass: Chris Pitman. Guitar solos: Robin Finck, Buckethead. Intro: Eric Caudieux, Caram Costanzo. Vocals: Axl Rose. Arrangement: Axl Rose, Paul Tobias, Sean Beavan. Digital editing: Eric Caudieux, Caram Costanzo, Axl Rose, Sean Beavan. Additional guitar processing: Chris Pitman.

That’s right, five guitar players. Three keyboard players. Four guys credited with digital editing. Three people to arrange a song with four chords in it. All of this work done in pieces over at least a decade. And this is one of the simplest tunes on here – you should see the credits for “There Was a Time,” or “Madagascar.”

With all this, you’d think Chinese Democracy would sound over-produced, stuffed too full of sound. Amazingly, you’d be wrong. Oh, there’s a lot here – pianos, choirs, string sections, a hundred guitar solos, armies of backing vocals, samples, synths, electronic drums, even a Flamenco guitar or two. Tons of stuff. And I will admit that my first listen through left me exhausted – there are no subtle, reserved moments on this album. Every song is bigger than every other song, every one reaches for the limit of what the studio can do for it.

But to my ears, it all sounds about right. This album is well-produced, not over-produced. It juggles all its elements very well, and the melodies, the songs, are always the focal point. One of the most surprising things about Chinese Democracy is how compact it all is. Sure, it’s 72 minutes long, but that’s less than one Use Your Illusion volume. Its longest song is just shy of seven minutes – there are no “Coma”-like patience-testers. Even “Madagascar,” by far the most self-important, most epic thing here, clocks in at a modest 5:37.

This should have been a shambling monster of an album, constructed by a Frankenband under the direction of an obsessive madman. But astonishingly, it all works. I couldn’t tell you whether this album really took all 15 years to get right, but as far as the overall sound goes, Axl clearly knew just what he was doing.

* * * * *

So, how about those songs?

By and large, they’re very good indeed. I think 15 years of work deserves a track-by-track review, especially since very few of these songs sound similar to one another. There are sounds and songs on here you’d never associate with Guns n’ Roses, linked only by the inimitable voice of Axl Rose. It’s so good to hear that voice again, especially considering the workout he gives it here – this is what you get when you have 15 years of vocal takes to choose from.

In the ‘90s, Rose had been talking about taking his band in an industrial metal direction, and the first two songs (easily the worst on the album) are the main evidence. The album opens with its title track, and starts, therefore, with a minute and a half of atmospheric buildup. The sun-through-the-clouds guitar part is awesome the first time you hear it, announcing itself as what you’ve been waiting for, whether or not it is. The song itself is pretty good, really, but it stays in once place for its whole running time. And I’ve heard it probably 30 times now, and I still couldn’t tell you what it’s about.

“Shackler’s Revenge,” meanwhile, is the only song here that follows through on Rose’s threat to incorporate Nine Inch Nails and nu-metal sounds. Buckethead’s solos are alien and wonderful, but the song is average at best, with a not-quite-there chorus. It’s not awful, but it’s terribly dated, and if you’re thinking at this point that Rose might have wasted a decade and a half, I wouldn’t blame you.

But keep listening, because the next song, “Better,” starts the renaissance. This is a great pop song. The trippy, beat-happy intro, with its falsetto vocals, gives way to a terrific power-pop guitar part, and some superb vocals from Rose. He’s rarely sounded better than he does on the verses here, which were obviously recorded some time ago – the choruses sound like modern-day Rose, reaching for notes out of his grasp, and giving it a ragged quality that really works. Add in a complex bridge and a couple of melodic guitar solos, and wow.

Rose indulges his inner Elton John on piano ballad “Street of Dreams,” but as it goes along, it just keeps getting better. By the time you get to the final chorus, it’s a monster. Three people are credited with the orchestral arrangement, but it’s subtly mixed into the background, Rose’s vocals remaining in the spotlight the entire time. “If the World” is a surprising knockout, all slinky electronic drums and James Bond style. It’s a song like nothing else Rose has ever done – it combines Spanish guitars, wah-wah bass, heavy industrial-sounding electric guitars, and a sky-high vocal that he absolutely nails.

“There Was a Time” is too long, and its second half is drowned in guitar solos. But the song itself is solid, rising and falling like the little epic it is. This one and “Madagascar” are the only ones I could consider excessive, but despite the armies of keyboards, the full orchestra, the 15 Axls singing at once, and the electronic and real drums battling it out, this song stays pretty well grounded. It was a mistake, however, to sequence the similar “Catcher in the Rye” directly after it – that song’s extended “na-na-na” coda is great in isolation, but wearying as part of the whole.

The second half crashes open with “Scraped,” one of the most memorable. Over a pummeling guitar line, Rose sings about how unstoppable he is – as you might expect, most of this album is about the process of making this album, and about the people who crossed Axl along the way. At 3:30, “Scraped” is the shortest thing here, but it packs a lot of punch, and the a capella opening, with its choirs of Axls, is an unexpected surprise. “Riad n’ the Bedouins” keeps up the pace with a jackhammer riff and a killer chorus – this is the closest Chinese Democracy gets to the old GnR vibe.

That vibe is then obliterated by “Sorry,” the most musically interesting thing here. It’s almost a dirge, slow and creepy, until the thick guitars come in on the chorus. That chorus inverts your expectations – “I’m sorry for you, not sorry for me.” The lyrics to this one are almost a sequel to “Get in the Ring,” and could be about anyone who Rose imagines has tried to hold him down over the last 15 years. This is the song with the Mexican vampire accent on one line, which I might not have noticed if it hadn’t been pointed out to me – more jarring is the line “I’ll kick your ass like I said that I would,” delivered over one of the more Pink Floyd-like sections of the song. This one is fascinating.

The record’s one moment of levity is “I.R.S.,” another swell pop song that finds Axl threatening a wayward lover with several federal agencies: “Gonna call the president, gonna call a private eye, gonna get the I.R.S., gonna need the F.B.I.” Sounds silly, but it works well, especially the slinky acoustic sections between the verses. But that’s the last bit of fun you’ll have listening to this, and there’s still three songs to go.

Ah, the closing trilogy. I’m back and forth, but most times I’ve listened to Chinese Democracy, the last three songs have stood up as my favorites. The final act begins with “Madagascar,” which hasn’t changed much since Rose and his band performed it at the MTV Awards four years ago. Ignore the cheesy keyboard opening – this thing is mammoth, full of strings and horns and layers of guitar. On first listen, it seems to go nowhere, and it takes some time to realize that “I can’t find my way back, my way any more” is the central line. But Rose’s vocals are center stage, and they carry the song.

Of course, there’s the middle section, which incorporates quotes from Martin Luther King Jr’s “I Have a Dream” speech, and several movies, including Mississippi Burning, Seven and Casualties of War. And yes, there’s that damned “failure to communicate” line from Cool Hand Luke again. What this bit has to do with the rest of the song, I’ll never know, but it provides at least some clue as to what Rose thinks “Madagascar” is about. This whole thing should be a mess, and it comes closer than anything else on Democracy, but somehow, it hangs together.

If you think “Madagascar” is self-consciously epic, hang on for “This I Love,” a genuine Freddie Mercury moment. It’s a sad piano waltz that includes some of Rose’s most nakedly emotional lines – “I’ve searched the universe and found myself within her eyes.” It also sports Rose’s best vocals on the album, on a song that’s clearly a labor of love. It gets huge by the end, with strings (arranged by Rose) and a soaring guitar solo. This is the song I think Rose wanted “November Rain” to be.

Chinese Democracy ends with “Prostitute,” a song that rises above its name to serve as a statement of purpose. It’s all about sticking to your guns, not “living with fortune and shame.” It’s also a terrific mid-tempo mini-suite, nimbly skipping from section to section. The last words are “perversion and pain,” oddly enough, and then the gorgeous piano and strings coda brings us out of Rose’s little world. I couldn’t have imagined a more perfect conclusion, honestly.

Taken as a whole, Chinese Democracy knocks it out of the park more often than it misses. It’s surprisingly angry in places, and deliriously self-obsessed, but it’s musically intricate, impressively produced, and contains some fantastic performances, particularly those of its crazy corn-rowed visionary. This is not the Guns n’ Roses you remember, but it does what it sets out to do very well. This is the music in Axl Rose’s head – insular, massive, paranoid, and oddly beautiful. Only Rose can tell us if the finished product was worth all the work, but separated from its history, Chinese Democracy is mostly a triumph.

* * * * *

“Seems like forever and a day… If my intentions are misunderstood, please be kind, I’ve done all I should…”

* * * * *

But you can’t separate this album from its history, can you?

I recently saw what I believe will be my movie of the year – Charlie Kaufman’s Synecdoche, New York. This film is about a lot of things, but at its core, it’s about a man who works on one piece of art for decades, trying to get it right, because he wants it to symbolize everything, reflect as much of real life back as it can. And in the end, what he ends up with is real life, all of it, and it proves to be an impossible project to finish. It drags on and on, with no audience, just the pursuit of perfect meaning.

Other writers have pointed out the similarity as well, but I found myself thinking of Axl Rose, locked away in a California studio, trying to make the most perfect album possible. And I thought of the famous quote about art never being finished, merely abandoned. I wonder what the magical last ingredient for Chinese Democracy was, the final tweak that made Rose say, after 15 years, “Okay, I’m done.” I hope it wasn’t the Mexican vampire accent.

Is this album worth it, after so long? Can it be? I don’t know. Here’s what I can tell you. When I was 13, blues-based rock ‘n’ roll did it for me – in fact, it was pretty much the only music I listened to. And Axl Rose and the original Guns n’ Roses provided that for me, in better and sharper quantities than I had heard it. When I was 17, my tastes had expanded – I’ve already mentioned my love of Queen, and of huge, well-produced epics with that classic rock edge. And again, Guns n’ Roses provided that for me, with Use Your Illusion.

I’m 34 now, and everything’s different. I am struggling to remember the last blues-based rock song I listened to and enjoyed. My tastes now are more expansive, and though I still love a good melody above all else, I listen to and enjoy music of all stripes. My favorite albums are the ones that take themselves seriously, construct their own little worlds, and work overtime to invite me into those worlds. And again, Axl Rose has given me exactly what I want. It’s like we took similar paths, and he had to wait until I could appreciate an album like Chinese Democracy before releasing it.

It’s still unlike any other album I own. I haven’t heard anything this unironically grand in a long time, and I expect much of the 15-year studio session was geared toward deciding just how much was too much, and then tiptoeing right up to that line. I don’t know if it actually took 15 years, but it sounds like it did. An album like this is beyond concepts like “good” and “bad,” I think, but it’s far better than I expected, given the circumstances.

Still, I can understand the disappointment. It is, in the end, an album of 14 songs. And yet, you can tell by the amount of type I’ve expended on it that I know it’s more than that. It is an event in my life, a milestone, as it is for a lot of people. Chinese Democracy was created in total isolation from its cultural impact – Axl doesn’t care what it means to us. And now that it’s here, arriving like a thief in the night, we all have to decide just where it fits into our lives, if it does.

Only Rose can speak for his 15 years. Mine have taken me in directions I didn’t expect, and broadened my horizons beyond measure. For me, Chinese Democracy has dotted those years – I first heard the title in 1996, I think, while working at Face Magazine. Everything’s different now. But I approach Chinese Democracy not hoping it will take me back to my youth, but that it will help me look forward, and help me understand my own tastes and obsessions. Here at the end of 2008, one of my childhood heroes has returned to tell me about how life can change us, and about how it’s sometimes worth it to hold on to your vision until you think you’ve realized it.

I’ve been waiting 15 years for Chinese Democracy. The finished product is nothing like I thought it would be when I was 19. But then, neither is my life. Time changes us, changes everything we are. You can say this is not Guns n’ Roses, and you’d be right. But it is Guns n’ Roses, as much as we are all the same people we were 15 years ago. What is Chinese Democracy about to me? It’s about how much I’ve changed, and how much I haven’t.

Your mileage may vary. There’s no disputing, however, that it’s a miracle this album exists at all. I can’t imagine spending a third of my life working on anything. Now there’s only one important question left, the one that faces all artists once they tie that last bow on their latest work. I have a million other questions for Axl Rose, but really, this is the only one that matters.

What’s next?

See you in line Tuesday morning.

This is my least favorite kind of column to write. The limbo kind.

There’s really only one album I want to talk to you about this week, and that’s the long-delayed, I-still-can’t-believe-it’s-real monstrosity called Chinese Democracy. After 15 years of work, Axl Rose has finally delivered, and I’d love to tell you all what I think of it. However, it’s not yet Sunday the 23rd, and Democracy has not found its way here yet. (And I refuse to write a review based on the album’s MySpace stream, although you’re welcome to hear it yourself.)

It’s also not yet Tuesday the 25th, officially the last major new music day of the year. We’ve got new ones from Kanye West, Scott Weiland, David Byrne and Brian Eno, an EP from Coldplay, some more electronic doodlings from Paul McCartney in his Fireman guise, a new set of demos from Rivers Cuomo, a remix record from Moby, and a three-CD box set of ‘60s stuff from Frank Zappa. That all sounds great, doesn’t it? I haven’t heard any of it yet.

And! I’m still waiting for my copy of the deluxe reissue of Daniel Amos’ 1987 opus Darn Floor Big Bite. This was a pivotal album, not only in the history of DA and their brilliant leader, Terry Taylor, but in that alternate history of the music biz that took place in the Christian ghetto. You’ve never heard an album quite like Darn Floor. Unfortunately, I’ve never heard the remaster, or the bonus content, so I can’t babble on about that.

So there’s nothing left but to scrounge around in my 2008 CD collection and find some gems I never reviewed. Problem is, there just aren’t many of those. At this point in the year, my top 10 list is fairly well set (barring, of course, something unexpectedly amazing on Tuesday). I’ve talked about every life-changing record I heard in 2008, and the rest, like most music, kind of slipped by me without leaving much of an impression. I’m not sure what I’d say about most of the stuff I bought, although the 52 best of them will get their brief moment in the sun on December 31, also known as Fifty Second Week. (Check the archive for details.)

Don’t worry, though, I’ve thought of something. I have a couple of fairly recent CDs, one feted by the music press and one criminally ignored. (Guess which one I like better.) Neither of these discs rocked my world, but they’re worth hearing, and hence worth talking about. Make no mistake, though – this is a limbo column, and the flood starts next week. I think I know what I’m writing about each week until the end of the year. That’s a good feeling. But if I’m surprised, that will be an equally good feeling.

* * * * *

I think I can safely say, five albums in, that I don’t really get Snow Patrol.

I’ve tried, believe me. The first two albums of theirs I heard, 2003’s Final Straw and 2006’s Eyes Open, came accompanied by a slew of glowing notices from otherwise trustworthy critics. So I bit, and both times I came away bored and puzzled. It’s pleasant enough stuff, this pretty noise Gary Lightbody and his crew makes, but there are half a million bands who do the same thing better. Plus, I’m an avowed melody addict (there’s a 12-step program), and I didn’t find a single compelling hook on either album.

Couple that with the inescapable plague that was “Chasing Cars” after its appearance on Grey’s Anatomy, and I was about done with Snow Patrol. I’d even gone back to pick up their first two albums, and found them similar, if louder and sloppier. I was totally done, finished. You won’t find me buying any more Snow Patrol CDs, ever again. Wait, what? The new one’s really good? An A from the Onion AV Club? A swell review from Entertainment Weekly? Allmusic calls it their best work yet?

Dammit!

All right, fine, so I broke down and bought A Hundred Million Suns, the band’s pretentiously-titled fifth album. One thing that sold me – from the name to the cover art to the song titles, everything here pointed towards a Definitive Statement, towards a band working hard to deliver not only the best record they’ve ever made, but the best record anyone’s ever made. The second thing that did it was “The Lightning Strike,” the final track – it’s a 16-minute, three-part epic, which is a very un-Snow Patrol thing to do. I was curious, okay? I thought I was out, and they sucked me back in.

Happily, A Hundred Million Suns is Snow Patrol’s best album, as close to a Definitive Statement as I think we have any right to expect from these boys. Unhappily, a good chunk of it remains boring and lifeless to these ears. There has been significant improvement from the repetitive gauze of Eyes Open, but that improvement is entirely in the sound and feel of this record, not the quality of the songs that comprise it. Lightbody has once again turned in a bunch of circular tunes based around unimaginative guitar lines and elementary chords, with no real melodies to speak of.

The best songs on Suns are the quieter, moodier ones. “Lifeboats,” “The Golden Floor,” “Set Down Your Glass,” “The Planets Bend Between Us” – these songs revolve around acoustic guitars and atmosphere, and their simple melodies work very well. When Lightbody chooses to rock, however, the weaknesses of his songwriting come to the fore. “Take Back the City” is pretty boring, but nowhere near as rough a slog as “Engines,” or “Please Just Take These Photos From My Hands.” (Great title, by the way.) The production, handled once again by Jacknife Lee, does its best to pop fireworks in front of your face, but they’re not quite distracting enough.

But then, there is “The Lightning Strike.” It’s made up of three smaller songs, all segued together into a seamless suite, and here, I can somehow forgive Lightbody’s repetitive nature. “What If This Storm Ends” is just four chords over and over, but it does a terrific job of building tension over the suite’s first four minutes, as strings and brass wail away in the background. “The Sunlight Through the Flags” weaves a disarming web of pianos and guitars, and finale “Daybreak” lives up to its title, spreading rays of sunlight in a slow burn. It does end up sounding like Snow Patrol, but after eight minutes of buildup, it works.

So the moral here is, repeat something for four minutes and it’s boring, but do it for 16 and it’s great? I don’t know what to tell you – “The Lightning Strike” is my favorite Snow Patrol song, capping off my favorite Snow Patrol album. Lightbody is still not writing compelling songs, to these ears, but this time, he’s latched onto the ambient potential in his style, delivering a slower, more deliberate, more peaceful sound.

I still don’t get the acclaim, mind you – these songs remain pretty basic, and there isn’t much feeling behind them. But with A Hundred Million Suns, Lightbody’s turned his weaknesses into… well, not exactly strengths, but not liabilities, either. I suppose only time will tell whether I buy album six, but I think I will need an actual change in direction, not another gleaming refinement, which album five is. This is, to me, as far as Snow Patrol can go with this sound.

* * * * *

I’ve decided that Kip Winger’s single biggest problem is the fact that his name is actually Kip Winger.

Suppose this “Kip Winger” was his stage identity, back when he donned skin-tight leather pants to lead his namesake band, Winger, through three albums of sex-metal in the late ‘80s and early ‘90s. And let’s say his real name was something that didn’t contain the word Winger. It would certainly make the transition to serious (and seriously talented) solo artist a lot easier.

Unfortunately, Kip Winger’s his actual name. So it doesn’t matter how good his solo records are, no one will give them even half a chance, because the guy once sung a song about 17-year-old girls while writhing around on stage, being extra careful not to mess up his crazy ‘80s hair. Oh, and also, because Stewart, the geeky neighbor on Beavis and Butthead, was always depicted wearing a Winger shirt. Okay, I know, it’s a lot to get over, but I promise you, Kip Winger’s solo albums are very, very good. And the new one, called From the Moon to the Sun, may well be his best.

Let’s get this out of the way, because I can hear you snickering already. Kip Winger is a fantastic musician. His previous solo albums have concentrated largely on progressive pop music, with a focus on the acoustic guitar (which he plays brilliantly). Here, though, Winger goes all out, showing off just what a songwriting force he is. Opener “Every Story Told” and follow-up “Nothing” are pretty similar to Kip Winger tracks of old, with jangly guitars and great melodies, but from there…

Take “Pages and Pages,” a six-minute near-ambient piano ballad with a melody out of the stratosphere. Just when you think it’s winding down, the percussion and strings pick up, and Alan Pasqua delivers a great piano solo. That’s followed by “Ghosts,” an honest-to-God string quartet ballet, written and arranged by Winger. It does nothing for the album’s momentum, but it’s a lovely, complex piece. And that’s followed by “In Your Eyes Another Life,” a spooky, orchestrated reunion song, featuring a choir of Kip Wingers on its chorus. Three songs, almost no similarities between them.

The second half of the album is one great acoustic pop song after another, as if Winger, satisfied that he’s showcased his diversity, decided to loosen up a little. “Runaway” is a mid-tempo breeze with a nice piano line and a good vocal. “California” starts with a bed of percussion and then lays down a nice synth-and-guitar foundation, Winger dropping a great little melody on top of it. The pace picks up for the Beatlesque “What We Are,” with its awesome string breaks, but it drops back down for the last few tunes. “Why” is a particular late-game highlight, with its soaring chorus.

If I have any complaints about From the Moon to the Sun, it’s that sometimes it sounds a bit too polished and precise. “One Big Game” is a bit of a letdown, too, with its lazy funk groove and synthetic saxophone sound. But that’s it. This is yet another surprising, sterling release. It doesn’t have the emotional anguish of Songs From the Ocean Floor, but its pure musical range more than makes up for that. If you’re interested in serious-minded progressive pop music at all, you should check out Kip Winger. I do wish that wasn’t his name, but he shouldn’t be penalized for it, especially when his music is this good. Go here.

* * * * *

So next week, Chinese Democracy. In the meantime, here’s how to get your free Dr. Pepper on Sunday the 23rd.

Just to recap, some genius at Dr. Pepper decided to offer free soda to everyone in America if the 15-years-in-the-making Chinese Democracy was released anytime in 2008. Axl Rose has called the company’s bluff, and now they’re making good. If you log onto www.drpepper.com on Sunday, you can download a coupon for a free 20-oz. bottle. But you can only get the coupon on Sunday, the album’s release date, and it’s only good through March. I don’t even like Dr. Pepper, I just think it’s funny that they bet against Axl, and he won.

Chinese Democracy is actually coming out. I can’t believe it.

See you in line Tuesday morning.

As many of you know, I’m a journalist in real life. Contrary to what some in my profession believe, good journalists strive to cover everything as impartially as we can. This means that even though I may feel a certain way about an issue, or an election, or a political party and its adherents, you should never be able to tell, and I should never tip my hand. Sometimes I’m successful at this, sometimes not – I’m a pretty opinionated guy. But I do try.

That’s why I’ve been suspiciously silent on this election we’ve just been through. I covered both the presidential and local races for my paper, speaking with Democrats and Republicans alike, and had they known which way I was pulling, I fear those conversations would not have been as easy. So forgive me for reserving public comment until after the election.

That said, holy crap. We just elected Barack Obama president of the United States.

I wasn’t really sure we would. In fact, I didn’t breathe easy until Obama took Ohio, remarkably early on election night. That’s when I realized this thing was really happening. Beyond the result, which I’m obviously pleased with, I’m proud of the voter turnout across the country. This was an important election, and I think people realized it.

You may remember that I used this column to implore voters to turn out for John Kerry four years ago. My disdain for George W. Bush’s administration has been well documented, and thankfully, that seems to be a bi-partisan disgust at this point. Four years ago, I spoke up, not because Kerry was the best candidate I’d ever seen – far, far from it – but because I knew the country would suffer under a second Bush term. And I was right.

I kept quiet this time partially because of the reasons stated above, which have only magnified for me in the last four years, but also because it seemed like my guy wasn’t going to need the help. His biggest ally turned out to be his opponent, John McCain, who ran a campaign so ludicrous it made Obama’s camp look like stone geniuses. From picking Governor Know-Nothing as his running mate, to suspending his campaign for a few hours as a publicity stunt, to suggesting the government should buy up all the bad mortgages in America while simultaneously calling his opponent a socialist… McCain deserved to lose.

Which is a shame, because the John McCain of four years ago was a much worthier candidate. He’s a genuine war hero, and for all his self-important “maverick” talk, he really has spent his career standing up for what he believes is right, even if it means going against his own party. I used to like John McCain, but after this election, I don’t even know who he is anymore.

So Obama was the only real choice, as far as I was concerned. But unlike in 2004, when Kerry left me feeling like I needed to rally the troops out of their desperation, I found it easy to like and support Barack Obama. Do I agree with him on everything? Of course not. Do I think he has a strong grasp on what makes this country great, and what can make it great again? I certainly do. As he is fond of saying, his story is one that could only happen in the United States of America, and it’s clearly given him a unique perspective, a vantage point from which to view this damaged land.

What did it for me was his “A More Perfect Union” speech, delivered during the height of the Jeremiah Wright controversy in March of this year. I might be out on a limb, but I think it was the finest political speech of my lifetime, and any man who can pen those words deserves a shot at realizing his vision, I think. (You can read and watch the speech here.)

It’s going to take a lot of work to dig us out of the hole the Bush administration put us in, and I fear many will be disappointed in President Obama at first. He doesn’t have a magic wand, and it will likely take his entire first term just to turn the economy around, if he manages even that. I’m keeping an eye on his early decisions, too – I’m not sure how I feel about the pick of Rahm Emanuel for chief of staff, for instance.

But Obama’s win is like a symbolic turning of the corner, like light breaking through the darkness. Talk to people in Illinois who know Obama, and served with him, and Republicans and Democrats alike will tell you he really believes in his message of hope and unity. After eight years of George W. Bush, what we need is a president who will work for all of us, not just the privileged few, not just the oil companies and campaign contributors. Will Obama be that president? I don’t know, but I hope so.

And for the first time in nearly a decade, that hope seems founded. And that’s a good feeling.

* * * * *

I can’t believe I’m about to type this next sentence, but here goes. In two weeks, I expect to review Chinese Democracy, the 15-years-in-the-making new Guns n’ Roses album. I’m more convinced than ever that this is actually going to happen now – I’ve heard clips from all 14 songs, seen reviews in Rolling Stone and other reputable magazines, and personally inquired at my local Best Buy. Provided Axl Rose doesn’t pull one of his patented shit fits, pulling this from the shelves at the last minute, we should have the product of his last decade and a half on the 23rd.

At the very least, Chinese Democracy offers an opportunity to talk about obsession. Listening to some of the finished product, it’s pretty clear that Rose has been obsessed with this album for a long time, tweaking and re-recording and getting everything just how he likes it. But there’s a fine line between being a perfectionist and allowing a project to consume your life. It’s a line many artists walk, and at least Rose finally managed (fingers crossed) to get his project out there, folly or not.

Although it only took half as long to finish, you might slot Christmas on Mars into that same category. For seven years, the members of the Flaming Lips have been working on this thing, a full-length feature film shot in leader Wayne Coyne’s back yard. We’ve been hearing about this forever – teaser trailers were released five years ago – and now it’s finally finished. Christmas on Mars is out now on DVD, following a short theatrical run, and it comes packaged with the Lips’ soundtrack on CD.

So what the hell is it, and why did it take seven years? Well, first let’s talk about the movie. Here is the best I can do as a short summation: imagine an equal mix of Eraserhead, Plan 9 from Outer Space and Miracle on 34th Street. (No, really, imagine that.) The movie is mostly black and white, and has that ‘50s B-movie sheen to it. It’s played deadly straight by people who are not actors (with a couple of exceptions), but even when it’s unintentionally funny, you get the sense it’s exactly what Coyne and his merry band want.

Plot? Well, here goes. The movie is about Christmas on a Mars colony. The crew of astronauts (played mainly by the band) experiences trouble with their gravity unit, and everything’s going badly. So to cheer up the crew, one of the men organizes a Christmas pageant. The only trouble is, the crew member meant to play Santa Claus kills himself. Meanwhile, a strange experiment in artificial birth is taking place, timed to happen at midnight Christmas day. (There’s lots of birth imagery in this movie, and this is, of course, a literal virgin birth.)

Coyne himself plays a powerful alien who wanders by – he keeps a spaceship in his mouth, you see – and ends up dressed in the Santa suit meant for the dead crewman. You have to see that to believe it. Oh, and there’s a vivid nightmare sequence (starring real actor Adam Goldberg) in which dozens of marching soldiers with vaginas for heads stomp on a baby’s skull. The film keeps switching back and forth between silly and disturbing, and somehow, even in black and white, it manages a psychedelic edge.

Overall, it’s a fascinating trip. Somehow, the Lips have managed to make a movie that captures visually the singular sound of their band. The film is ramshackle and eerie and dark and abruptly shiver-inducing, but at its core, it’s full of childlike wonder. Listen to The Soft Bulletin and Yoshimi Battles the Pink Robots, and that’s what comes out most strongly – this is a band full of wonder. Christmas on Mars is clearly the work of amateur filmmakers and actors, but it’s like the “sweded” versions of Ghostbusters and other movies made by Jack Black and Mos Def in Be Kind Rewind. It’s earnest and full of heart, which makes everything else not only forgivable, but lovable.

Now, about that soundtrack. I know what you’re expecting, but believe it or not, Christmas on Mars is a real movie, not an extended music video, and as such, the Lips have written a real score for it. The CD contains 30 minutes or so of instrumental goodness, mostly eerie soundscapes like opener “Once Beyond Hopelessness.” Coyne never sings a word (although there are wordless vocals here and there), and the primary instrument is spooky synthesizer. “Space Bible with Volume Lumps” comes closest to being a pop song, with its twittering beat and synth-trumpet blasts, but for the most part, this is transporting and atmospheric.

And it’s great. When it comes to the Lips, Coyne’s voice is the biggest sticking point for me – I love everything else about The Soft Bulletin, for example, and the chance to hear the band tackle their orchestral leanings full on without lyrics is a remarkable one. “In Excelsior Vaginalistic” (just take a minute to deal with that title) is a sweeping wonder, with a sound like sunrise breaking through the clouds, and “The Gleaming Armament of Marching Genitalia” (take another minute) is ominous and unstoppable. This music is as left-field and wonderful as the film it accompanies.

So was it worth seven years to complete Christmas on Mars? Ultimately, only Wayne Coyne can tell us that. Viewed one way, the finished product is ridiculous and amateurish. But the whole endeavor pulses with life and joy, even through the darkness – it’s like Ed Wood and Frank Capra collaborating on a sequel to 2001, but with more vaginas and fetuses. There’s nothing quite like watching someone’s dream come true, however, and this is clearly a labor of love for the Lips. Nothing beats good old-fashioned heart and soul, and this project practically overflows with it. It’s a delightful early Christmas present for very strange people, and I’m glad to count myself among them.

Next week, I hope to catch up a little bit, before dedicating columns to Chinese Democracy and the re-release of Daniel Amos’ masterpiece, Darn Floor Big Bite.

See you in line Tuesday morning.

A little rant about television to get us started this week.

I really should have been talking up Pushing Daisies more than I have, and I fear it’s too late. This is yet another great, odd show from the mind of Bryan Fuller, who created Dead Like Me and Wonderfalls. Like those shows, Pushing Daisies is devilishly hard to describe – the best I can say is it’s like watching a full-blooded Tim Burton movie every week.

You know how some shows take place in the real world, the world outside your window? Yeah, Pushing Daisies isn’t one of those. Its central character, Ned the Piemaker, is a guy who can bring the dead back to life with a single touch. But, if he touches that person again, they will die again, this time for good. Well, Ned uses this power to resurrect his childhood sweetheart, Chuck, and the show is partially about how Ned and his entourage use his magical powers to solve crimes, but it’s mostly about the heartbreaking romance between two people who can never touch each other.

That doesn’t sound like a sure-fire hit to me either, and in its first full season, Pushing Daisies has scored ratings so dismal, they need a magical piemaker to resurrect them. Part of it is the show’s fault – this year, the producers have magnified the quirks almost to the point of annoying, and the stories are even more dense and layered. But part of it is the American public’s constant refusal to try anything new or intellectually taxing. We’re talking about a TV wasteland where 24 is considered highbrow.

Anyway, next Wednesday’s episode of Pushing Daisies (ABC, 8 p.m. EST) is strongly rumored to be the last one ever, so it may be your final chance to catch one of the most fascinating and unique shows on the air. Before it becomes yet another dead show I love.

And speaking of dead shows, there’s Dollhouse.

This is Joss Whedon’s new thing, with Buffy alum Eliza Dushku, and even though it hasn’t premiered yet, Fox is doing everything possible to kill it. First they messed with the pilot, causing massive re-shoots. Whedon said this was for the best, but he’s trying to get his network to promote his work – what else is he going to say?

And now, Fox has scheduled Dollhouse for Friday nights at 9 p.m. Yes, the Bermuda Triangle of timeslots, the very day that has meant death for Fox shows as far back as 1993. Oh, and by the way, the last time Whedon tried to bring a show to Fox, it was called Firefly, and they aired it – you guessed it – on Friday nights. We remember how well that turned out.

While I haven’t seen a single episode, Dollhouse sounds to me like another of those wide-reaching concept shows that will take time to grow an audience. It’s about a company that sells people – mind-wiped, programmable people, who can be anyone and do anything. And it’s about what those people do when they come back home, and have their memories erased again. It’s a Whedon show, so I’m sure this will be deeper and darker than that, but that’s what I know right now.

To top it all off, Fox will premiere Dollhouse on February 13. That’s right, Friday the 13th. I hope the first three episodes are good, ‘cause that’s probably all we’ll get to see.

* * * * *

I used to hate short records.

Seriously. I would figure out a minutes-to-dollars ratio for new CDs, figuring that anything over 60 minutes would give me my money’s worth. A half-hour-long album that cost $15 works out to 50 cents a minute, and that would be in the back of my mind as I listened for the first time. “Well, those two minutes weren’t really worth a buck.”

Conversely, give me a really long record, and I’m immediately excited, for some reason. If it’s a double album (or even a triple), then I’m doubly interested – I know, intellectually speaking, that most double albums suck just as much as most single ones, only for twice as long, but that never fazes me. There’s something important to me about a record that takes 75 minutes (or 100 minutes, or four hours) to experience, and something oddly slight about one that only takes half an hour.

This is, I have come to realize, totally silly. And lately, as the endless parade of padded-out 75-minute CDs continues, I have come to appreciate and enjoy the 30-minute marvel a lot more. I’m still excited by the prospect of an artistic statement that takes more than an hour to unfold, of course, but I’ve found that very few of them stand up as well as Marillion’s Happiness is the Road, to name a recent example. And of late, I’d rather end up wanting more than wishing I had less.

Case in point: Skeletal Lamping, the new Of Montreal album. I’ve been struggling to figure out what to say about this thing for a couple of weeks now, and I still don’t feel like I have a good grip on it. Like the last Of Montreal record, though, this one’s an hour long, and it feels like three.

Skeletal Lamping completes Kevin Barnes’ transformation from indie-pop wunderkind to bizarre electronic prog-funk solo act. (It was produced and performed entirely by Barnes.) Transformation, in fact, is the theme – this is a concept piece about Barnes’ metamorphosis into a cross-dressing transsexual named Georgie Fruit. Seriously, that’s what it’s about. And if you thought Ziggy Stardust was odd, you need to get a load of this.

Actually, you don’t. Barnes has thoroughly disappeared up his own asshole on this record, and while he’s delivered something musically audacious, it’s also unremittingly tedious. Initially, I had planned to compare Lamping to the Fiery Furnaces – the songs are maddeningly complex, are based around cheap electronic drums and keyboards, and seem to be about nothing. They are musically dizzying, but ultimately empty and wearying.

But I hit upon a more accurate (if more obscure) analogy. On their great fourth album, 1992’s Apollo 18, They Might Be Giants came up with something called “Fingertips.” It was actually 21 short, unrelated snippets, bounding from bit to scattered bit, from “aren’t you the guy who hit me in the eye” to “please pass the milk please.” That’s what this album is like. It’s a hundred tiny snippets of things that don’t cohere, at least musically.

That leaves the lyrics, and most of this album is Barnes as Georgie Fruit cooing belabored come-ons and lamenting the life of a man-turned-woman-turned-man-again. A lot of this stuff sounds like it’s trying to imitate Prince, like the opening of “For Our Elegant Caste,” which finds Barnes singing, “We can do it softcore if you want, but you should know I take it both ways.” Barnes, as you might have guessed, isn’t Prince, and the attempts at sex-funk fall woefully short.

On paper, I should love this. It’s massive, it’s ambitious, it’s musically daunting, it’s the insular work of a mad genius. And yet, it’s a struggle for me to get through it. Strangely, if Barnes had cut half an hour off of this thing, I might have liked it more. But sadly, not much more. It’s too bad – I was really looking forward to hearing a song called “Triphallus, To Punctuate!”

But maybe ambition wears on me the closer we get to the end of the year, because I’m finding the smaller, simpler records much more appealing lately. The album I fully expect to slot at number one this year is a mere 39 minutes long, and both of this week’s other contestants are even shorter. And rather than complaining about how much I paid on a minute-for-minute basis, I’m just enjoying the hell out of both of them.

First is Scottish quintet Travis, and you know what I’ve figured out? There are two kinds of Travis albums, and you can tell immediately, without even listening, which one you’re in for. Exactly half of their records feature the easy-listening, somewhat twee Travis, all chiming clean guitars and sad, romantic lyrics, produced by Nigel Godrich. These albums all sport faraway shots of the band on the cover (On a beach! In a tree! On a rooftop!), and that trademark Travis font. And they’re nice records, but they’re nothing distinctive or amazing.

The other half of their output, though, is the ragged, electric, punchy, pulsing Travis, the band that sounds like they would beat the crap out of their more gentlemanly counterpart. These albums have very different covers, from a stupid picture of the band jumping to moody black and white headshots to, on the new Ode to J. Smith, a pink and green cartoon eye. It’s like anti-branding – it looks completely different, so you know what to expect.

And man, I like the uncouth, unshaven Travis a lot more. Leader Fran Healy and his band recorded this 37-minute monster in two weeks, and it has an energy completely missing from their last record, The Boy With No Name. (Yes, it was one of the “Travis font” albums.) The first three songs here smack down anything on that previous effort, especially the instantly memorable “Something Anything.” With its massive arrangement (including a choir), you’d think “J. Smith” would be an epic, but it’s in and out in about three minutes, like most of the songs here.

The record does quiet down, but it never loses its verve. The banjo-inflected “Last Words” could have been insipid (and might have been, on their last album), but it ends up a singable delight. Healy strains to yelp out the chorus of “Get Up,” a shuffling minor-key rocker, and the quick-and-dirty production benefits a lullaby like “Friends” tremendously. By the time Ode to J. Smith glides over the finish line with the yearning “Before You Were Young,” you’re ready to hear it again.

The difference, really, is that for the whole of J. Smith’s running time, Travis sounds like an actual band, real people playing instruments in a room. I like their The Man Who sound, but it’s processed and gleamed up to the point that it almost feels mechanical. J. Smith feels like five guys writing and playing the best tunes they can, and while they’ll never be mistaken for the Sex Pistols, or even Oasis, they rock much more convincingly than you’d think. This is worth $15 for 37 minutes, no doubt.

While Travis has never made an album as short as J. Smith, Starflyer 59 has made a career of them. Since 1994, Starflyer has released 11 albums, eight EPs, two live discs and a box set, and most of them (excepting the box set, of course) are bite-sized nuggets, just big enough to consume in one sitting. Oh, and Starflyer mastermind Jason Martin has been involved in a whole bunch of side projects, making several more half-hour gems.

The new Starflyer, Dial M, is no exception, clocking in at 34:32. But as usual, Martin has given us 10 dark pop gems here – and as usual, I wish he’d sprung for 15 or 20.

No two Starflyer 59 records sound quite alike, and Dial M veers off sharply from the guitar-driven new-wave rock of last year’s My Island. The sound of this one is as shiny as the pop art cover, based largely on synthesizers and acoustic guitars. Martin’s backup band this time consists of bassist Steve Dail and drummer Trey Many, and all the other sounds are Martin, overdubbing his keyboards and guitars. Don’t expect any Brian May-style six-string choirs or anything, though – this is deftly minimal stuff, layered as it is.

The punchiest tune here is “Concentrate,” with its insistent beat, funky guitars and synth blasts, although the next song, “Who Said It’s Easy,” is good competition. Martin will never be an American Idol-style emotional singer, but in the studio, he does wonders with his low, dark voice. The Smiths-like melody of “M23” is one of his best, and he delivers exactly what the song needs. And dig the pure ‘80s awesomeness of the keyboards on “Taxi,” which sound like they were lifted right from his brother Ronnie’s Joy Electric project.

Dial M quiets down considerably for its final two tracks. “Mr. Martin” plays like an interesting conversation between Martin and his father, who died earlier this year. (The line “Hey Mr. Martin, I need a new job, one that pays for my time” is darkly humorous if you know both Jason and Ronnie work for the family trucking business.) The song is a quiet shudder, all acoustic guitars and electric piano. And finale “I Love You Like the Little Bird” is a ‘50s pop breeze, with a current of darkness beneath its sweet exterior.

I said once that every Starflyer 59 album is the best Starflyer 59 album, and I stand by it. Dial M sounds like nothing else in Jason Martin’s catalog, but longtime fans will know immediately that it’s him, and will get that familiar pop songcraft dressed up in totally new sounds, once again. I have no idea why, after 14 years of wonderful little records like this one, Martin still toils in obscurity. Try his work here, and buy it here.

That will do for this week. Next, probably the Flaming Lips.

See you in line Tuesday morning.