It could be said that this is an ambitious record, but that would be, at best, an understatement. It's an almost impossible record. It doesn't fall nearly as effortlessly upon the ears as its predecessor, of course, but that's entirely beside the point. I'd be doing it a grave disservice to even attempt the comparison. Ritual is, perhaps by necessity, a messy work, borne of conflict, struggle and tragedy. As such, it doesn't hold together all that well as a whole, and is probably best considered chopped into its constituent parts...
Basically, the record breaks into two halves, the first aimed at those expecting a redux of Nothing's Shocking. It begins with "Stop," a fun, if jumbled, indictment of commercialism, hubris, ignorance... And does it all with a Zeppelin-esque bravado that would do, well... Zeppelin proud. The syncopated So-Cal punk-funk of "No One's Leaving" serves up a portrait of outsiders making good in whatever way they can. Now, here's where it starts getting interesting. "Ain't No Right" is about as perfect an expression of the nihilistic spirit of rock & roll, and by extension, American culture, as I can think of. "Fuck it," Perry Farrell tells us, "do what you were already doing, just do it well if possible. But if you can't, don't worry, it doesn't really matter anyway," as his bandmates punctuate the dictum with reckless abandon. "My sex and my drugs and my rock & roll," he says, "is all my brain and body needs." It's escapism to be sure, but it also serves as a sort of psychic pressure valve; what do we listen to, and for that matter make, music for in the first place, if not release? "Obvious" is an entirely different animal. Lyrically, it presents a frustrated, if narcissistic, objection to the duress of fame, which floats along on a beautiful, roiling sea of guitar and piano. A turbulent and threatening, yet enveloping, sea; like a hug, then a punch, followed by another hug. Farrell's complaint floats very tenuously on that sea, by the way. It's almost as if the band is rolling their eyes at him, while winking at us... Who, exactly, is being punched, and who is being hugged?
The lead single, "Been Caught Stealing," can be seen as an intermission, a sort of dog and pony show, leading into the record's (much) more personal side...
"Three Days," perhaps my favorite track, as much as anything for its epic musical wanderings, is a remembrance of a lost weekend, a three-way melange of sex and drugs that swirls into clouds of guilt, history, grief, wonder, perhaps even redemption... There's a lot more in this song to parse than most of us would ever want to deal with. "Then She Did" is, on a superficial level, a eulogy to Farrell's mother (suicide) as well as to the aforementioned grieving visitor from "Three Days" (overdose). Underneath that, though, there's another eulogy happening... A longing for innocence, and a spasm of anger at loss, not in the lyrics, but rather in the tone of Farrell's delivery, the timbre of his voice. Listen in the right way, and you'll notice it. From here it gets a little easier: The vaguely middle-eastern flavored "Of Course" is a meditation on competition for survival. "Classic Girl" begins with the inevitable results of said survival struggle, but retreats mercifully inward, into domesticity, into the other, into the self, and then, in hushed tones, says "Good Night."
Some other thoughts:
#454, Stan Getz' Getz/Gilberto: American sax legend Stan Getz teamed up with Joao Gilberto, his wife Astrud and his songwriting partner Antonio Carlos Jobim to produce "The Girl from Ipanema." There are some other songs on the record, which are good, and which you should hear, if you get the chance.
#452, Madonna's Music: Madonna was apparently going for "naked emotion" with this record. Curious, then, that she brought on board french producer Mirwais, who built his reputation on robot music... Standouts, not surprisingly, include the more straightforward and soulful tracks "I Deserve It" and "Don't Tell Me."
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