JESSE MALIN'S solo debut "The Fine Art Of Self-Destruction" arrived eighteen months back with all his credentials sounding absolutely of the moment. His close buddy and everyone's golden boy Ryan Adams was in the producer's chair and playing lead guitar and Jesse's day job of running an NYC bar where The Strokes were liable to drop in afterhours ensured he was the epitome of hip at the tail end of 2002.
Of course, all that woulda counted for diddly in the long run if "The Fine Art Of Self-Destruction" was a shammer, but it was a superb debut that also seemed to open the floodgates for One Little Indian as a credible Americana-based label, helping Jeff Klein and Matthew Ryan through the trapdoor after him. Result, basically.
Sure thing, and touring extensively with both Adams and later Bruce Springtseen himself has ensured Malin has continued to capitalise. Crucially, though, Jesse realises you have to keep the, ah, heat on in this game and thus we get album number two "The Heat". Adams has been too busy to stay in the producer's chair and the fanfare is a little more muted this time, but - regardless - "The Heat" is a second terrific album from this gutsy, instantly recognisable singer/ songwriter, who continues to prove he really doesn't need association to succeed.
"The Heat" was created primarily using Malin's touring band, including drummer Paul Garisto, bassist Johnny Pisano, guitarist Justin Lomery and keyboard player Christine Smith. Ryan Adams does add sympathetic guitar and backing vocals to the moving "Block Island" and the likes of Jane Scarpantoni (quelle surprise), Pete Yorn and Tommy Stinson also stick their noses in on occasion, but - again - none of this would matter if Malin's songs weren't there to begin with.
Stylistically, it's more of a consolidation on "The Fine Art..." than an attempt to rip up the rule book, but no-one's quibbling too much as the results are entirely satisfying. Indeed, "The Heat" proves to be another consistent collection, split pretty evenly between kick-ass rockers and plaintive, acoustic-based confessionals rooted very much in the post-9/11 world, as spangly, Byrds-y opener "Mona Lisa" and the punchy sarcasm of "New World Order" make abundantly clear.
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Intriguingly, while Malin is viewed as a classic, dyed-in-the-wool NYC man in the Lou Reed mould, his Anglophile bent is very much in evidence on "The Heat." "Since Your In Love" (sic) directly references The Smiths' with its' intro line ("When the rain came down in this northern town"), while "Scars Of Love" and "About You" are tough, four-square rockers The Clash would have surely approved of in their prime. Malin's devastating cover of Graham Parker's "3 Martini Lunch" (B-side of previous single "Wendy") also makes more sense in this context, as songs like the excellent "Swinging Man" bristle with a tough'n'tender approach that's pure Parker.
Admittedly, one of Jesse's biggest aces is the fact he has a voice that can make you cry even when singing the contents of the 'phone book, and "The Heat" showcases a string of tremendous vocals, especially when he's caressing his quieter songs. To this end, there are wonderful moments like "Going Out West" and the aching regret of "Block Island" (fleshed out gloriously by Doug Pettibone's lonesome pedal steel and Adams' descriptive guitar), although "Basement Home" is surely "The Heat"s heartbreaking "Brooklyn" moment and it's doubly devastating when you realise Malin's actually addressing incest at the song's denouement. Bloody hell.
There's humour, too, like on the hilarious road song "Hotel Columbia" (about London's notorious rock'n'roll stopover) and Jesse also has the room for the spooked, chromatic workout of "Silver Manhattan" with its' Hendrixian blowout solo. Essentially, though, "The Heat" works beautifully as an entity and is a second diverse, dog-eared diary of all-too credible vignettes anyone with a heart can both relate to and marvel at. Magnificent.
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