Friends in high places can be a Godsend. They can help cut through red tape and further your career for you with a well-placed word or turn a blind eye if you screw up and ensure your dirty washing doesn't end up in public.
Naturally, the downside of this is that people tend to be more cynical and less tolerant of your motives: much more likely to stab you in the back if you fuck up, basically. Take JESSE MALIN, for instance. His debut album "The Fine Art Of Self-Destruction" features Alt.Country/Rock's current golden boy Ryan Adams both behind the console and nipping out to strap on lead guitar. Recipe for instant attention? Yup, but what if it sucks?
Well, one quick drum flourish later and you're riding happily with Jesse into "Queen Of The Underworld", safe in the knowledge that - all hyperbole aside - this is one of the best debut albums of the year.
Jesse himself will admit the boy Adams helped shape "TFAOSD", and the fact he recorded Malin and the band (also including ex-Smashing Pumpkins/ Hole bassist Melissa auf der Maur on ethereal backing vocals and Steve Wynn/Psychedelic Furs keyboard supremo Joe McGinty) playing largely live and close-miked in the studio - not to mention laying down the whole kit and caboodle in 6 days - perfectly suits the colourful, joyous and broken individuals that people these catchy confessionals.
And the emphasis is on the 'catchy', too, because if you're expecting a record akin to Adams' bloodied, but unbowed "Heartbreaker" you can leave your preconceptions with the doorman, because - the aching acoustic slices of "Brooklyn" and the shattered "Xmas" aside - most of "TFAOSD" buzzes on thrilling, vignette-fuelled rock'n'roll.
Malin writes exciting, vivid songs with big, fatalistic choruses and sings them in a cool, nasally voice, a little like Neil Young at his most visceral. His songs are often set in the post 9-11 NYC landscape, with tunes like "Brooklyn" ("The ghost of Christmas past left Walt Whitman in the trash") and the brilliant "Riding On The Subway" - with its' rolling, 'Get Carter'-style double bass, exuberant congas and Harlem imagery - depositing you right in the heart of the raw city.
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It's virtually all ace, actually. Whether he's letting the choke out to the max on intelligent, testosterone-fuelled rockers like "High Lonesome", the apparently autobiographical "Almost Grown" and the superb "Wendy", or slowing it down on the dismissive "Solitaire" or the cautionary title track, Malin's equally resonant. It's a bonus, too, to hear Adams shine so brightly as a sideman. He plays most of the electric guitar on the record and it's never less than stinging and expressive.
Just to ram the point home, the CD includes the full-band run through of the previously stark and regret-ridden "Brooklyn", but by then Malin's already convinced this writer he's the real deal, regardless of association.
"The Fine Art Of Self-Destruction" is a darkly effective set of songs that thrusts Jesse Malin into the spotlight. It draws water from both the classic US New Wave and Alt.Country wells, while establishing him as a writer with the kind of burgeoning narrative skills to rival a Reed or a Springsteen.
Jesus, this writer's only just nominated Chris Mills as a contender for the new US singer/songwriter throne and here comes another would-be heir apparent. This is getting exciting.
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