Jesse Malin The Heat

Jesse Malin burst onto the critical radar with an Uncut album of the month for debut offering The Fine Art of Self Destruction in late 2002. Since then he's been subjected to a stream of reviews from less interested sections of the music press concerned less with that record's relative merits than its producer, long-time friend of Malin, Ryan Adams. I always felt this was a bit unfair, as when I bought The Fine Art... it seemed more obviously indebted to The Ramones, Springsteen and even Simon and Garfunkel (check Riding on The Subway) than anything Adams related. Either way, it struck me as a solid (albeit slightly flat in places) record with a few fantastic tunes. Before receiving my copy of The Heat I saw him twice (in late 2002 and this February) supporting Adams and I was struck by how much more energy his material had in a live setting and the quality exhibited in some of the new material.

The Heat doesn't offer a dramatic change from its predecessor stylistically. Malin's still using his background in punk rock (from singing in hardcore bands from age 12 through to glam punkers D-Generation), cinema (think early Scorcese) and edgier 'classic' songwriting as the backdrop for his stories. What it does have is more energy, better material and more focus. Self produced on and off by Malin during the gaps in touring his debut, the vast majority of the album is played by his touring band with occasional (but capable) input from the likes of Adams, Pete Yorn and Tommy Stinson. Swinging Man makes like an annoyingly great car advert tune fronted by Nicholas Cage's character from Bringing Out The Dead, pining "Buddy Holly told me you cant save rock n' roll. It's only for the lonely boys and girls", while Silver Manhattan conjures up images of Woody Allen sobering from bruises, and any song with the line "Tonight she's bleeding like a Tennessee Williams play" deserves some credit.

Elsewhere, Scars of Love comes across like Paul Westerberg at his best, while About You treads that subtle line between a great Dylan tune and its hit cover. When Malin sings "We asked for God but all they had left was church" it's in a tone that isn't angsty or overly pretentious, merely giving you the sense that he's a bit useful with words, really. Basement Home nods to the Pogues, early Tom Waits and Sinatra at his most melancholy while Hotel Columbia is anthemic rock'n'roll in the manner of say, The Clash's Safe European Home with a little Springsteen thrown in. Fairly apt as I could write that this is a record treading the mid-point between Give 'em Enough Rope and Born To Run without feeling too retarded. Sure, there are things I'm less into on here (not a big fan of the word "mama" in songs), but these don't obscure the fact that this is an excellent album any more than their equivalents on say, 36 Chambers.... If there's any justice he'll be mentioned in other people's reviews within six months.