I come and go with Queens of the Stone Age. More dilletante than superfan. The first three records — 1998’s self-titled debut (discussed here), 2000’s Rated R, 2002’s Songs for the Deaf — are largely unfuckwithable, and the source of much of the influence they’ve had over heavy rock over the last quarter-century. I’ll stand by most of 2005’s Lullabies to Paralyze on a songwriting level, though its stated intent at the time was to pick up where Songs for the Deaf left off, and sure enough, that was a moment that had passed. The first half’s singles were cool, but side B was where it was really at there, as founding frontman Joshua Homme, who had cut his teenage teeth in Kyuss, let the songs get weirder and more open.

Once you get into Era Vulgaris (2007), you lose me, and though 2013’s …Like Clockwork (review here, discussed here) had s-o-n-g-s that stuck with you, in some cases whether you wanted them to or not — looking at you, “If I Had a Tail” — I reread my review of 2017’s Villains ahead of writing this piece and couldn’t recall a single track from it. I heard one of the singles from 2023’s …In Times New Roman, and it sounded bloated, cloying and willfully mediocre, and while I know Homme is too skillful a songwriter to do one thing for a whole record, I had neither the time nor the inclination to hear it play out. Maybe some day I’ll get there, and if you dug it, I’m glad. Not going to argue.

It had been a while since I heard Rated R, but had occasion to encounter the record on a recent night under Croatian stars, and as will happen, it’s been in my head (hey! that’s a QOTSA reference!) since. Time has done little to dull the potency of this material or the collaborations that do so much to enrich it, whether that’s Homme stepping aside for then-bassist Nick Oliveri‘s lead vocals on “Auto Pilot,” the raging “Quick and to the Pointless” and “Tension Head” (which was originally a song by Oliveri‘s other band, the ongoing Mondo Generator), or the late Screaming Trees singer Mark Lanegan giving a low-key career performance on “In the Fade.” What had been a basic three-piece on the self-titled grew expansive without losing its expressive immediacy or crucial hooks, and so a cut like “The Lost Art of Keeping a Secret” blossomed as a landmark while the weirdo bounce of “Leg of Lamb” and the lightly psychedelic “Better Living Through Chemistry” enriched the impression of Rated R as a whole work. Did I already say “unfuckwithable?” Okay, good.

Others sat in as well. Masters of Reality‘s Chris Goss (who also produced at least part of it, helmed Kyuss LPs, etc.), Pete Stahl of Goatsnake and earthlings?, Screaming Trees‘ Barrett Martin, Fatso Jetson‘s Mario Lalli getting a writing credit on “Monsters in the Parasol,” born in the Homme-led Desert Sessions, and famously even Rob Halford of Judas Priest joining the gang shouts on “Feel Good Hit of the Summer” for the substance-abuse shopping list hook of “Nicotine, valium, vicodin, marijuana, ecstasy and alcohol.” There are more: Gene Trautmann and Nick Lucero sharing drum duties, Reggie Young‘s horns going free-jazz as eight-minute closer “I Think I Lost My Headache” slogs toward its finish, and so on, but the point is that no matter who is adding what to the cauldron, it’s all identifiably part of Queens of the Stone Age, and what would in so many other contexts be disjointed works precisely because it’s arrogant and genuinely swaggering enough to go where it wants in terms of sound and mood.

Rated R remains heavy in tone — stretches where the guitar seems to come forward and dominate the mix like the choruses of “The Lost Art of Keeping a Secret” and “In the Fade” prove the point — but there’s almost always melody to cut through, with the noteworthy exceptions of the Oliveri-fronted punkers “Quick and to the Pointless” and “Tension Head.” These, though, are still catchy in their way, and the element of danger, of unpredictability, of threat, they add to the proceedings shouldn’t be underestimated. You never know when Queens of the Stone Age might cocaine-scream spitting into your face, and as unpleasant as that sounds on paper, it’s part of what makes the record stronger and further-reaching. Dave Catching‘s instrumental “Lightning Song,” a dreamy two-minute interlude to hypnotize and set the mood before the finale, does the same thing in a different way, while the reprise of “Feel Good Hit of the Summer” in “In the Fade” gives a thematic shape to the overarching flow, even if the theme is hi-we’re-on-drugs-in-the-desert-fuck-you-but-also-let’s-be-friends.

It preceded Homme‘s well-earned reputation for onstage dickery, preceded the rock stardom that would come just two years later as Songs for the Deaf offered hits in the already-dwindling-by-then sphere of radio. It was an expansion on the ideas the self-titled laid out, ultimately, but with a character that remains singular after all this time, whether it’s put next to the rest of the Queens of the Stone Age catalog with its various ups, downs and sideways turns, or any of the literally thousands of other bands and records working from it as a central point of influence. I know I’m not saying anything you don’t already know about it, but nearly 25 years after the fact, how much is there really to say? It’s classic rock. All the more so for its defiant-seeming individualism and blend of laid-back, ultra-apathy post-grunge Gen-X cool and moments of fervent thrust, songs that have more reach than most bands do in entire careers in four minutes or less and probably weren’t self-aware enough to be pretentious about it.

As the songs play out in succession again on the mental jukebox, I’m happy to have them. I used to think nostalgia was a weakness, but it turned out I just hadn’t had enough life experience to look back on anything fondly yet. A stupid, young opinion. I find now that whether a moment is recent or happened decades ago, if it’s worth remembering at all — and so many of these moments are related to music for me that it’s actually kind of embarrassing — that’s a thing worth embracing. Most of existence is shitty and hard. Take what you can, put your head down, keep working. My life is better for having had Rated R in it.

Thanks for reading. As always, I hope you enjoy.

—

Budapest. We’ve been here for over a week now. It’s been difficult getting settled. Adjusting. The apartment we’re staying in is on the fifth floor of an old building in the Astoria (Queens!) section of town, and is designed like a bourgeois daydream offset by the realities of ants in the bathroom, breakable Ikea furniture, the busted washer, the dog peeing on the couch this past Wednesday, and so on. I’m sure if we were fabulously wealthy, it would all work out. As it stands, we spent all the money, forever, on making this trip happen and have learned the hard lesson that it’s not a sustainable way we can live. Nor can we fly home early, which would cost an additional three grand in addition to the emotional labor of admitting defeat. And we’re talking about how 95 degrees is a break from the heat. You gotta be kidding me.

There’s a lot to like about Hungary, even beyond my continued interest in learning its strange, Carpathian-born language. If you’ve ever used a European toilet, you know there are also things that America does better, and these tradeoffs are the stuff of life. Gorgeous old buildings? No ducts in any of them, and no refrigeration infrastructure, so if you want to buy ice or sit in air conditioning you’re probably screwed. And somehow this entire continent has decided that clothes dryers are what caused the climate crisis, which is adorable and hopeless in kind. I’m grateful to be here, but I don’t know that it could ever be home. Shit, Massachusetts couldn’t be home.

The Patient Mrs. has been kind in granting me writing time this week, which is how the Causa Sui review happened, how The Swell Fellas and Circle of Sighs premieres happened and the various news stories. But there’s been friction there as well. The Pecan got kicked out of day camp after a day and a half for fighting — and before you celebrate that like “yeah stick it to the man!” let me stop you; it’s not righteous defiance, it’s neurodivergent overwhelm; same reason she dug her nails into my arm the other day as I pulled her back from the metro platform where a train was oncoming — and while predictable, it’s nonetheless a sad drag that left us this week wondering how to fill our days. Yesterday we took a bus that went in the Danube River that, despite the purported AC, was hot enough that I was sweating sitting still listening to the English audio tour tell me about the various horrors the Magyar people have faced over the centuries from Huns, Nazis, Communists, and so on — “If you look to your right you’ll see a beautiful bridge. It was a popular place for suicides….” I shit you not — and struggles with food, hydration, medication don’t help. Look at me, complaining on vacation. If it helps you at all (I know it doesn’t help me), I feel like shit about it.

And bringing the dog was a mistake, but she’s a year old and we didn’t really have a choice. The Pecan stims on her though, and it gets to be a lot. First thing this morning I pulled her arm off her bending the dog’s leg the wrong way and ended up arm-barring her in the nose. “You hurt my nose,” is not a thing a parent wants to wake up hearing. I felt like shit about that too.

Life, then. I don’t know what we’re doing today yet but I know I’m coming up against time so need to punch out and get to it. Whatever it is, it will be exhausting. Everything is.

Next week I don’t know. I want to review Orange Goblin for Monday. I promise nothing beyond that I’ll do my best with the time I get and I’ll try really, really hard to be grateful for that.

Have a great and safe weekend.

FRM.

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Tags: California, Interscope Records, Queens of the Stone Age, Queens of the Stone Age Rated R, Rated R

This entry was posted on Friday, July 19th, 2024 at 10:29 am and is filed under Bootleg Theater. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed.