Juliette and The Licks - You're Speaking My Language

Genre rock Publisher Fiddler Records External Links Official Website Fiddler Records

Oblivious to those who have blazed this trail before her, Juliette Lewis has pushed other actor-turn-wannabe rock stars aside to bring the music she loves to our celebrity obsessed culture. Since it's rehashed 80s rock, she intends to flail us into submission with this profound new interpretation on the gaudiest of gaudy music.

The star of countless indie films and, most notably, the brave girl who staves off vampires in From Dusk 'Til Dawn, she must have woke up one day and decided she wanted to be a rock star and play dingy bars. This is a luxury you or I will never experience unless we get cast in the next blockbuster, so I'm convinced that the entertainers in this country do this just to rub our faces in it. Though we can clearly see it's a bad idea from the start, they go ahead anyways. While it isperfectly legal, it just produces more cut-out bin discs.

To be fair, at least Lewis has some credibility to spend, unlike the more recent actor turned music foil careers of Keanu Reeves and Russell Crowe. Years of independent movies have endeared Lewis to fans, so at least they expect what's going to be unleashed upon them in her bands debut album You're Speaking My Language. On an independent label, and with the desire to play "sweaty, divey places" across the world, she'll at least try to make it work. That is, until she gets bored and realizes she's better at movies than pandering tired rock to a very small portion of society.

Sounding like it was rushed together to capitalize off of something or to promote something (another movie, perhaps?), the album falls short of its cock-rock dream. For the most part Lewis' voice doesn't sound half bad, but definitely not sincere, trying to bring that good ol' hair metal bravado she loves to much. When it's off, your ears cringe. "So Amazing" is painful to listen to, and infrequent screams throughout are really amateurish. The album would have been best served bringing the guitars up and utilizing a driving rhythm section, but, of course, that would bury the stars' vocals. Lita Ford she is not. The riffs aren't that bad, but it's typical updated speed metal.

The only promise of this album is that they are said to have a manic live show. No doubt these tracks would benefit from a smokey filled barroom with wood paneling that is at least 20% alcohol, but it's just a promise on the album (or a threat if you were to read the publicity just right). None of that reckless abandon and whirling dervishness of Lewis' stage persona comes out on Language, it's sterile at best.

Only time will tell where Lewis and her band ranks among bored celebrities and their momentary infatuations. Is there such a list? Maybe we can work on that, but it would be difficult conceding any sort of acceptance outside of novelty songs like "Wild Thing" or "Asshole." There are no kitsch songs on this album, just a poor attempt at being trashy.