The Tech, April 14, 1995
Sweet delivers a strong set of songs on 100% Fun
By Scott Deskin, Arts Editor
Matthew Sweet's latest album, 100% Fun, is a highly enjoyable exercise in the musical sub-genre known as "power pop." Those familiar with Sweet's music probably only remember his 1991 breakthough third album, Girlfriend, which features the hit single of the same name. With Sweet's multi-tracked harmonies and a clean, crisp guitar, the hooks of "Girlfriend" won me over in short order. Trying to be a musical breakthrough, however, Sweet crammed his album with too many ideas - for instance, "Divine Intervention" is a stilted evocation of confused love. Then again, most of Sweet's songs deal with the same familiar themes - about failed or troubled relationships, mostly.
Some people may have been thrown a curve with 1993's Altered Beast and a sequel EP of sorts, Son of Altered Beast. Sweet's song structures became increasingly dependent on guitar, and some people complained about Sweet's voice somehow getting lost in the mix. People should lighten up. I've only listened to the EP, and Sweet's live performances sound loose and confident (including a cover of Neil Young's "Don't Cry No Tears," one of my favorites). With his new album, Sweet reclaims some ground by refusing to succumb to banal love songs and consolidates his popularity by bringing the vocals and guitars back into balance.
"Sick of Myself," the lead single from the album, is a fine, souped-up pop song that describes a person's self-loathing when he looks at his lover. It's a tongue-in-cheek song that succeeds in spite of its apparent off-handedness - the false break-ups at the end of the song may not be original, but they're enjoyable. Likewise, such songs as "Everything Changes," "Lost My Mind," and "I Almost Forgot" are different melodic takes on the ennui induced by dysfunctional relationships.
But don't mistake Sweet's attitude as being dazed and confused. For one thing, the songs, or even the ballads, are bouncy - without much effort, you can probably dance to most of them. Sweet's lyrics are fairly cynical (100% Fun, as an album title, is a pretty good joke), but never clinical: "You can't stomach the truth / And I only tell lies / You don't care if you live / I don't care if I die" (from "Lost My Mind,") is a clever couplet that suggests Sweet's fast-approaching maturity as a songwriter.
Matthew Sweet still has the knack for writing heartfelt, romantic pleas in his songs. On "We're the Same," a variation on the "we're both at fault" love songs, Sweet croons, "Baby we're the same / When we fail in each other's eyes." "Giving it Back," the next song, is a reflection of the singer in a morose relationship: At first, "Your depth of sadness was a gift / And for a while I cherished it," but "My will to fight has gone away / So I'm giving it back to you."
Though no individual song matches "Girlfriend" for power-pop accessibility, Sweet's topics don't seem trite or banal. In fact, when Sweet appropriates part of the chorus of Toto's synth-rock-shlock masterwork "Rosanna" to the melody of "Smog Moon," the final track on the album, I don't mind.
Sweet playfully acknowledges his influences on 100% Fun, and the finished product nearly lives up to the title. Together with producer Brendan O'Brien (Pearl Jam, Stone Temple Pilots), Matthew Sweet has revitalized his career with this small victory in '90s pop music.
By John Walker
"The worst crime I could think of would be to pull people off by faking it, pretending as if 'm having 100 percent fun."
--from Kurt Cobain's suicide note
Matthew Sweet (of Girlfriend fame) obviously doesn't have much empathy with the inane final remarks of the late Nirvana leader and reluctant media-anointed spokesman for what authors Jason Cohen and Michael Krugman have quite accurately dubbed Generation Ecch! Sweet's album title here mocks the seriousness with which Cobain took himself, while the music within is streamlined, rocking 1990s Power-Pop, a a prime example of an unjustly maligned genre which stresses melodic tunefulness over end-of-the-millennium angst and cosmic significance.
"Sick of Myself" is a sterling example of the aforementioned genre: here is a timeless rock aesthetic outside of all trends. A crisp guitar riff courtesy of Sweet and Television's Richard Lloyd (who stomps all over this album with some brutal leads) and some typically witty yet not weighty lyrics: "You don't know how you move me / Deconstruct me / And consume me . . . But I'm sick of myself when I look at you." Sweet's emphasis on melody here seems almost radical in the wake of trends like grunge and rap, which most often stress the roar of the noble savage over anything remotely tuneful. And whenever things get a bit too "sweet" (heh heh), there are the squalling, crunchy guitars of Lloyd, Robert Quine (Richard Hell, Lou Reed), and Sweet himself to bring things back down to earth.
Songs like "We're The Same" conjure up the sound of past Power-Pop bands like The Records, a great British outfit that was swamped in the cacophony of punk rock in the late 70s, and also evokes current contenders like Teenage Fanclub. Moods alternate here continually between the more ballady numbers awash in layers of Sweet's vocal harmonies ("Everything Changes") to the darker tones of "Lost My Mind," a veritable guitar-fest with with Lloyd and Quine trading sizzling leads from speaker to speaker over a Bo Diddleyish jungle beat.
"Walk Out," replete with a "Marlboro Man" guitar line, vies with "Sick Of Myself" as album's catchiest combination of rock and melody, with a bitter-Sweet (ahem) chiding a sell-out artist who hasn't got the guts to repent: "You were brought into this world / With a head full of good ideas / But the person you became / Well you just couldn't be for real / But you're gonna change / You've just about made up your mind." This one screams "hit single," at least in a better world. "Super Baby" is the album's heaviest rocker, with Sweet's meg-rock riff being lacerated with stinging lead guitar courtesy of the godlike Quine, who makes dullards like Eric Clapton and other "guitar greats" look like the feeble twits that they are.
Power-Pop is admittedly a love-it or leave-it proposition, and 100 % Fun also exhibits some of the usual pitfalls of the genre: things can veer a little too close to cloying sentiment for comfort, and the songs with less memorable melodies tend to get lost in the shuffle. But overall, Sweet's concoction is a lot more, ermmmm, fun than the last 20 grunge-clone albums, and a helluva find for anyone interested in straight, no-BS rock guitar playing. And hey, there's no maudlin Kurt Cobain anti-suicide song either. Now that's 100 % fun!
Keeping My Hope Alive
The War Against Silence #11, 11 Apr 95
By Glenn Mcdonald
I'll tell you what my favorite sound in the entire world is right now. It's not the slashing rhythm guitar chords that begin "Sick of Myself", the opening track of Matthew Sweet's new album, though those are a close runner up. It is, instead, the sound of Matthew Sweet hitting his muted guitar strings four times, just before he starts to play, a little anticipatory instrumental throat-clearing that shepherds in the record.
Part of the reason I am so fascinated with this noise is personal. I have a four-track, a guitar, a microphone and some assorted connecting devices myself, and when I record songs they almost invariably start with those same four string hits. In my case this is done for a very practical reason, as the vocals in my songs tend to begin immediately, and if I don't make some sort of lead-in noises with the guitar I won't have the slightest idea where to begin singing. Not that I always hit the cue even with the help, mind you. A few weeks ago, though, when some guest host on 120 Minutes announced that a new video from Matthew Sweet was next, and I hung around for just a moment before, I intended, switching away, and those four sounds lurched out of the television, something inside of me leaped into the set and was there with Matthew, vindicated and broadcast to the world. I didn't previously hate Sweet, exactly, but I'd never been even vaguely tempted to buy any of his albums. This one was on my shopping list by the time the song was two measures in.
I'm kind of fond of those noises in the abstract, as well. There's something glorious about the count-off, and about the fact specifically that in rock the count-off is often aural. Sitting in the cello section of my middle school orchestra years ago, something always struck me as unsatisfying about the secretive silence in which Ms. Giltner batoned the tempo at the beginning of pieces, as if the audience (and fortunately these were rare) was not, at any cost, to be made aware that anything as mundane as counting underlay our occasional ability to keep in a shaky resemblance of sync. The shouted "one two three four", or the drummer's clicked sticks, exposes this central element, and revels in it. It invites the audience into the epiphanial moment when the song kicks in. The interesting thing, to me, about using the guitar to perform this function, is its improvised inappropriateness. When singers count off they do so as, temporarily, a band's leader. When drummers counts off, they do so as the dedicated keeper of the rhythm. Both approaches are sensible, but also predictable. The scritch of Matthew's guitar serves as a reminder that the propulsive impetus of a rock song can come from anywhere, not just its usual perpetrators.
And, in fact, you won't hear much more propulsive than his rhythm guitar part in "Sick of Myself". Sure, there's bass and drums, and two other guitarists in parts of the song, and some nice singing, but the soul of this track is the thick, warm, overdriven sound of the simple three-chord rhythm part that carries the verses. And when the song slides from that into "There's something in your eyes / That is keeping my hope alive", the music reaches transcendence. Your experience may differ, obviously, but for me "Sick of Myself" is just over three minutes of the pure essence of great guitar-pop, distilled to a dangerous strength. With the song on repeat, I find myself doubting that I need any other nourishment. Surely food is merely recreational, given this sustenance. They ought to put a boom box playing a tape loop of this song near the edge of every tall structures anybody has ever thrown themselves from. Who could willingly die while this song was either playing, or about to play?
There are, though I find this easy to temporarily forget, eleven other songs on 100% Fun, as well. None of them transport me the way that "Sick of Myself" does, but I hardly expect them to, and indeed I don't know whether any of them even have the chance to after my first-song imprinting. This is partially a shame, as even without "Sick of Myself" this would be an extremely fine album. Before this I'd found Sweet somewhere between annoying and agreeable, a little ways on the wrong side of retro-obsessed, and never quite understood why some people extolled him as a pop genius. As of this album, though, I think he's reached a point where the burden of justification may be considered to fall on the doubters, not the believers. The songwriting is both rock-solid and rock-simple, with nothing remotely flashy to distract from the smooth sound. The picture on the cover has a young Sweet sitting on his living room floor with an album in his lap, wearing a hilariously oversized pair of headphones, grinning like an idiot, and yeah, that's how this album makes me feel. (On peering more closely at the cover picture, I observe that the album looks suspiciously like it involves Curious George, and not music at all, especially with that specific yellow, but I think the point is clear anyway.)
If there's anything more guarded I can think to say about 100% Fun, it's that to some the warmth of the production may come across as an oppressive mutedness. Sweet's voice tends to blend in with the instruments, and people who tend to think that great songs ought to have some sort of sparkling hook, of which the keyboard riff in Jefferson Starship's "Jane" may serve as prototype as well as anything, may be disappointed here. Sweet also approaches the traditional pop-song form with an obvious reverence, and if you prefer those who come to bury, rather than to praise, this might seem beneath you. It's a pretty Grinch-like attitude to take, though, and I presume you remember the lesson the Grinch learned about the joy of conformity.
Actually, now that I think of it, I hated the way the Grinch knuckled under, and the only thing I like about that damn story was the way his dog looked with antlers tied on its head. Perhaps my Sweet capitulation is a pathetic betrayal of principles after all. I must not give in. I must fight against creeping placidity. I must insist that music challenge the boundaries of the form, at all times. I must not give in to simple pleasure.
I'll get started right after this album ends...
People Weekly, March 27, 1995 v43 n12 p20(1)
By Eric Levin
Electric guitars -- snaky, knife-edged, burred or slab-sided -- are Matthew
Sweet's armor. Wielded by two legendary artists, Richard Lloyd (Television)
and Robert Quine (Richard Hell and the Voidoids, Lou Reed), the guitars
give Sweet a leather jacket, with studs, to sheathe his aching, earnest
heart.
Sweet's own bass and rhythm guitar work, solid and well balanced, help him move along, giving each song deep footprints and a strong straight-ahead gait. The contrast between the molten, tormented and often self-doubting center and the bristly, assertive surface gives Sweet's tunes their distinctive tension. He crafts his melodies so that they build until the pent-up emotion breaks loose and the rhythmic drive of the song powers through the sudden shower of yearning, ecstasy or exasperation.
With 100% Fun, Sweet has raised his batting average to a career high. The album is strong, accessible and consistent in quality and tone. Is there a "Divine Intervention" here or a "Girlfriend?" A song about loneliness, "Not When I Need It," may come close. But let's let it march around for a while with its heart on its studded sleeve and see how it wears.
Stereo Review, June 1995, v60, n6, p81(2)
By Ron Givens
Matthew Sweet's latest album - the third that combines his softer power-pop tendencies with the harder guitar pyrotechnics of guests Richard Lloyd and Robert Quine - starts off with a killer song, "Sick of Myself." For a long time, I couldn't bring myself to listen to the next one because I had to keep returning to the buoyant melody, soft vocals, and brilliant, jagged guitar solo. So I just kept listening to "Sick of Myself." I have yet to get sick of it.
Then I played the rest of the album. And it's quite good - catchy tunes, relevant observations, crisp playing. But, on the whole, it does not sustain the glory of that opening tune. For one thing, the musical formula seems to be wearing thin. As much as Sweet tries to vary the use of his two guitarists - pushing them up front, tucking them into the background, teaming them up - the recipes aren't as tasty. And while the riffs and melodies are fresh from tune to tune, the lyrics are not, and the sappy stuff is therefore a little too sappy (although a direct, plaintive ballad, "I Almost Forgot," is entirely winning despite its utter sappiness).
The inescapable irony of Sweet is that he is sweet, from his voice to his effortless tunecraft. While he sometimes offers a bracing counterpoint through lyrics that cast a little darkness over his romantic preoccupation, he has benefited greatly over the last three albums from the gnashing of Lloyd and Quine. If those guys are ever downplayed, or even phased out entirely, where will Sweet go to get his sour?
Memphis Flyer Interactive, June 13, 1995
By David D. Duncan
Things are not always what they seem. From the cover of his latest CD, 100% Fun, an adolescent Matthew Sweet smiles broadly from between a set of headphones. A 1970s album cover rests in his lap, featuring composer Max Steiner’s music and the soundtrack from King Kong (1933). Master Sweet appears to be thrilled with the idea of scary music and perverse, oversized monsters.
Flip the jewel case over and you gaze upon a photograph of the modern-day composer, some twenty years later. His eyes are obscured by shades. He wields an electric guitar in one hand, a control knob to a sound processor in the other. He is obviously pleased. What the 1995 adult version of Matthew Sweet has learned is that he can make his own emotion-stirring music, and that you don’t really need to scare yourself, since people are the most oversized, perverse monsters of all.
Sweet’s first two albums, Inside (1986) and Earth (1989), reveal an artist in search of an individual voice (and a sympathetic producer). His talent really started to blossom with the critical and commercial acclaim of Girlfriend (1991) and its misunderstood successor, Altered Beast (1993). A patchwork EP released last year (Son of Altered Beast) kept appetites whetted for another full-length studio effort.
As Matthew Sweet’s sixth career solo release, 100% Fun delivers on all levels. From the gangbusters opening track, "Sick of Myself," to the twelfth and final song, "Smog Moon," this album carries the listener on a surprisingly mature sonic journey through turbulent waters. Featuring the sinewy guitar work of maestros Richard Lloyd (Television) and Robert Quine (Lou Reed), and production by Brendan O’Brien (Pearl Jam, Stone Temple Pilots, Soundgarden), Matthew Sweet has finally attained the proper balance of musical elements he has always strived admirably to achieve.
The musical influences on display within 100% Fun are impeccable: You can hear The Byrds ("We’re The Same"), Procol Harum ("Everything Changes"), mellotron-laced pop psych ("Lost My Mind"), Big Star (the astonishing "Come To Love"), and the best of the British Invasion bands distilled throughout the proceedings. Sweet is also one of the rare few who can capture the melodic melancholy majesty of Del Shannon and Brian Wilson without sounding mannered. But no legendary names really need to be dropped, as Matthew Sweet takes these diverse sources and modifies them in his guts to arrive at his own distinct style, steeped in his personal philosophy of truth through trauma.
Sweet’s smell of success has only sharpened his writing and performing skills, and 100% Fun is a rewarding experience which maintains its integrity through repeated listenings. Like most great art, 100% Fun is both strangely unsettling and comforting at the same time. Get it before it gets you.
Rolling Stone Online, July 1995
By David Wild
With his justifiably acclaimed 1991 album Girlfriend, Matthew Sweet seemed on the verge of becoming a hugely popular power pop hero. 1993's Altered Beast was a significantly darker effort that sadly never found as large an audience. 100% Fun sounds closer to Girlfriend, though it's a tad edgier. That's perhaps in part thanks to the production help of Brendan O'Brien, well known for his work with Pearl Jam, Stone Temple Pilots and Bob Dylan, among others. Among the highlights here - and there are many - are "Sick Of Myself," "Everything Changes," "I Almost Forgot" and "Smog Moon."
Campus Press, 8/31/95
FUN! FUN! FUN! Matthew Sweet lightens his sound on his new album 100% Fun
By Jennifer Telford, Staff Writer
Music stirs up a wide variety of emotions, making us laugh, cry, relax or get wild. But Matthew Sweet's latest release is designed for just plain fun.
"When my last album came out, people kept telling me how dark and weird the songs were. So, I sarcastically told everyone I was going to call my next album 100% Fun," Sweet said in a press release.
Sweet's sixth solo release 100% Fun features 12 creative tunes that represent a culmination of thoughts and emotions that he has been exploring for the past five years. He successfully blends an eclectic and complex mix of style, ranging from the fuzzy raucous of his guitar to psychedelic nightmarish sounds and even some melodious ballads coupled with aching, soulful lyrics.
The opener, "Sick of Myself," reflects the fun-filled title and sets the tone for the spirited album. Singing about the insecurity involved in infatuation, Sweet combines lively lyrics with a bashing beat.
On the opposite end of the spectrum is the beautiful ballad "I Almost Forgot." Sweet sings of bittersweet love and heart-wrenching emotion, and the musical accompaniment of the sorrowful sound of a guitar is ever appropriate.
Sweet has already reaped success from 100% Fun as the album has topped the charts and several songs are in high demand on radio request lines. The spontaneous and playful roots-rock release with its many styles is sure to please a diverse group of music listeners.