X

Perhaps the only thing more frustrating than seeing an iconic rock/metal band falter and continue to flail away with zero hope of recovery is seeing one redeem themselves only to fall right back into the same rut that they had just escaped. Case and point being former NWOBHM trustees turned 80s Britain's answer to AC/DC Def Leppard, a band that arguably put out the most incoherent garbage of a pop/rock/alternative album in Slang during the apex of the post-grunge era in hopes of maintaining relevance with listeners less than half their age. As the rock wasteland that was the 1990s drew to a close and some degree of optimism was returning to the masses west of the Atlantic, this outfit seemed to come to terms with their status as a middle aged rock group that ought to be playing to their peers rather than courting teenaged trustees of 3rd wave feminism who dismissed their cynical pandering as dirty old man shenanigans, releasing a respectable return to form after the mode of Hysteria in 1999's Euphoria. Given the improved sales that resulted, to speak nothing for the renewal of credibility within older school AOR circles, one might have assumed that lessons learned would have led to a renewed commitment to stylistic consistency, and if so, one would have been dead wrong.

Thus stands X, an album that can be best described as the sort of maniacal mid-life crisis that leads one to troll the local high school for dates like a 42 year old Matthew McConaughey. Just about every decrepit variant of early 2000s pop abscess has been mixed into this cauldron of commercial pandering, dressed up with a slightly more guitar-oriented gloss, but generally about as impactful and exciting as an NSYNC concert for people twenty years past the point of said music being appropriate. Occasional flourishes of the tired, beaten into submission grunge sound that dominated Slang have made a return, though in an even lighter strain more comparable to the likes of Goo Goo Dolls and Matchbox Twenty. Sappy acoustic balladry such as "Long Long Way To Go" splits the difference between sounding like late 90s Sarah McLachlan and Backstreet Boys that one might be tempted to accuse Joe and company of being 3 years too late to pick up chicks at Lilith Fair, while half-acoustic rock flops like "Now" and "Everyday" seem to be attempting to channel a formulaic radio-oriented groove that was played out and banal when Tonic and Third Eye Blind were making their contributions to the American Pie soundtrack. The only element in any of these soulless retreads of past pop/rock mediocrity that dovetails with Def Leppard's musical identity are the massive layers of backing vocal tracks, which are themselves gimp-like and lean towards the boy band sound that was still an item in the early 2000s.

As limp-wristed and cringe-inducing of a collection of vapid pandering as this album is, somehow it manages to exhibit enough of a hard rock element to also qualify as a mockery of said style in the process. Despite being pretty heavy on the bubblegum factor and not really showcasing any sort of distinctive qualities, there is a rocking remnant to anthems like "You're So Beautiful" and "Four Letter Word", though it comes off as more of a 3rd rate retread of something that Tom Petty or AC/DC might have done a decade prior, with the latter song occasionally highlighting some semi-plagiarized riffs from Back In Black and their own late-80s smash "Armageddon It", arguably one of the better moments in an almost exclusively terrible album. Things get a tad heavier on the grooving stomper "Cry", though the principle riff is such an obvious nod to Stone Temple Pilots' mid-90s hit "Interstate Love Song" with some tidbits from an earlier hit of their's "Plush" that anyone encountering this song is bound to wonder where Scott Weiland's vocals went rather than hail it as a Def Leppard triumph. Truth be told, this album's strong points are defined more by being less horrid than the rest, with the album's closing rocker "Scar" being the only thing on here really indicative of Def Leppard's signature AOR glory days, and the only really listenable offering of the bunch.

In much the same respect as their last cynical attempt to hop over to a younger generation's music with the bottom line being the only possible motivation, X is among the most avoidable albums to ever be released by any alumni of the NWOBHM, including the largely panned Saxon pivots into AOR territory from the late 80s. One thing that is to this band's credit is that they were at least somewhat forthcoming about their intent to shift away from the nostalgia of Euphoria for more "current" mainstream fair, as Joe Elliott himself divulged during Leppard's appearance on an episode of VH1's Storytellers in promotion of said album when he noted the massive success of Aerosmith's "I Don't Want To Miss A Thing" and explained Def Leppard's dismissal of ever revisiting their NWOBHM material live as being driven by monetary concerns. It's an understandable motivation to want a little more out of a career than just scraping by, which supposedly is what defined the pre-Hysteria days of their career, but even the best excuse ever imagined can not hope to cover for the insipid fluff that rounds out the lion's share of this sad little opus. It goes without saying that no metal fan with an iota of self-respect would be caught dead praising this crap, but even among shameless AOR trustees, this carries the same flavor as Mr. Tweak's home-brewed coffee; i.e. three-day old, moldy diarrhea.