Rock band needs a better Creed

Prior to skulking over to the Hard Rock Joint last night for sets by Fuel and Creed, I stopped by the Double Down Saloon to watch local band Native Tongue warm up for their show that night. They greeted me with a wave, plugged in, and played some of the best instrumental rock you'll ever hear - a welcome collision of Django Reinhardt and Metallica, with the Ventures bridging the gap.

Though the band was aware of me - "Hey, the press is here!" shouted Grant the Bartender - beyond the initial greeting they turned their backs to me, facing drummer Matt Muntean and checking their levels. Lengthy soundchecks are a Native Tongue trademark - a band that will labor over an individual song for up to a month to work all the kinks out.

Their fastidiousness pretty much set the tone for the evening. Even with their backs to a nonexistent audience, Native Tongue was more compelling than Creed by half, and they had the luxury of facing forward. Creed vocalist Scott Stapp announced the band with the soon-to-be wildly popular national catchphrase "Are you ready to rock?" and then proceeded to do something resembling just that, if one listened hard enough.

Creed's sound - a post-grunge afterthought, so evocative of Pearl Jam and Alice in Chains that it's hard to believe those bands didn't sire Creed in the first place - is that of desperation, the sound of four guys raised on Sisters of Mercy and The Cult and not much else. It's hard to believe that these dullards have moved a million copies of their record, but with the hard-rock market as soft as it is right now (Ministry, where are you?), Creed's success was inevitable. With your average rock station only playing 30 bands in a 24-hour rotation, naturally some of those bands will end up in the top 25.

However, Stapp has a slight glimmer of promise as a frontman, if he quits leaning so heavily on the Jim Morrison gestures and concentrates on his pipes: that boy can indeed sing. The band can't write, but Stapp can sing his skinny butt off.

Fuel was just the opposite. As catchy and bright as Creed was dark and petulant, their set reminded me of Social Distortion, Sevendust, Foo Fighters and a number of other bands I've enjoyed recently, tricking me: they sound almost exactly like the aforementioned bands, which forced me to concentrate on what they were doing wrong.

Put simply: vocalist Brett Scallions needs to bite the bullet and start using those pesky consonants. Whole songs of "aaaaa-eeeee-aaaaa-ooooo" become annoying rather quickly. Despite his paternal-style banter ("Be careful out there, and be kind to your neighbor"), Scallions really needs to return to finishing school, to regain mastery of his lips and tongue.

The audience went rabid for both bands, and there's something really entertaining about watching these kids beat the daylights out of each other, believe you me. But I've still got to wonder: why all the fuss over Creed and Fuel while Pearl Jam is, in fact, touring and their records remain in print? If somebody took Stapp's microphone stand away, would he fall over? Was I simply not ready to rock?

Hard to say. All I do know is that Creed and Fuel could stand to follow the Native Tongue method: turn around and face their own music. Perhaps they'll still like what they hear, or maybe, just maybe...

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