Tom Verlaine
Dreamtime (Infinite Zero)
by Chris Adams
Infinite Zero Archives is a brand new subsidiary of the American label that specializes in exhuming forgotten classics. The brainchild of American head honcho Rick Rubin and angsty weightlifter Henry Rollins, the label plans to re-release eight albums in 1995. These include the uptight white funk of James White’s Buy the Contortions, The Gang of Four’s post-punk classic, Entertainment, and gonzo Suicide frontman Alan Vega’s New Racion – all groovy stuff that should be greeted with myriad tears of joy. I personally went through a box and a half of Kleenex when I got my hot little mitts on a copy of the label’s reprint of Dreamtime by Tom Verlaine.
In a perfect world, Tom Verlaine would be everybody’s guitar hero, and the only sound we’d hear from Eddie Van Halen would be, “Do you want fries with that?” Unfortunately, popular tastes being what they are, Van Halen’s free to spurt all over stadiums across the world, while Verlaine operates in virtual obscurity. This is tragic, ‘cuz Verlaine is arguably the most distinctive and influential American guitarist of the past 20 years – which is exactly how long the public at large has been ignoring him. In 1975, he and his New York based group, Television, released Marquee Moon, an absolutely brilliant, timeless record that set a new standard for guitar-based rock – just ask The Edge or Thurston Moore, or Dave Roblack, or… well, you get the picture. When the band broke up after they released their sophomore effort, Adventure, Verlaine embarked on a solo career. Dreamtime is Verlaine’s second LP without Television.
Dreamtime may be Verlaine’s most straightforward “rock” album, but, that said, it’s still a far cry from leather-clad-leg-on-the-monitor bombast. It manages to be accessible without sacrificing Verlaine’s odd quirkiness, eclecticism, and trademark otherworldly guitar textures. Where many rock records fall victim to their own repetition, Dreamtime actually benefits from it, due to the tension created by the weaving dual-guitar interplay. This varies between lifting melodic structures (“Without a Word”), barbed, chunky riffs (“A Future In Noise”), and charming stratospherics (“Always,” “Fragile”).
The album’s weirdest track, “The Blue Robe,” features needle-scraped-across-vinyl guitar squalls coupled with only the word “hi-fi” sung like a mantra for a vocal. Also, despite Verlaine’s obvious proficiency, Dreamtime is by no means a “musicians-only” exercise in virtuosity. It’s a tight, well-structured album of developed songs, replete with catchy choruses and strangely moving lyrics:
Oh no I guess it is my fate
To live a life I can’t communicate
How painful, painful
But giving up is OK
I go for your check and I see
Your check has been paid
Vocally, while Verlaine will never be mistaken for Tony Bennett, the strangled warble of his voice just adds to the offbeat charm of this essential album. Now, if only Infinite Zero would re-release Cover and Verlaine’s first solo album – maybe then we could be rid of jizzmaster Van Halen for good.
