“I honestly believe, from some of the (expletive) that I’ve read in the last year, that they couldn’t have listened to the whole album. It’s far above the dozens of complete grunge knock-offs, but has gained enough notoriety to become a reference point for any Seattle wanna-be jokes that are busting to be told. Strip away the nasty comments and can’t-win comparisons surrounding STP, and the band stands as a credible-not revolutionary-force.
It happened to Pearl Jam in the wake of Nirvana’s success, though Pearl Jam’s riff-rock had little to do with Nirvana’s unparalleled blend of gritty pop. You shouldn’t have worn that dress.”īut bands that follow commercially on the heels of booming breakthroughs in rock often meet with skepticism-and wind up having to prove their worthiness.
Weiland’s unorthodox angle was so unexpected that his anti-rape song “Sex Type Thing” was misconstrued as glorifying a rapist’s mentality: “I’m a man, I’ll give you something you won’t forget. His lyrics align STP with outside issues, including feminism. Weiland’s also not so self-obsessed as some of the artists with whom he’s been compared. The group’s hypnotic melodies emit more hope than the disturbed and introverted sound of Alice in Chains, and while Vedder sweats out lines like “Once upon a time, I could control myself,” Weiland’s lyrics are more cryptic. Stone Temple Pilots-which also includes Eric Kretz on drums and DeLeo’s older brother, Dean, on guitar-comes up with the most accessible sound, stripping the band of even more precious credibility in alternative rockdom, where success is often equated with compromise. Scott Weiland at KROQ’s Weenie Roast at the Verizon Wireless Amphitheatre in Irvine in June 2001. But the similarities are more likely due to the fact that all three bands pilfer riffs from ‘70s bands such as Black Sabbath and Led Zeppelin.
There’s no doubt that Weiland’s quavering, low voice is similar to Eddie Vedder’s and STP’s slow creeping guitar style is like that of Alice in Chains. Rocket’s singer John Reis once charged that STP “changes with whatever (hot) sound is next.” Spin magazine last year sharply noted that STP has “ridden the backwash of the grunge wave far beyond anyone’s wildest dreams, even their own.” Rocket From the Crypt, a band at the forefront of San Diego’s much lauded independent music scene, claims STP tried to align itself with the city for credibility. Gibby Haynes of the Butthole Surfers once referred to them as Stone Pimple Toilets. Just mention Stone Temple Pilots in the rock world and you’re likely to start a debate-or at least trigger a smarmy comment or two. We always write our best music when antagonizing each other or there’s some uncomfortable element there. “Robert and I have been writing together for eight years,” Weiland says. But after half a year apart, the group, which plays July 16 at Irvine Meadows Amphitheatre and July 19 at the Greek Theatre, went to Atlanta to record, and in the studio, away from the world’s eyes, began to gel again. That pain, and the mounting pressures that come with success, left the band members at odds with each other about career goals and musical directions, and collectively unable to plan a next move. It got to a silly point that any band that comes out that is trying to express themselves is lumped into a category.” But the industry is always looking for the next big thing, like the whole Seattle scene. Hopefully, we’re just contributing to something. The last thing I wanted to do with this band was make everybody believe we invented something. “How could you not be personally affected or hurt by someone dissing what’s so personal to you?” says the 28-year-old bassist, whose clean-cut, suburban look is squarely conservative next to Weiland’s more disheveled appearance, and seems severely out of place in the hard rock world STP’s been pegged into. Weiland’s songwriting partner, Robert DeLeo, is also troubled by the comparisons. The truth is we played small clubs and watched a lot of other bands get blown up and hyped out before ever doing anything.” “Part of the reason we seem new is we tried to distance ourself from the L.A.
A rumpled cotton shirt hangs off his small frame, while his stiff, new boots creak as he fidgets uncomfortably on the couch. “People make it sound like we suddenly appeared from nowhere, made a record and sold 4 million copies,” he says during an interview in West Hollywood’s Sunset Marquis Hotel, where the band has gathered from home bases that stretch from San Diego to Topanga Canyon.
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