Final Exit

"They haven't even mentioned one song yet," grumbles Blackie as he turns the pages of a large SPIN feature on the band. "All this guy's interested in doing is getting to our 'real human personas.' " Of course, this griping is a bit disingenuous; why agree, for example, to yet another Details feature hooked on sending a journalist out to get tanked with the boys? "[We're] the most photogenic band in rock, and there's a picture this big," Blackie complains, holding up his thumb and forefinger. "For a magazine like Details, we should be custom-made for their whole modern honky fashion sense, but all they want to do is write about what lushes we are."

OK, then, let's talk about the music. "To make an album like Exit the Dragon requires a great deal of personal sacrifice," Blackie sniffs. "I won't get into details, but the average joe walking down the street cannot do it." This may be true, but me and the other average joes I know are also having trouble listening to it. A friend mentioned that it sounds a lot like Eddie Money, which seemed a good enough explanation for its shortcomings until someone else sagely countered that the last record -- the supercharged and eminently preferable Saturation -- also sounded like Eddie Money. Inventing some aesthetic criteria for Mr. Money's body of work is, quite frankly, beyond the realm of my abilities, so I'll leave this conundrum to future historians.

And ultimately, I relinquish any ability to discern where the joke ends and the craft begins with Urge. In particular, Roeser's portrayal of the whiny, grumpy rock star seems a tad overdeveloped today to be a mere act. "I would like to leave this building as soon as possible," Roeser implores, as his manager hustles him to a meeting with their lawyers. "This is just stifling."

Urge Overkill plays Tues, Dec. 5, at the Fillmore in S.F.; call 346-6000.