Record Review - 1 January 09 2002

In the time it will take me to write this review of Creed's third album, the band will have moved another million records and tens of thousands tickets to their U.S. tour. So pontificating on how Weathered's earnest morass of block-headed rage, grunge-lite mega-riffs and singer Scott Stapp's machismo yarl amounts to little more than Pearl Jam circa '91 for dummies is like shooting fish in a barrel.

Sure, to many, Creed is "the enemy." But did you ever stop to think why? Is it because an abundance of professional athletes and guys in old Camaros with baby moustaches fancy their fist-pounding histrionics? Is it because Creed plays what is essentially Christian rock, only with hotter women in the audience? Who are you to decide what constitutes "the enemy" anyway? We've all slept with "the enemy" at some point: Kiss, Frampton, Journey, Def Leppard, Bon Jovi, post-Roth Van Halen.

Creed is simply carrying the same sanitized-for-the-middle escapist rock torch held by all of the aforementioned at one time or another. Though, going by the Morrison-esque spoken word intro and lines like "at least look at me when you shoot a bullet through my head," it seems Stapp would rather take a bullet than be seen as escapist.

Strange, wasn't Bono that earnest, once? So I guess Creed's techno period is just around the bend. Followed by their courtship with irony. That's I-ruh-nee, Scott.

Creed plays Wed., Jan. 16, at Philips Arena.??