Lenny Kravitz

    {grate 2} Everything about Lenny Kravitz makes you want to try to like
    his music. Is it an easy listening quality or generic genre blend? Psychedelic
    funk or rocked out rhythm-and-blues? More than likely it’s his gorgeous face
    and body, along with that whole peace-loving-hippy thing he’s got going on.

    But what’s scarier than his eighth album title, It Is Time
    for a Love Revolution, is the fact that he’s been eye candy for not just you
    but probably for your mom as well. And that might be the problem with the
    album; it doesn’t really speak for any new incarnation of Kravitz. He’s got the
    classic rock funk and hokey lyrics down pat, that’s for sure, but what else?

    With little nuggets of wisdom like “We’re gonna fly over the
    world inside our giant eagle/ We do just what we want and don’t care if it’s
    legal” on “Back in Vietnam,”
    it’s hard not to cringe at the gratuitously obvious political references and
    snooze-worthy guitar strums. The music hails back to ’60s and ’70s
    counterculture, attempting to combine it with the high energy level of the
    early ’90s without the reinvention. On tracks like “Love Love Love” he
    recreates a Red Hot Chili Peppers’ mish-mash of rap-rock that sounds exactly
    like “Give It Away Now” without the crisp charm of Anthony Kiedis.

    The only time the going gets good is when Kravitz slows down
    with jazzy love serenades like “This Moment Is All There Is.” Sure the lyrics
    are corny, but the riffs are smooth and manipulated into such a sultry rock
    that you get steamed up just listening to it. What “This Moment” has is a
    genuine feeling of newness and heartfelt creation; it’s like suddenly finding
    yourself inside a smoke-filled blues club in the 1970s. The thunder of his rock
    ballads pales in comparison to the authentic pull and orchestration on his
    softer tracks.

    Upon repeat listens, Love Revolution comes together as an
    aging lovechild’s fist pump manifesto of mild intensity. He croons about love,
    whines about a dad who abandoned him and decries the U.S.
    government. Kravitz’s album is listenable, like an ambient noise machine set to
    ocean waves or sounds of the forest. It’s not difficult to like those noises —
    it’s just hard to remember them.

    Donate to The UCSD Guardian
    $2505
    $5000
    Contributed
    Our Goal

    Your donation will support the student journalists at University of California, San Diego. Your contribution will allow us to purchase equipment, keep printing our papers, and cover our annual website hosting costs.

    More to Discover
    Donate to The UCSD Guardian
    $2505
    $5000
    Contributed
    Our Goal