Come speak

As well it should. Come deals in catharsis, and their music has never offered much reassurance, either in the form of optimistic sentiments or classic-rock references. As a result, it tends to scare off as many people as it seduces. If you need to have the meaning of a lyric spelled out, if your idea of a daring rock-and-roll frontwoman is Alanis Morissette, and if the idea of immersing yourself in dark sonic storms in order to come out purified doesn't seem like fun, then Come just may not be your kind of band.

Their 1992 debut, Eleven: Eleven (Matador), remains the most extreme of Come's albums. Some heard it as a beautiful blur, others as an impenetrable blur, but the blur was pretty much a given (and I'd rate it 60/40 in favor of beauty). The album's bluesy overtones were duly noted -- although there's nearly as much of a torch/cabaret influence between the lines -- and it stirred up a critical buzz that the band hasn't really recaptured yet (especially in England, where Come briefly enjoyed next-big-thing status). But the sound didn't fully take flight until the follow-up album, 1994's superb Don't Ask Don't Tell (also Matador). Thanks to a boost in songwriting and a few cosmetic changes (the songs got marginally faster, the lyrics dealt more with recognizable, if uncomfortable, relationship situations), the sonic outbursts took on a more liberating quality. And this was where Thalia Zedek's vocal delivery went from intriguing to mesmerizing. If she's the anti-Alanis, it's because she lays emotions bare without glamorizing either her anger or herself.

Coming after a year that saw the original band line-up split down the middle (bassist Sean O'Brien and drummer Arthur Johnson both left last summer), Near Life Experience is clearly a transitional album -- and a sneaky one. It's also one of two Come-related albums that will be released in the next two weeks. They're the backup band on Melting in the Dark, the latest from cult-hero songwriter and ex-Dream Syndicate leader Steve Wynn, which is due shortly on Zero Hour.

Near Life Experience completes Come's three-album development from a murk-drenched sound to a more straightforward rock approach. Co-founders Thalia Zedek and Chris Brokaw, who are now the only full-time members, have become more comfortable with things they've avoided in the past: major chords, clear production, vocal harmonies, cheap-thrill guitar licks, concise song structures, a pretty melody or two (the closing "Slow Eyed" has most of the above). Along with the Beatles riff, there are other surprising allusions. "Bitten" has the kind of sitar-like guitar line that screams "Led Zeppelin," while "Shoot Me First" -- on which Brokaw sings lead for the first time -- sounds a bit like an early, stripped-down Cure track, deadpan vocal and all. On first listen, you might think it's time to throw out your preconceptions of Come as a dark and forbidding band.

But it's not, because the songs on Near Life Experience aren't nearly as friendly as they may seem. They're the kind that draw you in close so they can slip something in your drink. And while they may taste fine going down, it's the bitter aftertaste that lingers. The surface accessibility gets subverted in nearly every song, starting with "Hurricane," which picks up mood-wise about where the Beatles' "I Want You (She's So Heavy)" cuts dead. "Bitten" may draw you in with that Zeppelin riff, but by song's end the lead guitar disappears and gets replaced by the ruder sound of a trumpet (one of a few departures the album makes from Come's usual guitar-bass-drums format). And "Shoot Me First" may be uncharacteristically jangly, but the guitar line gets a little more toothsome every time it comes around. Brokaw's voice breaks out of deadpan when he sings the final verse: "I know it hurts to look at my eyes, but I think you're ready now for just one more surprise. . . ." End of song. He doesn't tell you what the surprise is, but leaves you convinced that you don't want to know.

Zedek's lyrics are likewise more up front emotionally this time. If she sounded lost or messed-up before, this time she's just plain upset. "Weak as the Moon" pulls the Aimee Mann trick of claiming empathy for someone who's messed you up ("You never knew me anyway/You'd never want to, that's okay"). Two consecutive songs, "Secret Number" and "Bitten," are addressed to friends who've gotten into drugs or something equally destructive. On "Bitten," she asks, "Did you put your head to the ground? Did you catch what's going around?" without a whole lot of sympathy. It's no contradiction that her vocals here are some of the most confident she's recorded; rather, she's opened up enough to let this much poison spill out.

The album's main shortcoming is that it feels incomplete. With eight songs running 32 minutes, Near Life Experience is more like an EP than a full-fledged album, and it lacks the structural unity of Don't Ask Don't Tell (whose two peaks -- the torch ballad "Let's Get Lost" and the big outburst "In/Out" -- aren't quite equalled here, though "Hurricane" comes close).

Shortly after the album was wrapped up last winter, Zedek and Brokaw took acoustic guitars to the Green Street Grill at Charlie's Tap in Cambridge, accompanied only by pianist Beth Heinberg. They played an icily beautiful set that brought the cabaret elements in Come's sound to light (and made a perfect soundtrack to the blizzard going on outside). That style never turns up on Near Life Experience, where it would have made an excellent counterpoint to the harsher sound of the electric tracks. Still, both the album and last January's show leave Come with a lot of promising territory to explore; no small feat for a band that was potentially dead eight months ago.

Melting in the Dark is a different story. Although it's not a full-fledged Come album any more than Mirror Ball is a Pearl Jam album, it's one of the better things Steve Wynn has done in a largely impressive career. At his best, Wynn's writing gets uncomfortably close to some dark and shady characters; here he harnesses Come's sound to give those tales more resonance ("I Love the Way You Punish Me" wins this month's award for "most pathetic situation described in a rock song"). The other side of the album is a celebratory garage feel that Come would never find on its own. The opening "Why" finds them plugging into a Ramones-ish riff to match Wynn's hell-bent lyrics ("Nothing left to salvage, never mind the carnage, yeah!"). And "Shelley's Blues, Part 2" (whose title likely refers to Mike Nesmith's "Some of Shelley's Blues") is their first and only neo-'60s pop ballad, complete with out-of-character backing vocals by Zedek. On stage at Mama Kin last month (in their first collaborative show before a European tour; they've since gone separate ways), Wynn didn't seem sure whether he wanted his band to be Come (on the new material) or the Dream Syndicate (on older, jam-oriented tunes), but they did an admirable job at both.

Come will play T.T. the Bear's Place this weekend with a set of mostly new material accompanied by pianist Heinberg and completed by ex-Rodan bassist Tara Jane O'Neil and drummer Kevin Coultas (one of two rhythm sections on their album). We caught Brokaw and Zedek for a chat at the Middle East last week. Here's what we talked about:

Click for the interview...