The universe is an illusion in many ways. We seldom stop to think about how we are hurtling through the cosmos, both around the sun and around our own axis. Despite life feeling stagnant at times, we are always in motion, always moving toward an unknown future. Even if we never move, we do not remain in the same place for more than an instant. That thought is both terrifying and comforting, as it gives us hope that the black curtains cannot hide the stage forever, but it also means the spotlight is a fleeting flash we cannot blink without missing.
The Wallflowers were a band that embodied this spirit, as each of their records had a unique identity. After becoming unlikely stars on the "Bringing Down The Horse" cycle, they moved to shore up their critical reputation with an album rooted in the act of songwriting, then reversed course to embrace their most radio-seeking batch of songs. They were always The Wallflowers, but each record showed a different face of the cut gem.
"Rebel, Sweetheart" is in many ways the summation of the band's run as a consistent unit. Every record that came before is embodied in the sound, blending Dylan's poetry with weeping lead guitars, muscular Heartbreakers-esque rock, and a sheen of pop gloss that covered up the fraying edges.
Everything the band had been seeking to become, musically, had been leading to a record like this one. The songs were tight, melodic, and suited to Dylan's distinctive rasp. It took several albums, but Dylan had found his voice as a mainstream songwriter. A string of songs from this collection could have been successors of "One Headlight" and "6th Avenue Heartache", except for the fact that the world had changed as much as the band had. The sad truth was they had moved in different directions, and there wasn't room left for a band playing classic Americana rock and roll.
The Wallflowers were never fated to be popular hit-makers. They lucked into the role, but Dylan's poetry was too esoteric for the mainstream to embrace. "One Headlight" was a hit, but the lyrics were enigmatic images that never fully revealed themselves to the majority of the audience. When "Sleepwalker" tried to keep the momentum going with references to Sam Cooke, it was going over the heads of those who were the target audience (myself included).
This record features a song written about a drunk marionette, which is the sort of thing that generates side-eye in people who do not understand, let alone enjoy, allegory. People knew what Dylan meant when he sang about Cinderella, but the puppet was a step too far. In that way, the album feels like an experiment to make radio-friendly esoterica, to prove that pop hooks are too light to carry much beyond vapid trivialities. The irony of saying that is in the fact the album fails if such is the case, because these songs are sharp enough to bring the poetry to the forefront of (at least my) mind.
On every record, there are a few lines Dylan writes that are elegant explanations of complex thoughts. Here, that comes in the line he croons in his most weary voice, "Not every smile means I'm laughing inside."
We have all heard of 'putting on appearances', and that is what he is saying. In the song, he describes the act of hiding ourselves under an air of amiability as akin to crawling "a quarter mile through black pools of razor wire". A cutting barb to remind us of how deeply life cuts us. The scars are both physical and metaphorical, and we are expected to keep them covered for the sake of everyone who refuses to admit that it takes more energy to keep your lips curled into a friendly smile than it is to express how you truly feel.
That point, in particular, is what I think about when I listen to this album. "Rebel, Sweetheart" is an album that seeks to hide the sad truth behind the polish of joyous production. It succeeds in that, often fooling me into thinking it is an album for happier times. But that's not what The Wallflowers do, and it's seeing the core start to show through as the candy coating dissolves that makes this a record I have listened to for twenty years with the same eager anticipation as the first time.
This record will never mean as much to me as "Breach" does, because linear causation will not allow that, but it is the record that told me I am as much The Wallflowers as a wallflower. "Bringing Down The Horse" is the album everyone knows, "Breach" is the album everyone needs to hear, and "Rebel, Sweetheart" is the album everyone doesn't realize they missed out on.
We may be two decades on, but it's never too late to rectify that mistake.
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