Julian Coryell: Bitter To Sweet

Musical comparisons are a blessing and a curse, a convenient form of critical shorthand that's maligned and encouraged in equal measure. Sometimes, it's just inevitable: If Matchbox 20 employs the same formula as Counting Crows, which does a lot of appropriating of its own, that ought to be noted. The same goes, to a lesser extent, for hotly hyped singer-songwriter Julian Coryell—the son of jazz guitarist Larry Coryell—who has already endured (and benefited from) numerous comparisons to the late Jeff Buckley. Worthy would-be heirs to the legacy of Buckley, who drowned in 1997, have popped up before, from Jude (Buckley as a coffeehouse-friendly, Dylan-esque troubadour) to the underrated Mayfield Four (a clearer descendant that sounds a bit like Buckley leading a Soundgarden-esque hard-rock band). But few have seemed as musically connected as Coryell, who appropriates not only the swooping, delicate, elastic vocal range, but also the way Buckley's dynamic songs build to tense, dramatic crescendos. The examples are all over Bitter To Sweet: in the way "Lucky" builds to a climax remarkably similar to the one in Buckley's "Grace," and in the way "Song For Cynics" concludes with a gorgeous, clear falsetto. But for the most part, the album's derivative moments—not to mention its fragments of brilliance—just serve as a reminder of Coryell's as-yet-unrealized promise. "Song For Cynics" is an earnestly dopey song, beautifully sung. "Cheat" and "Didn't Mean To Be So Mean" have potent hooks and a sharp edge, but they tend to lumber; besides, Coryell is a lot more effective as a crooner than a growling rocker. It'd be easy to hail Bitter To Sweet for what Coryell may eventually become, but for now, the praise is premature.