It’s funny when a confluence of interests results in something that’s a few levels below whatever original materials it sought to incorporate. There’s not really been an act that’s followed its influences in a manner that does them total justice. But that’s the nature of art and imitation. So maybe no one is even culpable in situations like this – but then what would we all complain about? Nothing? I find that highly unlikely.

Coming out of the ‘70s ensemble Teardrop Explodes, itself an amalgam of ‘60s rock and new timey dance music, was Julian Cope. And at this point, he’s probably as well known for his writing and the Head Heritage website than for any of the music that he recorded during the ‘70s – at least one should hope so.

Regardless of anyone’s opinion of Teardrop Explodes, Cope would go on to release some well received solo albums amidst a decade of apparent hallucinogenic experimentation as well as toy collecting. And while the range of music that Cope would record touched upon a great many of his stated musical appreciations, even the better known and well thought of discs suffer from an imbalance of style and substance.

Recently reissued was Cope’s Peggy Suicide, a thematic album focusing on the finer points of the earth’s disintegration. It might not be too apparent from the outset that the 1991 release was a concerted effort to make social comment, but there’s enough reference to “changing worlds” and people granting trust for no good reason as to make the world seem like a problematic place to be.

Beginning the album with the fey “Pristeen,” Cope allows folks to take in the wide breadth of distrust that the disc is supposed to relate – of course included is enough discussion of oral sex as to keep anyone riveted. The fact that the music comes off as a cut rate combination of Spacemen 3 and the Vaselines doesn’t work to anyone’s advantage, though.

That first track is actually pretty indicative of what’s set to transpire over the duration of Peggy Suicide. It’s just a mess of influence shoved into some pigeonholed view of what a themed, concept album is supposed to be. The Velvet Underground would be appalled.

Lame, white funk crops up on “East Easy Rider,” which is able to ruin its bluesy lyrical source as well as the southern grit it borrows from. Some proponents of the disc might figure the music here is simply supposed to purport an overall message. That’s boss and all, but there’s no way that folks should have to sit through this abysmal fair to learn the perspective of the ‘artist.’

Mitigating this entire mess is the Stooges styled aggression that is “Hanging Out And Hung Up On The Line” replete with Cope’s requisite vocal moans ala Iggy himself. There’s mention of “getting clean,” which all should assume is doing double time for personal insight and broad ecological preaching. Either way, it’s the only track worth repeated listens here despite the general fawning that the disc receives in conversation.