Reviews of new releases from Primus and Nine Inch Nails.   Nine Inch Nails The Fragile (Nothing/Interscope) http://www.nin.com Of related interest: Marilyn Manson, Pink Floyd's The Wall Hard to believe it's been 10 years since Nine Inch Nails first made it safe for pimply, unpopular geeks to scream about how they were mad as hell and weren't gonna take it anymore. Of course, these days Pretty Hate Machine isn't the insurgent musical bazooka it was in '89. Broken seized a jock audience and a Grammy in the macho heavy-metal category. Now, The Fragile suggests that Trent Reznor made his greatest creative leaps in the early '90s: The blood-stained ground over which these songs stomp is essentially the same battlefield where he fought The Downward Spiral five long years ago. Only the words have changed--and they haven't changed much. That said, this two-disc techno-prog opus sounds sublime. It's flawed and unfocused, but Reznor's skill at making his keyboards breathe with emotion has never been in better evidence. Even during the most strident "industrial" moments, moss invades the mechanism and squirming tendrils of decay stretch their way into the grinding gears, threatening total breakdown. In fact, in contrast to the past--when Reznor's anguished yelps helped overcome clinical cyberpunk production--the oft-unconvincing vocals are the most mechanical aspect of The Fragile. The melodies seem forced, the harmonies contrived. On the numerous instrumentals, however, Reznor hits the heights of expression. Precise, surprisingly delicate musical twists pierce his heavily-wrought armor of meatheaded menace. He constructs these audio sculptures with incongruous sonic remnants: shreds of classic-rock guitar, tattered scraps of distorted synthesizers, splattered drums, discarded electro-funk bass lines and simple white noise. Together, they form asymmetrical shapes with a luminous beauty. Without the distraction of Reznor's strained lyrical schematics, a dark grace shines through the mud and filth. That The Fragile glows with this human fire is impressive, given that what often sounds like a live rock band is actually just one man with a million megabytes of cold digital memory. But why waste all that equipment on music that sounds like a Pink Floyd for the 21st century? Despite all those hulking banks of high-tech gear, Reznor seems content to sit and wait for the worms instead of marching brazenly forward into new experimental realms. Ironically--two well-deserved stabs at Marilyn Manson ("No, You Don't" and "Starfuckers, Inc.") and some extra-cheesy pop tunes notwithstanding--The Fragile packs little commercial appeal. Even the glossiest, most melodic songs shatter into head-scratching, incoherent bits. While this contrarian stance is laudable, it's also the album's greatest drawback: The Fragile is too rawkin' to appeal to hardcore synthaholics, but probably not catchy enough to infect the crania of thick-skulled mainstreamers. All but the most rabid Reznor-heads will be left feeling incomplete when the final song stops spinning. Regardless, The Fragile will quickly ship a few million units then slowly fill used-record bins around the nation. I guess that's what Reznor gets for flirting with fickle pop success. But then, as he himself said a decade ago on Pretty Hate Machine, "Why does it come as a surprise to think that [he's] so naive?" John Graham   Primus Antipop (Interscope) www.primussucks.com Of related interest: Laundry (the band, not the task) The boys of slap-beat low end and triple-kick drums come clean for another showcase of Les Claypool's obscura bass superiority. The title track of this latest installment in Primus' long odyssey takes a defiant swipe at radio and MTV, but you have to dig deeper into the album to find a more technical Primus. A newfound, eerie slowness draws attention to the fact that Claypool's once-ephemeral lyrics are no longer just blather. New drummer Brian "Brain" Mantia settles in behind the mondo kit, hammering solid, strong beats and rolls too fast to count. Mantia gives Les room to groove and guitarist Larry Lalonde an opportunity to swim inside and out of the rythmns. Once again, Primus manages to stand outside all boundaries of timing yet make it all sound smooth. Bronwyn McCracken - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - Willamette Week | originally published October 20, 1999