Not everybody listens to popular music for love songs-a fortunate reality for Nine Inch Nails and Rage Against the Machine. Inspiring soundalike bands and musical movements (industrial dance and rap-rock, respectively) these two outfits remain the gold standard for crafting albums about how pissed-off you feel in a world that seems exceedingly optimistic (America's unstoppable economy) but remains utterly distressing (natural disasters, bizarre killings, and airplane crashes-all in the last few weeks). Now that the angst of grunge is little more than whiny nostalgia, Trent Reznor and the guys in Rage both make artful arguments that the days of social protest haven't been left behind in the '80s.

Maybe that's why it's disappointing that success and shortsightedness have thwarted two coulda-been classics.

* * * * * * * In a way, Reznor (who, for all intents and purposes, is Nine Inch Nails) does write love songs, or, more precisely, the exact same love song: You ruined me. Reznor may have dropped all the gothic S&M trappings of his earlier incarnations, but his new double album continues his extremely narrow list of themes-You ruined me; The world ruined me; I ruined me. To be sure, the man has a thing for melodrama, or why else name his long-awaited return The Fragile, and do it with a straight face? Still, give him credit; his devotion to his theatrics may not be for everyone, but he certainly makes a convincing argument for utter self-absorption, self-hatred, and, most importantly (and here's partially the explanation for his success), self-reliance.

Little before 1994's The Downward Spiral (another heavyweight title) suggested Reznor's ability to turn his personal navel-loathing into compelling music. It's still easy to remember how brutal and genuinely unnerving The Downward Spiral first sounded. Unflinching tales about suicide and mutilation don't tend to go platinum, but Reznor's sound (which gets called techno, industrial, metal, or-personal favorite-death disco) seemed utterly original. (Fans of Depeche Mode or Joy Division can get all upset about that comment if they'd like, but it's true.) Sure, he could go on and on about himself, but with "Closer" he achieved a wonderful feat-creating danceably subversive music about the romantic ideal of fucking your beloved like an animal. The Downward Spiral to this day alternates between tremendously stirring and unavoidably bleak-paving the way for people's tolerance for every single album made by Tricky.

The Fragile must be Trent's way of showing that success hasn't softened him, but in its own way, perhaps it has. If Spiral seemed mercilessly overlong to you, then you should avoid the new album at all costs. Reznor's new two-disc is one lengthy piece of personal recovery. Just like Smashing Pumpkins, just like Guns N' Roses, just like Wu-Tang Clan, Trent Reznor has snagged consumer interest and decided to see how far he can push that allegiance with an ambitious, unmanageable follow-up effort.

Resembling that old Jewish joke,The Fragile is just like other CDs ... only more so. Basically, Reznor wants his own The Wall (which, come to think of it, was Billy Corgan's inspiration for the marathon running time of Mellon Collie and the Infinite Sadness-yet another doozy of an album title). Never being that big a fan of Pink Floyd's mammoth concept piece-which, in turn, seemed like an inflated Dark Side of the Moon without as many great songs and a less convincing overriding theme-the proposition of trying to recreate that dubious milestone doesn't exactly set the heart aflame with hope.

Reznor really doesn't have a Floydian grand statement to make on The Fragile-proving that unless you are Anne Frank, don't try to make profound societal commentaries built around your journal entries. Instead, he and Bob Ezrin (who worked-wouldn't you know it?-on The Wall and, as indicated by Reznor's liner notes, "provided final continuity and flow") allow each song to bleed into the next, implying an apparent thematic, narrative motif that just isn't there.

Listening to all 104 minutes in one sitting, you get worn out by The Fragile, even if it does take you on a journey. Studio rats like Reznor tinker with their music obsessively, applying tones and layers in the same way film directors rely on cinematographers and composers to create an overall stylistic dimension. The Fragile has the drama and the adventure of a good flick, but its pacing cripples it. (Did you see the film for The Wall? Same problem there, too.) Much in the same manner that George Lucas smashes scene into scene to create an artificial feeling of momentum-"Boy, this movie just don't stop" is the desired response-Reznor repeatedly segues back and forth between louder, harsher songs and somber, contemplative moments, all to simulate a chutes-and-ladders emotional trip.

Luckily, his songwriting skill hasn't been diminished during his time off (when he wasn't doing soundtracks or assisting on Marilyn Manson's records). For a bummed-out dude convinced everyone hates him, he has the heart of a hook-heavy tunesmith. The same way Spiral didn't sink to the bottom with all its oppressive weight, so too does The Fragile largely succeed-these songs are extraordinarily dispiriting but catchy, catchy, catchy.

The music may soar to the heights and plumb the depths, but his lyrics don't go anywhere, an indicator of some complacency creeping into his work. Before, Reznor's words could possess a universal, you-fill-in-the-blanks anonymity. But the Herculean sonic achievement of The Fragile deserves a better narrator than it has-c'mon, Trent, how could you miss that essential point during all that Floyd worship? Reznor's presence in the lyrics becomes so Everyman as to hardly be there at all, a tirade without direction.

Whether or not the money has dulled the pointed attacks he used to deliver can be debated by somebody else, but he hasn't completely gone belly-up either. Mr. Self Destruct does his best "Dre Day" impression when sticking it to estranged friend Manson on "Starfuckers, Inc." and gets downright scary in his romantic desperation on "We're in This Together" and "Somewhat Damaged." But, tellingly, some of the real highlights come on "The Frail," "Ripe (With Decay)" and "Just Like You Imagined." The songs are, in equal measure, violent, gorgeous, troubling, soothing-and they don't have any lyrics getting in the way. You might be surprised how little you miss them.

The signs of prosperity's taint appear elsewhere. Only someone with his clout could have been allowed to take this much time on a record and have it turn out this gargantuan. He could justify it by saying that he had to pursue his artistic impulses and make the album that was important to him, but how many more books, movies and music do we need that are bloated and self-important until we believe that old cliché about great art coming from limitations, not boundless resources? Reznor has countless terrific moments on The Fragile-any 12 of these 23 songs could have made a dynamic, worthy heir to Spiral-but Reznor, as an artist, has ultimately followed his muse on a fool's errand. Maybe it's a testament to his considerable talent that he's almost able to get away with it clean.

* * * * * * *

"The incredible lack of importance seemed to jump off the screen at me. But it did make certain bands really stand out. I thought Rage Against the Machine looked like the Second Coming of Christ."

-Trent Reznor on watching Woodstock '99

Well, Lord knows Rage comes across with the same piety and missionary zeal as the Almighty. They're not bigger than Jesus; they're as serious as Jesus.

Pretty much the only '90s band to make a dent on the radio armed with political causes, singer/lyricist Zack de la Rocha and his group have built a growing following, including music journalists who were ready to start their own Woodstock-esque riots about how stupendously the recently released The Battle of Los Angeles turned out. And they're right. Mostly.

Like Reznor, Rage Against the Machine may have tasted from the golden chalice, but they remain devoted to their agenda. Also like Trent, the subject matter doesn't vary much-The Establishment is fighting to keep us down. Detractors-yes, if you read independent weeklies, you might find Rage actually does have some detractors-can't abide the hypocrisy of a band railing against the Man while being signed to the fat-cat Sony label. Now, there might be some merit in that argument, but please. We don't get mad at gorgeous pop stars who sing about their broken hearts because they're much better looking than we are and won't have any problems meeting somebody else, like, today. No, we hate them because their songs suck, and that certainly isn't the case with Rage Against the Machine.

Musically, the band has a narrow, but effective, assault. The integration of rap elements into their militia-rally riffs doesn't seem so obvious this time around, meaning that the band has come to a place where it has stopped sounding like an amalgam of other bands. Instead, Rage Against the Machine sounds like Rage Against the Machine-which is, by and large, a good thing.

The Battle of Los Angeles (another oh-so-humble album title) overpowers you like The Fragile, but it's not the length that gets you, it's the fire-and-brimstone aggression. Seeing them open on U2's PopMart tour, it was clear that Rage could only write one type of really great song-and then would keep spinning variations of that angry, commanding song. Likewise, the new album has captured people's allegiance because it lacks breadth. By staying true to a monolithic rabble-rousing sound, The Battle pleases fans who don't want this gifted band to bend on its principles.

That doesn't mean this approach won't get old soon.

De la Rocha and guitarist Tom Morello (who seems to have been officially given the new moniker of "Guitar Hero Tom Morello") don't have any patience for ballads or emotional heartwrenchers-as with Reznor, they've taken some pointers from their inspirations but didn't pay full attention. You're not a genius by guessing that they tip their hat to U2 and especially Public Enemy, specifically those band's groundbreaking '80s protest period. Highly commendable influences indeed; nevertheless, as good as The Battle of Los Angeles can be, look at those other groups' very finest albums and you realize where (blasphemy!) Rage could improve in some areas.

Reznor isn't the only agitator who lets his music do most of the talking. For all the hosannas about de la Rocha's antagonistic rhymes, Rage's mouthpiece could accomplish so much more if he allowed a little first-person involvement into his condemning tales. Asked in interviews, he seems to think that using the word "I" somehow diminishes the urgency and importance of his rants against sweatshops, media laziness, government corruption.

Perhaps you find that selfless attitude laudable, but why? De la Rocha feels it weakens the arguments made, but the one thing politicians understand that he doesn't is that when it comes to our spokespeople, we don't just believe in what they're saying, we believe in them. Recorded and mixed to give you the distinct impression that the world is ending as you listen to it, The Battle makes a gripping, addictive blast of noise and chaos; it's oddly distancing, though, and you can't really relate to it. Their gripes are well-founded, but what's the impact on a personal level? Other than the oppressed title character of "Maria," who actually suffers from these ills? People do, but there aren't enough of them here-everything's too abstract (the Establishment, the Government, the Forgotten). George W. or Al Gore may get criticized for lapsing into generalities, but de la Rocha commits a similar offense.

De la Rocha and Morello always come across as interesting guys-read any article about them and you understand what fueled such vehement, focused vitriol against the elite. Too bad that sort of identification doesn't happen in the music. Instead, de la Rocha has adopted Chuck D's sermon-on-the-mount routine, even though Chuck had a gift for storytelling with a definite point of view-the unforgettable jail break of "Black Steel in the Hour of Chaos" or the lazy, distracted mothers of "She Watch Channel Zero?!" Rage's frontman rants and rants, and he's developed into quite a charismatic screamer, but mostly you remember the seductive hooks with their slogan-ready choruses. ("War within a breath/It's land or death;" "It's right outside your door/Now testify.") These moments sound really bitchin' coming out of our car speakers, but the words don't provoke any deeper contemplation as we cruise over to Jamba Juice.

The Battle has plenty of adrenaline but inadvertently skimps on the potency of the message. Another thing about Chuck D-he had Flavor Flav, a welcome form of comic relief that Rage desperately needs. Similar to his resistance to emotional engagement with his songs, de la Rocha still naively holds to the idea that cracking a well-placed joke cheapens his rhetoric. Hopefully, he'll get over this; Flav's "911 Is a Joke" makes so much sense precisely because it's funny, because it catches you offguard.

As for U2, after their solemnity during the Reagan decade, they embraced the inherent stupidity of raging against their own machines-you become rich & famous and get on magazine covers for writing popular music while you're singing about world problems that don't go away.

In response, that band accomplished Achtung Baby and the Zoo TV tour, recognizing that winking at the irony doesn't mean you like it anymore now than you did before. Perhaps Rage and their followers look down on U2's kiss-off to its burdensome sincerity-and don't think U2's act didn't get old either-but why then did Rage Against the Machine play with them in those large arenas? (OK, they gave all their earnings to charity, but still.)

Like it or not, U2 and PE (hell, even Nine Inch Nails) understand that being pissed-off is only one arrow in the quiver. Eventually, you're going to need other weapons. The Battle of Los Angeles may represent their highwater mark thus far, but it doesn't suggest where else they can take their particular brand of political fervor. Just no double albums, please.

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