Smart fella, that Steve Wynn. For a follow-up to 2001’s career-defining Here Come The Miracles, the ex-Dream Syndicate leader returned to the Tucson, Ariz., studio where the album was hatched and reunited with backing band the Miracle 3 (as well as former Green on Red keyboardist Chris Cacavas and producer Craig Schumacher). But rather than trying to top that sprawling, double-disc opus, Wynn delivers its twisted, tortured sibling instead. Static Transmission’s grimly intoned opener “What Comes After” faces the dashed hopes that Miracles’ grand gospel closer “There Will Come A Day” once viewed with so much promise. “What Comes After” merely hints at the quiet desperation lurking in the grooves here, an element introduced more precisely with the Warholian picturesque “Candy Machine” (a distorted, gauzy interplay of guitar and vocals). Later, the funeral march of “Keep It Clean” explodes into a malevolent psych drone before things settle down with the spare, funky symphony “Maybe Tomorrow.” Balancing the album’s heavier sentiments is the six-and-a-half minute centerpiece “Amphetamine”—a high-octane, gear-shifting ride that hurtles through the Southern California night and finds Wynn’s mojo hand, buzzsaw guitar and braggadocio in fine a form as ever. As with Miracles, L.A. native Wynn—a New York City resident for the past decade—draws much muse from his old stomping ground. The sprite “California Style”—inspired by the coke-fueled antics of ‘70s rockers the Eagles and perhaps owing something to Wynn’s own reckless days in the Paisley Underground—is a bouncy ode to Golden State hedonism. Meanwhile, the sly self-mythologizing anthem “Hollywood” finds Wynn in a similarly reflective mode. The disc comes full circle, closing with the autumnal notes of “Charcoal Sunset” and the suitably titled “Fond Farewell”—alternately lurching and grooving with a weariness that recalls Time Out Of Mind Dylan. In all, it’s a batch of brilliant, bleak pop that further confirms Wynn’s creative resurgence.

MAGNET caught up with Wynn at his NYC apartment in between bites of guacamole and shots of Jim Beam.

You’ve mentioned Static Transmission was conceived as kind of a companion piece to the last record.
It’s a deeper, more soulful album than Here Come The Miracles. Miracles was very arrogant, over-the-top confident, extroverted showoff of a record—which I loved. This record is more like its weirder, moodier, freakier little brother. It’s trying hard and it’s lovable, but a little bit disturbed at the same time.

The album has a unique sonic quality to it, which almost seems to play into the title.
One reason I called this record Static Transmission was I kinda imagined it as being this really freaky radio station you would hear while you were driving through the desert—ideally in a ‘66 Buick Skylark with the top down. You’d be coming in at two in the morning with a lot of static and buzzing and fading in and out between two and three stations, creating this very surreal, hypnotic, distant, listening experience. I completely visualized this thing in my head, and that’s what Static Transmission is about. It’s sort of my dream radio station.

Creatively speaking, you seemed to have hit your stride after turning 40. Why do think that’s so rare among aging rock ‘n’ rollers?
You should get better, that’s the idea, right? There’s no reason why that shouldn’t happen. You’re learning new things, experiencing new things, getting more confidence, but it rarely turns out that way and it’s kind of a mystery. For me, I think it did happen with Miracles, and I’m always excited when someone else does it too. I thought Giant Sand made their best record a couple years ago with Chore Of Enchantment; Dylan’s on a real hot streak right now and that’s exciting to see—‘cause the other side is the Rolling Stones, you know, just treading water or being a shadow of what they used to be. I’m always of the mind that the next album should be the best one. [Down There/DBK Works, www.innerstate.com]