No Wealth of Great Ideas To Be Found On Chief Keef's "Finally Rich"

I think it's safe to say that after hearing "Finally Rich", the debut "effort" from Chicago, Illinois rapper Chief Keef the Mayans were spot on about their prophecy about the world coming to an end. There wasn't one thing about any of the tracks on this CD that made me feel anything other than underwhelmed. Not that the market couldn't use one more artist waxing on and on about his bling, wagging a finger at his bitch, or getting high on something with someone. Throughout this ordeal you'll hear various cheaply processed rhythm keepers. Essentially we're talking two flavors of drum kit. Either it's movie soundtrack overkill or underplayed keyboard with just enough gratuitous bells and whistles to delude only the extremely delusional into actual belief that something mind blowing is coming your way. The only way to do justice to this pile of sludge is to communicate with it lyrically. "Hate Being Sober" conveys the sentiments I'm sure every struggling mother from the projects wants to hear one of her offspring spouting. The man wholeheartedly admits he dislikes being sober while in the same lyrically hot zone reports he's so drunk he can't even spell sober. You'd want him out with your daughters, right? Keef's delivery is about as lazy as the content. Want me to prove it? How about "Ballin?" His droning utterance of the word is about as uncomfortable as your physician tongue depressor jimmying open your mouth for the mandatory looksie and then leaving it in there for about twenty minutes. True, that likely isn't possible, not without risk of malpractice suit being filed from your family's end but the same nagging "ah" sound comes to mind. As you might expect even after the rap community has sprung it on all of us for what's likely going on the million and first time, this track centers on Keef's extremely affluent life and how he doesn't want some identity deprived bitch calling him up. Why said bitch would've given him a tumble in the first place is one of those mysteries I guess I'm too damn stupid to know but that's the conundrum before us. Another generous (!!) portion of self-worship oozes into view courtesy of "Laughin' To The Bank". This one's complete with phony baloney "ha-ha-has" as part of the buildup. Lucky for us his misogynist streak came back long enough to tell some other bitch he seems acquainted with that she can "suck his cock like a BOP, BOP, BOP". If this blog was equipped with Smell-O-Vision the next stimulation you'd get would be a stench on par with what a freshly used toilet would reek of. I'm not a hater of hip-hop. Really I'm not. But in my capacity as writer I don duel roles as creative force and judge sitting at the keyboard/bench. I'm not sure what maddens me more...that record execs actually sign these empty-skulled cretins to make "music" for the express purpose of lining their wallets or that the artists themselves are thick enough to think someone of any intellectual fiber would honestly put bullet holes through one hour of their lives just to discover that we as a species haven't evolved entirely from Neanderthal times. Not that you'd only have "Finally Rich" as an example but it's a scathing wag of the finger regardless. If you feel dirty after listening to this CD in its entirely well then good for you. That means somewhere inside your souls you were in fact taught right from wrong and are committed to living your lives in this fashion. "Finally Rich" won't make anyone feel wealthier for the listening experience. In fact you're better taking at least one shower and maybe as many as three. That way the filth that's been allowed to accumulate on you during the time you listened will wash off more easily.

"The Same Great Lady" Delivers The Same Worn Out English Language Cliches

Lamentably I never got the chance to fully understand the mystique behind Jenni Rivera before a plane crash took her life on December 9th. In order to least make some attempt to try and connect with both her spirit and the audience that watched her on television, bought her albums, and flocked to her concerts I gave a listen to "La Misma Gran Senora" ("The Same Great Lady"), her compilation album. It pains me to say that, while in the regional Mexican community an artist who unleashes her anguish in service of articulating the madness of romantic entanglements may be a novel, even groundbreaking concept, to more discriminating audiences such as myself, it wears thin even when I don't require lyric translation to figure out what she's in distress about. What you'll find in abundance on this album are all the earmarks of classic norteno music. By this I mean accordions that get such a generous piece of the action it would make Weird "Al" Yankovic envious, zestful horn fills including the tuba, an instrument that doesn't get much love outside of a polka concert or a marching band assemblage, and bass guitar. A picture is created but trouble is once the dots are connected the completed masterpieces grow old fast. Now that I've pieced together the connective tissues I'd like to explore to greater detail the vocal stylings, if that's what you or I choose to call them, of Jenni Rivera. On the plus side the fervor with which she tackles love affairs she's glad to be rid of, drinking to help forget the love affairs she's glad to be rid of, and her pretty open-ended criterion for obtaining a true love that may or may or not morph into one of those love affairs she's glad to be rid of are actually quite convincing. One thing about norteno is the artists involved inhabit an impenetrable world of their own once the mike's focus is on them. I must say the horn section intros to such interchangeable fare like "Por Que No Le Calas" ("Why Do Not You") "Que Me Vas a Dar" ("What Will You Give Me If I") and "No Vas a Creer" ("You Will Not Believe") left me with the uneasy conclusion that I was hearing the same song treading down three different yet not totally unrelated pathways. Jenni's cries of anguish, though within her artistic license rights, didn't raise my appreciation level either. I mentioned Jenni's a whiz with a pity wallowing drinking song. "Hermano Amigo" ("Brother Friend") is what I was alluding to. Just a yarn about two people sitting together and commiserating. In the country music world that's called "What happened to me last Tuesday". In norteno that sort of  contemporary theme gets you noticed. My apologies for needing to tip my uninitiated hand but here in the music appreciation blogosphere we're all pals, right? Hot on the heels of a scorching accordion "La Misma Gran Senora" ("The Same Great Lady"), in addressing the same theme of how a woman doesn't need a man on her arm to both survive and thrive in this world, destroys any momentum that preternaturally animated instrument gave her. When you're dealing with a subject that English language songstresses running the gamut from Annie Lennox to Kelly Clarkson have already covered and left their own special imprint on them you, even if you've got the novelty of being a regional Mexican artist in your corner, need to seek out a way to make your version of the weather worn theme stand out. There's nothing about this song that would make me want to give it multiple listens. It's not necessarily Jenni's fault. Even the best of the lot of recording artists can be weighed down by lead balloon material. If you can't turn a sow's ear into a silk purse you have to start questioning your product supplier. I can't say I feel the same sadness about posting this negative review as I do reflecting on the abbreviated life of Jenni Rivera. As contemporary vernacular would say the girl had it going on. Bottom line this go round is "La Misma Gran Senora" ("The Same Great Lady") fails to produce "musico inolvidable" ("unforgettable music").

Lifehouse Travels All Over The Map But Reaches Few Fully Satisfying Destinations

To any artist out there in any field who feels compelled to grow as his/her career takes flight I say more power to you. Sometimes however there's much to be said for allowing listeners to reap the full reward of a template of expression that sounds more than just an idle jam session here, a thought balloon that pops too quickly there. It's this growth impulse that dooms Lifehouse's new album "Almeria" to suffer the disappointment which stems from potential not fully realized. From a commercial standpoint, Lifehouse is already six albums into its collective career. The yen to spread one's wings is understandable. A stale sound doesn't benefit anyone. All I ask is that the completed tracks sound like the ideas were carried to their proper conclusions. "Aftermath" is a fine example of a track that was given enough room to blossom. From the opening wash of piano this track is allowed to impress people with the richness of its personality. Jason Wade's words carry with them a stout resolve, an implied understanding of strength that makes you want to follow him wherever he's going. Rick Woolstenhulme, Jr's. drumming turns this story's pages. As a listener I am curious to learn what's coming around the next bend. Here it's all about the storm and how steady optimism carries the power to get through the rough stuff. Lyrically I'd be remiss if I didn't pat Jason on the back for carrying "Barricade" to term largely due to the novelty of visuals such as "I'm  in your blind spot". Folks, over the decades many a car song has surfaced on the airwaves but nowhere has a blind spot been given the credit it undoubtedly deserves. Those of you movie lovers out there who delighted in The Blind Side recall Sandra Bullock explaining to us how protecting the quarterback from what he doesn't see coming, safeguarding "the blind side", is an integral part of keeping the QB at the least upright and, at the most armed with greater odds for success. The music industry can get weighed down in "been there, heard that" ideas so readily. Thanks to Lifehouse one rarely touched upon aspect of car ownership has gotten its due. As for "Barricade" the just over 3-minute song, you've got Ben Carey's lead guitar to thank for setting the stage for a honky-tonk laced jolt of romantic reflection. Extended to 4 or 5 minutes it likely would've gotten tedious in a hurry. Good job on knowing when to declare your peace completely spoken. If "Almeria" was populated with tracks like "Aftermath" and "Barricade" and nothing beyond that, this record would have more to recommend it. As it stands there are too many unfinished ideas that won't ever reach full flower. There's "Gotta Be Tonight" which is all primeval and no production. You can't sell a song through down and dirty percussion unless you're part of Queen or Van Halen. The message is easy enough to translate. "We're young right now. Let's take our chances right now before the window of opportunity slams shut for good, before the door's cruel slam smacks against each chamber of our not completely jaded hearts". I care but that theme's been touched on in so many ways by so many people that the empathy's very hard to come by at this point. I care but not enough to want to race to the record store or scramble to load this to my iPod. No novelty means no gold star. I see why Natasha Bedingfield's guest appearance was culled as the leadoff single. "Between The Raindrops" demonstrates purpose. Bryce Soderberg's bass guitar is battle-tested. Jason and Natasha's voices go quite well together. The overall heartbeat of this song is steady. You learn to appreciate a pace that doesn't threaten to crumble under the weight of urgency. In the case of rock legend Peter Frampton's inclusion on "Right Back Home" what results comes off sounding like nothing more than the new wave awkwardly trying to give props to the old guard. It's nice to welcome Peter back but if the purpose was solely to ease guest stars into the mix so art crowds could name drop then the energy was misspent to a great degree. Lifehouse shouldn't be ashamed of trying to evolve musically as they advance biologically. However, this Jekyll/Hyde collection of too little too late meshed with the occasional flash of fully realized pathos doesn't warrant a slot in the vanguard of first rate pop/rock albums

Bruno Mars' Jukebox Filled With Enticing Selections

Bruno Mars is quickly gaining recognition as a musical jack-of-all trades. From doo-wop to R & B to reggae, he pulls off many styles ambidextrously. His sophomore outing "Unorthodox Jukebox" speaks volumes about how much mileage he gets through his admirable versatility. The leadoff single and current Billboard magazine #1 "Locked Out of Heaven" is supremely catchy. The guitars are potent. The drums are spicy. At the center of it all, as it should be, Bruno's impassioned delivery comes from a spot of undiluted truth that not too many artists get right on the first or second try. His niche in the male vocalist pantheon is on its way to being reserved. His flight of elation is one music lovers can easily share. I'm high on "Treasure" because it showcases the brand of old school R & B beats New Edition mixed together in the early '80s. If a performer has a wall of alluring mood to guide him, the vocal sorcery comes that much easier. Other times such as on "When I Was Your Man" all it takes is a steadily percolating piano stanza to lend vocal heat. Bruno laments all those times he should've bought his girl roses, should've made far more time with her. Now all he can do is play Monday morning quarterback about the whole love match gone south. While the playfulness of "Locked Out of Heaven" allows Bruno to fly higher, the sobering ivory tickle behind "When I Was Your Man" presents a compelling contrast. The piano passages threaten to engulf him but his exquisite choice of octave positioning keeps him just above a sea of self-pity. Musician and instrument working in tandem equals a standout track. Flipping to the sun splashed domain of reggae, "Show Me" is hugely sexy. There's not one square inch of this song that doesn't make you want to get all primal urge like he does. Even on the grayest of days it injects a rainbow of pleasure cruise escapism, escapism mostly for one's loins but escapism all the same. Bruno's turn as erotic cruise director turns heads. Take a close listen to "If I Knew" and you just might be transported back to the 1950's world of Happy Days where this type of slow, deliberately personal dance hall swaying wouldn't be out of place. How breathtaking that Bruno can assume a role as suave leading man at any tempo. All of them are offered here and, what's more, all of them get people talking because Bruno has such a confident voice. Why do I say confident? There's a purity of intent. You aren't dealing with a booze-crusted rasp like Rod Stewart or a player's ballsy imposition of will like Maroon 5's Adam Levine. Here it's note for note spine tingling that you just couldn't obtain if Bruno used an overdose of sex or booze to distract him. "Unorthodox Jukebox" is worthy of many, many spins. When it comes to respecting R & B and reggae history plus methodically carving out his place in their joint futures, he's done his homework and then some.

Trans-Siberian Orchestra Knows How To Ring Your Bell

Once again I come before you to salute one of the Christmas season's superlative holiday tunes. Back in 1995, the Trans-Siberian Orchestra did the season a real service by taking Carol of the Bells which quite often can be thought of as a light wispy escape into delicate snowfall memories and turning in into a brawny hard rock eargasm. It's as if they asked themselves: "What if Christmas went heavy metal?" At first this interpretation is pretty restrained. Some preliminary notes offered up on guitar, a bass fiddle for gravitas, and a flute punctures the air. Once you've been nudged into this world that's when the octane really fires up. Listening to the composition go on its high speed chase gets me excited each time, particularly when the electric guitar pushes its way into the spotlight. The piano thunders down the octave register like it has an axe to grind. With this rendition the rock audience is represented. There's a time and place for Frank Sinatra, Eartha Kit, and Mannheim Steamroller. The Trans-Siberian Orchestra shook things up, cobwebs and all, and made some diabolically clever music that could even win over people who'd rather gargle glass than embrace the prolonged merriment. Who knows. Maybe one day James Hetfield will be called upon to be conductor. Given what his band's been through over the years it would not surprise me to see him take on the challenge of learning the rhythms necessary to lead the orchestra and then give Carol his own imprint. This chestnut isn't for pansies.

McCartney Makes Xmas Wonderful Just By Being Himself

I'd like to take this opportunity to step away from sharing the best and worst (in my opinion anyway) of the music hitting the charts today to get all holiday season on you. I'm a big kid when it comes to Xmas. Although I know that, through one unfortunate circumstance or another, many people in this world would rather forget this holiday ever existed, I love the lights and color it ushers in. Xmas music is a big part of that sparkle. When executed with style and panache the songs of the season make an already electrifying night even more electrifying. For me they don't come much more twinkly than Paul McCartney's "Wonderful ChristmasTime". This 1979 keyboard drenched ditty makes me light up from note one. Every childlike aspect of the season drops hints in my imagination when I hear it. The generously decorated tree, snow falling in generous clumps outside, warm overcoats, the infectious laughter of young children. Paul's own boyish glee sends this song over the top. Sums up perfectly the timeless value of being together with the ones you love, clinking glasses, stealing a smooch under the mistletoe. There's isn't much instrumentation outside of the keyboard and a late in the game display of hand claps. That's what adds to its beauty. No bombast to get  in the way of Paul's undeniably believable sentiment. To this day I still feel that the reason why Paul remains as one of the last two surviving Beatles is his boyish charm. When he says "We're sim-ply ha-vin' a wonderful Christmas time" I don't doubt him for a minute. Even the blackest heart couldn't withstand cheer served in this type of delightful package. I don't think Ringo Starr would've been capable of providing the same wave of warm fuzzies. If you're experiencing a dearth of holiday spirit, give "Wonderful Christmas Time" a fresh listen. Your woes might not vanish but, at least for 3 minutes and 46 seconds your outlook on life might brighten a shade.

The Power of Tre' Lacks Punch During Green Day's Closing Chapter

Give Green Day credit for satisfying their fans and the unwaveringly curious outsiders with a surplus of new material. This blog has played up the unquestioned merits of both "Uno" and "Dos". "Tre" isn't necessarily an all out abandonment of the pluck that made the first two sound like Christmas came early. More like a mishmash of outtakes that were deemed too inferior to show up on those other sets. In some cases such as "Drama Queen" the songs are mere excuses to dash off some energy in acoustic format while tossing out lyrics like "She's old enough to bleed now" that venture into TMI territory. Green Day have always been about bratty pop punk dynamism. Strip them of electricity and you're left scratching your head at the low tech disposable interchangeable part nature of the lyrics. In least in this blogger's opinion, Green Day doesn't excel at going acoustic. Yes, I know, "Good Riddance (Time Of Your Life)" was a pretty large hit by the band's standards. It also doesn't go down in history as grab you by the testicles brilliant. Billie Joe can muse all he wants. Give me some defiant guitar jamming like that located on "Tre's" second cut "Missing You". Once again we find that amorous dog bolting to the front door level of charged up buzz. I regret to inform you that's more an exception than a rule. Although Billie Joe, Mike, and Tre do manage to collaborate for some pretty special teamsmanship on "Dirty Rotten Bastards". The song starts off restrained, business as usual, textbook rock radio noodling but once past the midway point, a switch was flicked inside our heroes. They bust out some serious flair. The drums bounce all over the room. The guitar playing admirably keeps pace. Billie Joe's lyrics are connection worthy to anyone who's got a Pandora's Box full of demons in need of exorcism. Whether a product of studio orchestration or a generous concession on the band's part to give the fans a little more of what they want, the lightning quick tempo change saves this song from lapsing into a coma caused by playing this scene too cool. "The Forgotten" was the first single offered to radio. Sage move. Billie Joe, Mike, and Tre finally piece together a track that succeeds in being a shot in the arm without having to resort to either acoustic strumming or overblown displays of caffeine abuse. Let this be a reminder to all of how the piano is by no means a wimpy avenue of expression. Billie drives every note home. His lyrics drive home a question many of us likely at  the very least think to ourselves as sunrise is swallowed up by sunset..."Where does the time go?" Rather than beating us over the head with it, Tre skillfully inserts his drums. That gesture buoys the potency behind Billie's ivory tickling. Good job on mastering subtlety in arrangement, at least at the very end of the album. Better late than never I guess. I say this because "The Forgotten" is the track that pulls the curtain down on the show. "Brutal Love" left me thinking: "Hadn't this vision of evaporating romance on a Senior Prom dancefloor already shown up on "Dos"? Good background ambiance to sway one step two step in the center of the gymnasium with your true blue love that you're trying to let down easy but it's a retread. At times the repetition of chorus is headache inducing. For example how many times can you stand hearing "99 Revolutions" being beaten into your cranium. Billie really is concerned about the working stiff's impending obsolescence but after the sixth repetition of the title I figured screaming "ENOUGH ALREADY" was the least I could do. "A Little Boy Named Train",  outside of featuring a protagonist named after a cross country vehicle, doesn't set my world on fire with originality of sound, and I doubt it would for too many others. It's when the threesome ventures back into four cylinder virtuosity that "Tre" makes a run at being a worthy conclusion to this trilogy. "Sex, Drugs, and Violence" delivers these trademark goods. The words "too dumb to die" make firing off a few minutes on this track worth the trouble. As a complete package I'm afraid "Tre" is a case of all blasted out and nowhere to store the leftover ammo except in this pasted together bonus form. Thanks Green Day for not skimping on new music. The ambition behind this three part project is also laudable. But in the end quality should've won out over quantity. "Tre" doesn't measure up to the audio candy taste of the previous two efforts.

Hinder's Freakshow Tough To Take Your Ears Off Of

Where Oklahoma hard rockers Hinder succeeds the most throughout the new "Welcome To The Freakshow" is in the probing of the lowest depths of their collective creative toolbox. Check out the oily grime behind "Ladies Come First". You're face deep into unapologetic hedonism. If you can't construct the image of a greased down stripper pole upon listening there's something gravely not right with you. Ballistic warfare best describes "Freakshow". Are you nauseated by the parade of reality TV show wannabes who have zero shame but one hundred percent obsession for turning a tidy sum out just by airing dirty laundry most respectable folk would usually keep private? Lead vocalist Austin Winkler understands right down to the last plopping of antacid. He's the epitome of righteous fury. With Joe Garvey's eruptive fretboard theatrics to back him up "Freakshow" levels all peons that stand in its way. Who wouldn't find this creation an inviting train wreck to exercise voyeuristic tendencies around. Not that Hinder ignores the females and highly sensitive males in their fan base who'd like a little introspection served up alongside their crunchy hard rock. Austin should be proud of the candor with which he trots out "I Don't Wanna Believe". The woman in his inner circle makes trying and trying again worth the loss of sweat. To him everything good goes away. Thanks to her he's got reason to take dignity restoring pride in refuting his own conclusions. Still, a large majority of the metal community goes wild when they're promised no lines of decorum left untouched bombast tour-de-forces. Try not to cop a knowing smirk after testing out "See You In Hell". Mark King's rhythm guitar scalds the back of the skull. Mike Rodden's bass guitar circles its prey menacingly. Cody Hanson hammers away on the drums, a hard rocker driven by basic DNA to ramp up the intensity quotient with each measured stroke. Austin claims he's a liar, he drinks, he knows it. However who says Hell might not be a barrel of laughs. Didn't Billy Joel in a long ago ditty say "I'd rather laugh with the sinners than cry with the saints"? Appears to me Austin's made the confident decision to chuck that misplaced box of Kleenex. So tasty you'll want to assume instant glutton status. Hard rockers don't exactly have the market on subtlety cornered. "Wanna Be Rich" pretty much has America grabbed by the collar, its anything for a fast buck ethos dead to rights. Wake the fuck up indeed. This track sets spines tingling, teeth chattering, innards quaking. In other words malevolent fun to the last drop. Hinder deserves a numerous pats on the back for being fairly market savvy. Get the ballad lovers through the front gate but be sure those who pray to the gods of metal get plenty of sacred texts so they'll keep the words spreading and the pew seats filled to overflowing. "Welcome To The Freakshow" has its outstretched arms pointed right at you. You'd be wise to go where this journey's taking you. You'll be exhausted, but not decimated. In fact your mind/body gas tank might actually be bumped up a shade higher since the lyrical content does plenty of giving back.

"Girl on Fire" An Explosive Display of Power for Alicia Keys

I was already convinced Alicia Keys was fearless in exploring the intricacies of love when I heard her sweet as molasses performance on 2001's "Fallin". To my mind she gloriously let the vital warmth trickle down with the majesty of a drop of renegade maple syrup inching its way along the side of a bottle after having poured a thoughtful helping onto some flapjacks. Unwavering slow. Slow so listeners could soak up every wave of Alicia's no pretentiousness implied sentiments. Not too many people could make the falling out of love part sound more like reassurance with the arm that just pushed someone away. "Girl On Fire" never ceases to be a fascinating character study. She's comfortable in every style of skin she inhabits. For openers the piano intro "De Novo Adagio" glides over one's eardrums. On a dinner menu you might call it a teasingly playful appetizer. "Brand New Me" finds our lady of the urban core strutting her newly won triumph of personal growth over any previously acquired superficiality. Vocally I admire her sense of self-awareness. She knows how to pull her audience in with firm footing then retreat back to a softer application of her impossible to fake natural heat. She imbues her voice with fiery attitude only long enough to clearly make her point. The percussion spiked wake up celebration that is "New Day" actually has me believing the day in front of me is rife with possibilities instead of that same, tired out laundry list of adult "must-dos". Without Alicia as the ringleader this song could have easily had sounded phoned in, like one of those painted on smiles Americans sometimes use when they're trying awkwardly to hide some indefatigable source of frustration. The coup de gras is definitely "Fire We Make". She and the equally gorgeous (to the women that is) Maxwell conspire to whip up what in all likelihood will have myriad lovemaking sessions stoked in no time flat. This is Florida orange juicy deliciousness. Though Alicia isn't listing guitar picker as one of her side specialties, the hired hand doing it did her a solid by adding it to the delicacy. No need for an extinguisher. Just focus your energies on getting lost in each other's freshly ignited orbs. Look no further if you're trying to pinpoint your 2012 version of "my happy place". Nicki Minaj is another one of Alicia's special guests. "Girl on Fire" certainly sounds like a title begging for a Minaj moment or three. I blissfully inform you her pink-haired R & B oddity from another dimension characterization is dialed down considerably. Some earthbound rapping about how she fears God and it's back to Alicia at the helm. Street props to Minaj for not forgetting whose spotlight she's borrowing. Minaj has already stolen many a show so there's little advantage to her towering over the celeb she's trying to lend an assist to. Alicia can construct a candid portrait with considerable grace. "Not Even The King" stands ready to touch the blackest of hearts. Alicia salutes the value of intimacy and trust over the value of the filthy lucre so many burn up so many irreplaceable sunsets chasing. This is classic "we have each other so we're already millionaires" songcraft. Like the voice of the women herself the piano is almost maternal in application. A revisited character assessment seems like a shot in the arm for one's after listening. If you're partial to music that sounds tailor made for cavorting  in the sun-dappled autumn landscape "That's When I Knew" is a superb choice. Alicia shares that exact moment, the same kind many lovers of all ages crystallize as their "a-ha moment" when they first figured out they fell in love. Alicia spread out against harvest night electricity. "Girl On Fire" is ignition personified. Whether playing it cool, upbeat, brash, defiant, or betrayed, Alicia Keys demonstrates that, over the past decade, she's morphed into an accomplished musical thespian. Going onstage to present her with a bouquet of roses doesn't do her or her cathartic honesty justice.

Rihanna Really Should Apologize

How unfortunate that Rihanna's new CD is called "Unapologetic". She needs to apologize to her fans for overwhelming them with her quest to be taken seriously with a 55 minutes and change orgy of mostly miss ideas. She needs to apologize to every major symphony orchestra on the planet for thinking their milieu was the best way to dress up "Get It Over With". She needs to apologize to battered women and those trying hard not to become battered women for agreeing to be associated with "Nobody's Business", a duet with Chris Brown, the lunkhead who thought Rihanna would make a great punching bag (or is that smacking bag?) To make matters worse, she should also consider apologizing to the family of Michael Jackson for looting some choice lines from "The Way You Make Me Feel". Michael, eccentric as he could be, wasn't into physical violence. I wonder how he'd feel knowing a post-millennial R & B grrrl of the moment was lifting some of his '80s work to arouse circa 2012 audiences who must be easy to arouse if this is getting them hot and bothered. Maybe Rihanna and Chris could've buried the hatchet after say several more years had passed. Possibly after there was enough proof that Chris wasn't going to do something Biblically unadvisable to someone like Carly Rae Jepsen or Katy Perry then these two could meet up again. Granted "Numb" ideally portrays what post car wreck inebriation must feel like. Eminem likely bopped into the recording studio long enough to evoke images of alcohol mixed with puke, collect his royalty money, and then return to standing on top of the hip hop throne. The uneasiness of the backdrop seizes attention. Could've lived without Slim Shady's allusion to the "butt police". Yup, no shortage of subtle there. The man does send flickerings of "Where in the hell's my damn car keys? Is that my puke on the asphalt?" Let's saunter on over to "Jump", a miscarriage of sexual justice which wouldn't get a condemned death row prisoner even one semen drop of reassurance. Rihanna invites men to "come on and jump me." She's the pony they're supposed to ride. Nope. Pants still firmly in zipped position. The car alarm on haywire synths are even less appealing. So let's recap. Rihanna's not making me drop my drawers, the synths are devouring any trace of restraint there might have been, I have to take the metric ton of smutty verbiage to bed with me. Good luck being ready to board the 'ol dream weaver train. That'll take at least one cold shower, possibly three. Lucky for her "Diamonds" has morphed into a chart topper. It's the only jam here that's not breaking out of its mental institution shackles and salivating all over anyone and anything within a twenty mile range. Opting to be extra generous with a project isn't a bad thing. I get that Rihanna is somehow trying to take her game to some perceived next level. "Unapologetic" is one overblown step way back. I'm now highly nostalgic for her first big hit "Pon De Replay". THAT was a snappy party starter. For the most part what's scooped off the floor for "Unapologetic" is pungent enough to clear any auditorium full of "invited" guests. When Rihanna's done apologizing to all those segments of the global community I alluded to earlier she needs to take a long look in the mirror and apologize to herself for thinking this tripe was in fact part of a brilliant plan to send her career into warp drive. I really feel your pain now. A bottle of Tylenol doesn't do this justice.

Kid Rock Soul Stirs Early and Often

Nobody could ever accuse Kid Rock of being a shrinking flower. You know you're entering a no bullshit zone when he's around. The full measure of his talents in just about every contemporary vein imaginable erupts from every corner of "Rebel Soul". It's already cracked the Billboard Album Chart's Top 5, and with pretty damn good reason. He and his band bring the party straight to your front door, daring you to somehow turn them away. There's pelvic sexuality galore on "3 CATT Boogie". This clapalong rhythm is inescapable. Trust me when I say you wouldn't want to. The grinding gets better by the second. Meanwhile Kid lays the lumber to some of his American discontent. There's the preacher reaching for his Old Testament. Banks hedging their bets on the next generation's chances of doing anything other than sliding by. Wall Street orchestrating the whole travesty. Put his delivery and his band's superior mettle together and what you've got is a breathtaking peek into Kid Rock's rock hemisphere. The Kid respects both his music elders and innovation driven contemporaries. "Detroit, Michigan" salutes every home slice made good from Aretha Franklin to Marvin Gaye to Eminem, the real Slim Shady himself. What leads up to this outpouring of Motown based love is a friendly bit of audio applause for other regions of the country and what they have to offer the listening universe. Memphis has its soul. N.Y.C. can lay claim to an uptown sound. Mississippi knows how to sing the blues. In the end they don't hold a candle to the Motor City and the various bright lights of music past, present, and foreseeable future which still shine bright today. Sweaty, jazzy, shout out ditty worth raising a glass to, even if you're rockin' heart belongs to some other section of the country. The only prominent misstep I could find here was "The Mirror". Somewhat of a comedown on the heels of several cuts where Kid's the ringleader for a nonstop celebration. Why drop in a payload of buzzkill, served up in the key of AutoTune, stale jack swing lawn furniture plastic when there was momentum to burn right before that? Nothing wrong with spreading your ambition far enough to please as many camps as possible. In the end trying to overreach serves no beneficial purpose. That's as inadvisable as the multitasking we all do in contemporary society. Problem is we still aren't willing to accept the notion that not many people multitask well, managing to be unflinching jacks of all trades. Now then...back to some other noteworthy tricks from Kid's magic hat. "God Save Rock 'n' Roll" is the best rags to riches back to rags story of one clueless youth's journey to the epicenter of the successful rock 'n' roll lifestyle since Tom Petty & The Heartbreakers' "Into The Great Wide Open". I'd say that's some pretty nice company to be in. Honky tonk roots. Jimmie "Bones" Trombly wailing away on the piano. Where Tom's interpretation was somewhat sympathetic, Kid Rock pulls no punches about how this doofus deserved the trip back down to Earth for deciding his soul was definitely for sale. Kid hasn't exactly shed his gutter trash persona. Check out "Cucci Galore". That's one bedrock altering orgasm unfurling. This brings to mind the awesome "Bawitaba". Back in 1999 it thrust itself through car radios like a megaton bomb which had just had the pin pulled. The tawdry tale drives itself deeper and deeper into the erogenous zone until the best surgeon couldn't pull it back out. Not one band member holds back on his/her zest for the project before them. Jimmie's harmonica glides like a freshly waxed hydroplane. David McMurray's applied copious layers of smoothness on sax. Shannon Curfman, Jessica Cowan-Wagner, and Stefanie Eulinberg were no bit players responsible for making "Detroit, Michigan" the solid tribute it proved to be. "Rebel Soul" is that Fourth of July fireworks display people circle on the calendar every year as must listen entertainment. Effort still counts in the rock 'n' roll galaxy. Kid and his band Twisted Brown Trucker left phone it in on the side of the road and then proceeded to leave muddy tire tracks on it.

Keyshia Cole Doesn't Quite Have a Woman's Touch

Keyshia Cole's "Woman to Woman" is weighed down by urban music stylistic cliches. For instance there's no shortage of keyboard that sounds like it was sprinkled on by Peter Pan's fairy, Tinker Bell. No authentic percussion either. What dooms this effort to bargain basement status are the lyrics Keisha has to work with. I'm not sure any red blooded male of any ethnicity would be moved to the pinnacle of passion by the sentiments found in "Wonderland". Basically she loses her mind when her boy toy takes her to his wonderland. Kind of a female street spin on John Mayer's "Your Body Is a Wonderland". It'd make a trippin' female response to that easy percolator anyway. "Hey Sexy" doesn't break new ground in African-American amorousness either. Keyshia psyches herself up about being rocked all night long 'til the break of dawn. How many times has this titillating time frame been espoused upon before across several genres? Makes one want to consider taking a vow of chastity. If songs centered on foreplay come off as stale are the odds any better that the act itself will exceed expectations? Even on tracks like "I Choose You" where the cheese quotient isn't off the colloquial chizz-ain Keyshia can't avoid overpowering the material. Her sin in this case is confusing belting with hollering. The chorus is obliterated so completely that I'm left wondering if being chosen by Keyshia is desirable at all. Turning to "Stubborn" Keyshia claims the only bruise on her person belongs to her ego. Somehow my ego would be subjected to the same fate if I was forced to admit I owned a CD containing hackneyed lyrics like this. As a whole Keyshia is little more than a likable homegirl with barely above average chops. She's not devoid of talent. I'm just saying Beyonce has nothing to worry about. "Woman to Woman" is meant strictly for urban music loyalists.

Deftones Weighed Down By The Heaviness of Being

Listening to The Deftones new "Koi No Yokan" sounds like the way a sore throat feels. To clarify you know how when you have a sore throat you've got this undeniably raw sensation working where to swallow is to consume the sharp feeling of a razor blade? Welcome to The Deftones world, especially this time around. To their credit they hurtle themselves through a canvas of minor chords blending spookily with major. The likes of "Romantic Dreams" is one of those rare exceptions. Here I present the image of a hot shower just completed. Steam has blanketed the bathroom. A white hot core of intensity propels this cut to the realm of that traffic accident impossible not to gawk at. Vocalist Chino Moreno gracefully comes unspooled during the opening moments of "Leathers". Here he commands all who listen to wear their insides out, to show the enemy what they look like. It excels with its primitive guitar rumbles as provided by Stephen Carpenter. Open confessional is the order of the day. Don't know if Chino ever had a thing for Buffy the Vampire Slayer a few decades ago but you can understand where I'd get the possibly absurd suggestion after delving into the lyrics of "Graphic Nature". To the female he's addressing he swears that "Your poison is glowing against the night". Not exactly love poetry, huh? If some guy told me that I'd probably slap him right then and there. The connotations are hardly encouraging. If you're into music to slay demons with this song is just the ticket. For most of the audience I imagine head scratching would be the obvious response. More tortured soul soup is ladled up in "Tempest". Accompanied by more awkward clashes between raw minor chords and lighter sonic flight patterns, Chino adds his conflicted two cents to the bash. He wishes to be taken apart from the inside. Anybody who has an upcoming date with the operating table isn't exactly going to take this slice of surreal life close to his bosom. Not that this commendably ambitious yet coked out weird doesn't have some instrumental highlights. Just pas the halfway mark of "Rosemary" Stephen plunges his guitar downwards into a below the Mason Dixon line level of dirty, bugs in the teeth, wind across the scalp brand of exhibitionism. Not long after that grunge fest is replaced by a soft, touchable acoustic sequence. "Gauze" finds Stephen and drummer Abe Cunningham setting off the sprinklers with an explosive tag team exchange. Unfortunately the trippy lyricism can't help but scare away anyone who's trying to broaden their musical horizons. Devoted Deftone folk will breathe a contented sigh of relief. Moreso if they hit the bong load before plugging in. The Deftones ought to be praised for the depth of their message. The overall sound is challenging in an engaging way. I just wouldn't expect any of the play it safe listeners to be sold so quickly.

Green Day's Second Time Proves To Be The Charmer

It can be said upon listening to "Dos!" the initial sequel in Green Day's pop punk trilogy that these guys know how to reel in the masses with undeniable hooks. They can be excused for watering down the album a bit with filler since they've more than compensated for that with three highly addictive gems. "Stray Heart" locks onto your attention span like that puppy dog that just refuses to get the hint that no, you're not going to take him in no matter how forlorn he appears. From the start Mike Dirnt's bass comes complete with this neon sign self awareness that calls out "Dude, I'm the hipster you couldn't be on your best day". It's the swirling backdrop of anticipatory disappointment Mike sets the stage for, coupled with Billie Joe Armstrong's begrudging declaration that she's the woman who possess all he wants and needs but can't have which elevates "Stray" to the status of a glimmering blink and you missed it nugget of heavenly delight. I feel Billie's thorny dilemma. Most of all I appreciate he fronts a band whose lyrics I not only hear but, on some primal level, comprehend perfectly. Green Day captures the beautiful people sinister world that springs to life after dark with "Nightlife". It's gorgeous and spooky rolled into one. Toss in some choice hip-hop wordplay as palate cleanser and you have the makings of a party you wouldn't dare RSVP your way out of. I know we're past Halloween now but this song wouldn't be too out of place on some best bud's soundtrack for the evening. Even though it's not necessarily an indication of saving the best for last "Amy" is masterfully placed in the closing slot. No over the top punk aggression. No seeking to further cement mainstream appreciation. Quite simply Billie Joe's front and center for "Amy", simple acoustic heartstring drama. The titular girl is the object of Billie Joe's quest for friendship. This sort of entreaty works best stripped of its electricity. You can't deny he's directing his offer of social bonding at her instead of right through her. Many fans might argue that Green Day's forte isn't melting away rigid exteriors but "Amy" is one of those undiluted story songs where you can't help rooting for both sides of the equation. Not that they've even remotely come close to stifling their rock salvos. Tre' Cool hammers away at the drums as if he's not sure how the love hate relationship he has with them is shaking out at the moment. His skins and Billie Joe's guitar team up to weave the intricately synchronized tapestry of grind worthy ear eroticism that is "Fuck Time". "Wild One" could've been banished to the cutting room floor were it not for the very catchy repetition of the title. This bridges all components of the song so they gel to form a convincing whole. In the mood for one punk rock kid's confessional of accumulated exhaustion? You'll flip for "Lazy Bones". The lyrics themselves should be relatable to anyone who walks around in a fatigue haze, whether by force or by choice. Billie Joe's too tired to be bored yet too bored to be tired. This level of day-to-day limbo strike a chord? I say how could it not. Following Billie Joe around while he struggles to recover his equilibrium never ceases to be a source of fascination. As I pointed out earlier, "Dos!" is not without some throwaway tracks masquerading as Green Day staying close to its roots ("Ashley", "Baby Eyes", "Lady Cobra"). However, the good and downright jaw-dropping outweigh the bad and ill-advised. With "Tres" waiting in the wings, Green Day demonstrates it can command the same level of excitement with a musical trilogy as say a George Lucas did back in the '70s and early '80s with his Star Wars trilogy. Let's all hope the group doesn't go Jar Jar Binks on us and uncork a genuine clunker. "Dos" gives us the caffeinated energy we've come to love about them and tosses in a few snapshots of what they sound like when they're in the zone.

Soundgarden's "King Animal" Is Royally Intense

If rock 'n' roll is primarily about explosions of attitude then let me approach my review of Seattle alt-rock mainstays Soundgarden's marketplace declared comeback album "King Animal" like this. One by one I'll pinpoint how the band members contributions are not unlike the prime elements necessary to make TNT explode. Chris Cornell's the often smoldering existentialist who continues to burn long after the point of detonation. Take "By Crooked Steps" for instance. He claims he's addicted to feeling. That's not an addiction easily reckoned with let alone overcome. On "A Thousand Days Before" Ben Shepherd's bass and Matt Cameron's sneak up on ya' drumming grab me right away with a steady diet of propulsion that wraps up with short bursts of percussive payoff. This duo lights the fuse that sends the foursome careen towards mind-melting status. By contrast there's no measured creating of the mood for opening single "Been Away Too Long". That was a sage choice to reintroduce the Soundgarden starved to their conquering heroes' fresh material because the bristling piss and vinegar from the opening shot is calculated strictly to inform any who were harbouring uncertainties that, yes, Soundgarden is in fact back with fangs flashed. Chris's general frame of mind is of one who's been away too long but never planned to linger once he returned. You could easily say he's in psychological limbo and has us hanging on by our fingernails during his grit-stained voyage. Then there's lead guitarist Kim Thayil. He's nothing shy of edgy throughout "Non-State Actor". He's the irresistible force which pushes ever harder for the kaboom at the end of the trail. "Blood on the Valley Floor" encapsulates the ready to bulge out of the packet riffs and at times mysterious lyrics Soundgarden have seasoned to perfection. More often than not unresolved tension lends fuel to this fire. The players reflect it. Chris's words confirm it. They have managed to remain savvy on how to perform as a tight unit. The studio athleticism hasn't dropped off one bit. Cornell keeps right on asking the tough questions he knows in his heart of hearts might not have the answers he covets. Matt handles deliberately bashing and we're off to the races speed limit breakers with equal ease. Word of advice. If you don't want to leave this listening experience overly depressed steer clear of "Rowing". Gets at least nine points on a scale of one to ten for honesty but boy is it ever not a pick-me up. It centers on mankind's commonality of rowing forward despite having been handed a deck loaded down with daunting odds. It's a place I too have visited but I'm not aching to make a down payment on long-term real estate in that area. "King Animal" is a hefty slab of what this Seattle foursome does best which is put their backs into their song sorcery. The swirls of mystery only make people want to scream for more. Sixteen years later Soundgarden shouldn't have to convince people it knows what kind of rock niche it wants to secure. The rock, rest, repeat formula has born the juiciest of fruit. I'm not saying the boys should split for another decade and a half but stopping to recharge has helped Soundgarden avoid losing its fire. Fires follow on the heels of explosions. Explosive is what Soundgarden continues to be.

All That Remains Is For a Unifying Sound To Guide This Band

The expression "Too many cooks spoil the broth" sums up what Massachusetts metal purveyor All That Remains runs the risk of epitomizing on its latest release "A War You Cannot Win". Many sides of the same story are exposed. Trouble is at the end of the day the listening public, whether it's the faithful throngs who've supported the band since its 1998 inception or newbies who wish to broaden their listening palate a shade, needs to be offered some kind of notion on which direction the band's heading in. That way they can reach a clearer decision on whether this incarnation is for them or not. Lead vocalist Philip Labonte has done his homework on hard rock lyrics meant to coax the inner rebel out of hiding. The title track is bursting with a scorching inner core of defiance that the metal community at large wouldn't dare try to do without. The guitar tag team of Oli Herbert and Mike Martin amaze at higher and higher levels of conscious awareness as the chord highways they pursue possess a zig zag auto racer's lust for both speed and that built in adrenaline rush. As thoughtful an inclusion as it is, metalheads who are artistically committed or need to be committed psychologically may not warm up to the contemplative "Calculating Loneliness". It's a beauty but maybe a little too much like a soft tender acoustic exercise that any one of a number of post-millennial hard rock acts could throw into their arsenal just to tickle the fancies of young women in the audience. Metalcore music doesn't score high marks for approachability. Lots of pent up hatred for political and private life evils tends to overrun the format. "A Call to All Non-Believers" is one such nuclear cauldron. Anytime your lead singer is grinding out dirty vocals (dirty as in language translator needed to even tell what the man/woman might be saying) in the name of casting out human subjugation and domination his band runs the real risk of alienating sections of the audience who aren't quite ready to enter the epicenter of darkness. Don't misunderstand me. Jason Costa is a beast behind the skins. Ballistic missiles with a capital "B". Jeanne Sagan's bass plucking corners you with its smokiness. When he's not overly involved coating his larynx with razor blades to produce that raw dirty sound which makes metalcore an extreme audio trip there's evidence Philip's got a very strong voice. Better yet it's one of those instruments that seems tailored made to soar through the heaviest cloud cover. "What If I Was Nothing" reenacts a man-woman relationship hanging from a tenuous thread. Enough tact is employed in the singing to prevent the teetering on the precipice spirit of unease from crumbling to the ground, a victim of an overdose of gritty melodrama. "Stand Up" remains rooted in the best lyrical metal basics. Perseverance has yielded the hoped for rewards. They're going to let you know that they've come too far to turn back or cringe at the road ahead now. Just the right blend of vigor and delicate fret muscle control. An uncluttered track means nothing's lost in this particular translation. All That Remains doesn't lack for vision. They would benefit from a visit from their current creative eye doctor, be it a veteran producer or whichever of the five of them has the clearest sense of where this hard driving machine should be gassed up for next.

Ne Yo's R.E.D. Is Incredibly H.O.T.

Ne Yo does an amazing job of stoking his growing reputation as his generation's consummate ladies' man. For his fifth album "R.E.D." he whisks us through a compelling assortment of gnawing romantic entanglements as well as snippets of proof that the mood is too right for the bedroom. I like to compare "Stress Reliever" to that increasingly content state of being one gets when easing into a bubbling hot tub. You have to adjust your though processes from the chilly surface air to the inviting whirl of escalating heat. Once you're there you know that's the seat of pleasure where you belong. Ne-Yo's lower register enhances the one of a kind joy of knowing you have a woman in your life who knows just how to ease your heavy head and heart. The bottomless spiral of divine melody epitomizes the vortex you don't want to escape from. Ne-Yo's choices of special guest contributors is nothing short of impeccable. Teaming up with the husky Tim McGraw, a reigning king of the country music realm prevents "She Is" from being confined to the stuffy label of "one more song where he's head over heels in love and it's all her fault". Ne-Yo's smooth and Tim's back of the flatbed truck conspire to lift this track to the level of easy-going strummer tailor made for reminiscing along the highway of unpredictable amour. Also worth making time for is "Unconditional" a sparkling keyboard-driven confection kept from assuming the role of free roaming set piece by the often reliable drum kit thumping. Ne-Yo wants his lady to know that his talk of emotional support isn't all blow and no show. He solidifies his case through rich choice of smartly controlled note choices. The twinkle in this song's eye speaks to the heart of a vulnerable woman's gut level insecurities. She wants to believe her man's not going to bolt when rough waters seem to be setting up. One track firmly grounded in the key of icy finality is "To Whom It May Concern". In this case Ne-Yo masterfully confronts the ebbing of what was once true romantic magic. You'll most likely need a heavy winter coat just to make it to the final notes. The sentiments send shivers along your deflated heart and are executed with wet Kleenex pathos. I had to relocated my displaced jaw after hearing "Should Be You", an R&B tour de force in which every instrument, every stanza of verse, every injection of depth is dropped in place at just the right location as if Ne-Yo and his homeys Fabolous and Diddy were coming together to solve a troublesome boy-girl jigsaw puzzle and intuitively knew where the pieces fit just right. A pox on the crib of the coulda, woulda, shoulda nigger who doesn't appreciate the value of a good woman. Trouble is the three guys are disturbed by the realization that the woman sleeping next to them is both there in body but troublingly absent in spirit. How chilling not to mention an unavoidable takedown for their tickers. Advanced word is encouraging. In a musical universe where style often trumps substance that's as it should be. Ne-Yo's bread and butter is navigating the slow jam R&B kingdom with a hypnotically gilded scepter. Although he does adapt nicely to more uptempo tracks as well as the occasional foray into club bangers such as "Don't Make Em Like You" featuring Wiz Khalifa, when he's in percolate mood trying to affirm to his ladies that he specializes in sincere romantic declarations, he is not only in a league of his own, one could be forgiven for thinking he founded the league rather than picking up a tip or three from past masters. "R.E.D." comes just in time for holiday gift giving. Trust me, Ne-Yo is for all the world a gift that will very likely keep on giving for years to come.

Aerosmith's New Dimension Sounds Out Of This World

Like McDonald's or Papa John's, Aerosmith is a reliable brand. You always know what you're going to see on the menu and, what's more, you always know you'll hit upon something tasty. After an 11 year hiatus, the Bad Boys of Beantown resurface with "Music From Another Dimension" which lands commodiously in the category of "a little something for everyone". Steven Tyler's venerable pipes are cranked up to full howl for "Street Jesus". The band's mojo runs to white hot fever pitch here. Tyler testifies and his fury leaves you hard pressed to take a pass on listening. "What Could Have Been Love" is a radio friendly adult contemporary rumination where no band member crowds others out. Love that should've and could've been but ultimately wasn't has Tyler searching for the why of it all. Classic Aerosmith from Joey Kramer's drums to the guitar backdrop. "Closer" is a stunningly sweat-drenched slow cooker blending Joe Perry's electricity masterfully with Tom Hamilton's equally arousing bass. Steven's wistful performance throbs with the conviction of an unrequited ache. He's wrestling with a lover's flame too imposing to turn off. No need for alarm if you're scared there are no bawdy free for all spine melting rock chunks in the set. Not only does "Lover Alot" annihilate from the jump, the none too subtle erotic imagery is boner bait for you virile or hoping to become virile guys out there. Steve plants praise before the female form by saluting both her hair and her "wet". Bounce that around in your heads next time you're primed to take a shower. Stem to stern "Alot" is a swagger showcase. Rock radio's opening present, "Legendary Child" features tried and true multi-part harmonies of the variety Aerosmith essentially owns the patent. Four decades in not one volt of ring rust can be found. All that time apart rejuvenated them to a massive degree. "Music From Another Dimension" stands out from the crowded rock pack as an out of this world triumph.

Parkway Drive's Atlas Is One Compellingly Twisted Set of Road Maps

I'm pretty much a neophyte to metalcore, the subgenre of metal most readily known for Cookie Monster vocals which is, true to form for the Sesame Street legend, raspy yet highly emotive almost to the point where one wonders if the singer/screecher can pull himself back off the ragged edge. What I do find highly sexy about the style is how driven the bands themselves can be. They launch their adrenaline higher and higher and higher until just when you think they've lost all sense of direction the zig-zagging comes in for a commendable three-point landing. Parkway Drive is an outfit best gobbled down as a total package. If the sum of the parts prove greater than any individual the band's brought its best work to the table. The New South Wales, Australia combo's latest goes by the name "Atlas". As most of us likely know an atlas is a collection of road maps helping its owner navigate countless national and worldly locales. Chalk one up for apt product announcement. "Atlas" succeeds at both crafting delicate grooves as well as the time-tested go for the jugular metal maniacal guitar passages and drum lid lifters. For example it's not possible to absorb the opening notes to "The Slow Surrender" without feeling the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. That's a bone-chilling introduction that leaves you curious about what's around the next bend. Luke "Pig" Kilpatrick should given a pat on the back for his mastery in mood setting. Within the bounds of that same song the guitar's pulse rate soars from the free and easy "watch me show off with some basic key carnage" to an unabashed machine gun delivery. It's like being caught in one of those immense flood situations only you don't exactly want to be possessed of the smarts needed to come in out of the rain. The sultan of guttural scream, Winston McCall's PreCambrian focus cleaves to fighting for one's life. He espouses remaining firmly in the moment for "Death is a heartbeat away". I remind everyone that the sum of the parts make listening experiences like this more likely to be planted  in the realm of compelling rather than that weird car crash we're glad we aren't playing the role of victims in. The ideally named "Dream Run" flat out pummels your skull with Ben Gordon's top drawer drum exhibition. No need to test him for steroids but, on the other hand, who'd blame you for inquiring. "Swing" contains another heaping helping of Ben unchained. It bears mentioning that these guys have an impressive way with designing their sound as melodic enough to be more mainstream accessible but not so pandering as to alienate die-hards who don't want their metalcore to be offered up to them as tap water weak. "Sparks" proves my point ably. Guitar in this instance is of a lighter acoustic stripe, all the easier to allow Winston to suggest that, "We are all sparks in a darkening world. Yet some things were meant to burn". Repeatedly Parkway Drive eases you in with powerful yet not unduly menacing note sequences and then, the demonic possession factor jumps up to eleven on the volume knob, twelve if you can believe that's possible. What's most exciting is Parkway Drive have apparently hit their full stride as a band in only their fourth full length CD. The evolution process should be endlessly fascinating. "Atlas" guarantees to take music listeners on journeys that leave them exhausted, but in the most rewarding of ways.

Toby Keith's Hope Is Beer-Fueled Paradise

Toby Keith deserves some country boy friendly applause for "Hope On The Rocks" the latest link in his sixteen album body of work which reinforces the widely held notion in country circles that a little beer with just the right head of foam makes the toughest of hoed roads easier to manage. Where Mr. Keith thrives is when paying homage to the kingdom of Shiner Bock, Budweiser and, since I happen to be a Texas resident I can't overlook this, Lone Star. On "I Like Girls That Drink Beer" he endorses a preference for women who aren't so caught up in their la-di-dah social standing, mansions and related opulence, that they can't hoist a col'one. The simple pleasure wins out over the silver spoon. The charm is in his unabashed honesty. You'll discover more of a randy homage to the perfectly curved woman in "The Size I Wear". John can have his pick of any woman he wants so long as it's not Toby's ideal heavenly sent creation. The drums jack up the machismo quotient a good bit. You know the two gents aren't coming to blows because they have this primeval understanding of territorial rights. Out of all 10 tracks this one's the most clearly realized instance of Toby out for a good time and the good women that such leisure implies. Women and beer...two thirds of the country music holy trinity and he hammers home the right snapshots. As if those weren't enough of a portrait of what Keith craves try on "Cold Beer Country". The loose jointed horn. The high kicking Full Monty for the roadhouse set attitude. Keith's a road warrior you want to bring out of the rain and appease because beer satisfies him so completely. Not that he's a one trick pony. "You Ain't Alone" is teeth chattering not because you'll be scared to sleep without a light on but because the echoed hauntings of what life's dished out to this point, coupled with a dizzying hyper shift of minor chords divert one's attention to the ever rotating kaleidoscope of circumstances we face in one flavor or another. Telltale signs of a homeowner who's spent more than a few twilights seeking out inner calm. The man is in one corner of the world. The women is equally restless in another. Try not to own portions of his bottled up intensity after a few listens. It bears reaffirming that the Toby Keith people went bat shit crazy for due to "Red Solo Cup" is the same relatable joe, quite possibly multiplied by one stein's worth of sip service. "Hope On The Rocks" goes down agreeably, bubbles and all.

Flyleaf's New Horizons Sound Sharp

Lacey Sturm's voice springs out with purpose throughout Flyleaf's "New Horizons" album. That heart on her sleeve teems with fire. Unlike Pink, who sprinkles mischief all over her performance style or Adele, who's a soulful belter, Lacey's ace in the hole is the clarity with which she uses her instrument. If you dare to dream and battle with the frustration of not feeling like you're getting any closer to achieving it as days pass then "Cage On The Ground" is sure to be one of your new 2012 jams. Lacey directs her energy all the way to the back of the room. Sameer Bhattacharya and Jared Hartman prove themselves to be a formidable guitar tag team repeatedly. Where the fret boards grab center stage is "Broken Wings". Comparing the chord progressions to a painter's color wheel, this song radiates gentle yellows and oranges. Lacey, ever grateful for friendship and the memories that often ensue strokes listeners with an ever so gentle caress. She assumes a defiant, steeled pose for "Stand", prepared to face the world with open hand and ears. Accelerated pacing toward the close makes the track a worthy anthem. Most eerie in this bag of alt-rock tricks is "Bury Your Heart". The slight quiver in her delivery is just unsettling enough to promote shivers. The song's focus seems to be on the difficulties of maintaining a lush life (references to gold and platinum, valuable markers of units sold in the recording industry). "New Horizons" highlights the importance of living in the moment. On the title track James Culpepper is at his beat-keeping best. This leads me to believe he's taking its message to heart. Lacey has since left the band to focus on her blossoming family. "New Horizons" demonstrates that she injected plenty of affection and raw vocal strength into Flyleaf before she opted to embrace the new horizons in her private life.

Bridgit Mendler's Debut Should Remain Nameless

Cheese is valuable in an American diet. However as a trait running throughout Bridgit Mendler's recording debut "Hello My Name Is" it makes me reach for the cringe button almost without realizing the impulse reaction has been executed. Time after time the lyrics are too goofy to be believed. Take "The Fall Song" for instance. Specifically I can't take my mind off her description of the boy in her life. He's "like sunshine with a chance of rain". In meteorological terms there's room for optimism. But why the chance of rain? Does Bridgit have herself on guard for the heartache she suspects will reward her devotion? "5:15" presents her as some sort of heartache cursed heroine with, as she puts it, "enough strength to flip a pancake". Thanks to the songwriting I'm not even showering much attention on Bridgit's attempts to sound street ("Where u be at?" from "The Fall Song") or the PG-rated softness even the dance oriented-numbers ("Ready Or Not") suffer from. Spelling out one of the words in your song's title, in Bridgit's case the "window" frame in "Rocks At My Window" isn't adorable or adorably menacing. Obnoxious would be the better adjective. I'm not won over by the subject matter either. Okay, so being cooped up in your bedroom fending off the loathsomeness of stupid people participating in reality TV sucks out loud. Nothing earth shattering there. Or how about Bridgit's desire to live like Oprah in "Ready Or Not". Pop culture icon reference? Check. Then there's "Hold On For Dear Love". She treated Mr. Possibly Right like a punching bag and used the worst words during her fit of pique. Homespun snapshots of teen suburbia just don't linger in memory after the CD concludes. It apparently flies with sizable pockets of the Disney Channel crowd because, as of this posting, it's taking up cozy real estate in Billboard Magazine's Top 20 Album Chart. Hopefully the overwhelming portion of that demographic respects well-articulated lyrics over scribblings that could have been pieced together over a drowsy morning in which the coffee hadn't managed to ignite a buzz. Any comparisons between Bridgit and Carly Rae Jespen are a little premature. Carly's "Call Me Maybe" did a paramount job playing off of the teen innocence whereas Bridgit lays her brand of charms a bit too thick. "Hello My Name Is" doesn't warrant much formal introduction.

Shiny Toy Guns Firing On All Cylinders

The word that Shiny Toy Guns followers are bound to keep returning to again and again in describing the sound of "iii" is "ethereal". I like to think of that word, at least when it's introduced in a musical context, as the sound of possibilities being explored. The road is wide open. The things you could do at the mixing console are endless. Just three bonafide studio albums in, this L.A. foursome linked to various genres such as indie rock, synthpop, and New Wave, dazzles me with the versatile ways it chooses to try and master the possibilities. Man and woman linked arm and arm escaping what reality throws at them is a theme that is returned to time and again. Nowhere is this truer than "Wait 4 Me". It pushes the six-minute mark but you quit nitpicking once you learn how fully committed to their cosmic travels they are. Co-vocalist Carah Faye Charnow presents herself as a heroine with rooting value. The opening moments of the song are marked by her whispered discontent for where she happens to be psychologically and geographically. Buoyed by a jabbing synth she conveys a wish to fly high above the din. Gregori Chad Petree, her romantic partner in crime feels entropy setting in on his soul too. Midway through the song the twosome merges to create divine shared harmony. Chalk up one for the camp which claims a problem shared is a problem halved. Their voices blend seamlessly as two pieces of the same puzzle finally in the right place right time, ready to stage a jail break. Not everything about this record beats a path back to the "us vs. them" story. "Speaking Japanese" leaves nothing to the imagination and that's a wonderfully catchy thing. Sounds like Gregori went out back and rammed some rough edges into his guitar to come up with a blunt uncompromising salvo of notes. Don't be scared, though. In this 3:08 nugget this blunt instrument gives way to Carah joining the legion of coy women of danceable rock calling out to the fellas, "It's my body and you can't have this!" Whether you or your dance partner is drunk or sober the track is wickedly grinding. Shiny Toy Guns has the talent to pull off an aching piano ballad amidst the installation of synth mattresses. I wholeheartedly believe "Take Me Back To Where I Was" is one of the best songs here. No macho testosterone flexing. No complex arrangement threatening to collapse under the burden of its own ambition. At this point one suspects the band has outgrown the club circuit. However, "Take" has the solace fountain jacked up to overflowing. It wouldn't be out of place on the set list for a humble piano player pouring his heart out for chump change. Gregori's decision not to sugarcoat how severely his heartstrings have been yanked on is commendable. Not only that, it's the chief reason explaining why the song has the power to slice through the most jaded, romance-opposed folks. The other song that no reviewer worth a lick should leave out of the Shiny Toy Guns discussion if he is giving shout outs to top drawer songcraft is "If I Lost You". If you can envision a vintage '80s Depeche Mode song only there's a female vocalist writhing in the displeasure that comes with knowing you're separated from the person who as Tom Cruise declared in Jerry Maguire "completes you" then you get the drift. Everything about this song sets the stage for a prime '80s New Wave flashback. Were you into prime mopey Cure? Did you marvel at the space alien hirsute Flock of Seagulls? You'll need to get a deep enough bucket to corral the drool that's going to fall once "Lost" permeates your eardrums. This is perfectly orchestrated '80s era synthpop. The angst quotient soars. The synthesizers keep the song blasting along the rails. Even the a-capella haze at the close will have you forgetting it's not 1984 anymore. Mikey Martin attacks the drum kit with relentless relish. Jeremy Dawson's bass mixes dark elements with a slick "I'm always watching you at every turn" aura of self-satisfaction. In our pop culture, projects with Roman numerals attached to them generally indicate sequels (Superman II, Rocky IV, etc...). It would be an inexcusable mistake to commit that crime with "iii". All the pieces gel to make an outstanding whole which deserves to stand alone as a artistic contribution of impressive individual merit.

Stone Sour Builds Its New "House" on a Solid Foundation of Complacency Shattering Rock

Corey Taylor isn't one of those guys I'd want to have to face off with in an alley. He's intimidating to say the least. As front man of Stone Sour his commanding presence puts him in rarefied air as a leading post-millennial spokesman for whom "life" has been replaced by "existence". "House of Gold and Bones", Part 1" is one enviably inspired undertaking. "Tired" scores on several levels. James Root's guitar carries with it the weight of the titular adjective. This backdrop of being pushed past reasonable limits extends its spirit of oppression as the seconds pass. Corey's voice conveys how fed up he is at a life with no exit to sanity. The highest praise I can muster up for "Last of the Real" is that it pounces on you with a fury Metallica employs to revelatory effect. No quarter given or taken. The diabolical fret theatrics spell out a headbanger's nirvana. In the case of "Taciturn" thought out ambition doesn't add up to lukewarm rock. This track's just as awe-inspiring as metal singles featuring guitars which leap off the front porch like a dog who's unsure where his next meal's coming from. Corey can no longer insist he parted ways with his sensitive side eons ago. The guitar riffs caress instead of pulverize. The resulting song is a stunner that makes me respect Corey's emotional range even more. Such indelible poetry from the tough as nails face of Slipknot? Wow is a gigantic understatement. You'll lap up "RU486" if fist-soaring anthems make you break out in celebratory prickly heats. By comparison "A Rumor of Skin" stands out to due to Roy Mayorga's machine gun style drumming and razor blade gruff guitar. What "Absolute Zero" says about Corey Taylor, regardless of whether the man himself is truly spiritual is that the God he prays to finds it quite kosher to get pissed off, to react when pushed. It's defiant in the superior tradition of metal. There's plenty to savor with part one. I'm counting the months until part two sees the light of day. Corey and friends have reasons to be impressed with themselves. Stone Sour is back, back with a vengeance, and back to kick the butts of all who question their carved corner of rock supremacy.

Anberlin Churns Out Some Vital Rock Noise

Anberlin doesn't shy away from the deeper relationship issues, both with those closest to them and with bigger questions that get them asking "Are we doing this whole being alive thing correctly?" "Vital" embraces the complex issues and, in some cases, lends undeniable octane to the musicianship surrounding them. Take "Desires" for instance. From a rock yelp point of view Joseph Miligan holds his guitar prowess out on an entirely different level. If you listen closely maybe you can hear the fretboard melting under his wicked assault. His work here proves that ax melting isn't solely the province of mainstream guitar gods. Though they carry the somewhat stigmatized Christian rock label, this new effort isn't toothless. The aforementioned track zeroes in on the perils of being in close with someone who insists the world revolves around them, and them alone. You'd be wise to check out "Little Tyrants" strictly on the basis of Joe's demonic efforts. Stephen Christian's voice could cut through the deepest London fog. Look no further than "Other Side" for credible evidence. His pondering makes you want to take his hand, and roam where he roams. He craves warm arms to hold him. You wish for him to receive them. On this track and on "Innocents", Stephen inserts hooky keyboard passages into the framework. "Modern Age" goes toe to toe with some very real psychological concerns that way most of us down in one way or another. The fear of failing is a commonality amongst us. So is the notion that each of us is in the process of writing his own story, directing his own "film", trying to belong to some fellow band of brothers instead of staying condemned to this random drifter on the ponderosa of existence sort of blue funk. The underlying question behind "Someone Anyone" could apply to any social situation be it war, family, or marriage. Said question is "What are we fighting for?" What's a very real connecting thread among rock bands is this searching for an answer that never seems easily attainable. Nathan Young uses his drum techniques to dizzying effect. When he shifts into fifth gear during "Orpheum" you're eager to follow him through the labyrinthine maze the overall mood of the song suggests. "Am I losing control?" is the pontificated question this time around and, once you're swept in the wave of unsettled rhythm you want to fight for control right alongside him. The step up to a heavier sound suits this fivesome. They'll know doubt succeed in leaving the audiences, both potential, and already converted, wanting more.

Two Door Cinema Club Is Worth Joining

The best way to describe the harmonies in "Beacon", the new one from County Down, Ireland's Two Door Cinema Club is to compare it's cosmic scope and breadth to one of those kaleidoscopes you may have had as a kid. That's the one where you turn it and notice colors assuming various related pleasing shapes and  color mixtures. This trio has only been around since 2007 but, if this 11-track set is any indication of their mettle I sense long life in the biz is a distinct possibility. Alex Trimble, the lead vocalist shows off a marked talent for poetry. "Someday" revisits the big picture conundrum that is "Is this journey running from or to who we will wind up being?" He conveys his own uncertainty with a winning, unaffected charm. Kevin Baird's bass handiwork bolsters the urgency of his searching. Sam Halliday proves he's no guitar lightweight. Back to the kaleidoscope comparison. In some tracks the sound is arranged with the lead guitar controlling the lion's share of the energy. Other times, "The World Is Watching" being the most laudable example, it's the three part harmonies, squeaky clean as the time tested Irish spring, that lift the songs to a gorgeous level they would not have achieved had their placement been not so strategic. There is such a thing as cluttered arrangement, something these three apparently know nothing about. They have a flair for getting potential listeners to dash with them through the panoramas of what probably is well on its way to being known as "The Two Door Cinema Club" sound. Kaleidoscope experimentation carries the day. Another way to put it would be to compare the fluid shifting of the tunes to the layer by layer intricacy of Russian nesting dolls. Layer upon layer upon layer until you hit the bedrock energy from one track to the next. Alex deserves a great deal of credit for the dazzling imagery he brings out for "Spring". Just an engaging reassertion of a classic song complaint uttered in the name of budding romance..."One more day is not enough."The old masters of the world of poetry would have approved. All of the tiers employed on this album work magnificently. Because of that it's impossible to be bored. You don't know where the bass, guitar, chorus, horn section, or drum kit will show up. It's nice to hear Two Door Cinema Club laughs at a predictable format for its art. I want to return to this club in the near future and I have a hunch you'll want to as well.

These Are Not Ellie's Halcyon Days

Far be it from me to spit in the face of "what the kids are listening to these days" but I have a really hard time warming up to the charms of Ellie Goulding. Her latest release "Halcyon" has this lighter than smoke machine smoke quality that I just couldn't cozy up to. "Lights", the leadoff single and top 10 Billboard hit, doesn't surround her with too much atmosphere outside of some jocular yet cloying synth effects. There's much club stomping to be had with "Halcyon". Very much in the comfort zone of one of those wee hour rave-ups where you can't find one inch of elbow room. Her soprano range vocals lend a surreal element to "Joy". That's a unique experience to behold but that also makes me a shade uncomfortable. Her delivery does something other that just burst into a wide range of chord shifting. She seems to levitate above the chorus. For some music lovers that's part of the charm. The lyrics kind of disappear into the vocal prowess. Many of the A-level singers I know of at least allow for some of the words to not literally disappear into the wall of atmosphere. "I Know You Care" is imbued with very believable fragility. To be honest, unlike previous reviews, I had a very hard time finding anything awe-inspiring to latch onto. Usually there's an instrument, an ear-inspiring trick, a burst of vim and vigor. Even when the songs have an easygoing way with them, it's sort of pushed out in a Diet Coke diluted taste way. To you the reader I'm sorry if this review comes across as if I composed it fresh off of being jolted with Novocaine. Ellie Goulding's brand of songcraft sort of numbs me off like that. She may very well be a lovable lass but I can't understand much of what the fuss is about.

Heart Beats From Its Roots With "Fanatic"

The Wilson sisters of Heart have come full circle. In the 1970s their focus was acoustic, strongly penned rock melodies. In the 1980s they veered towards radio friendly pop rock ditties which helped reignite interests in them when their fortunes began to flag in the early part of the Decade of Decadence. By the mid-90's domestic life called out Nancy and so Heart was taken off life support for a time so she could better focus on the family she was growing with Almost Famous brainchild Cameron Crowe. Once the new millennium reared its uncertain head the sister act again felt that ache to reconnect. In the Twenty Tens Heart has successfully returned to the rootsy no compromise sound for which they seem to hold the patent. "Fanatic" puts the band's ability to both rock out and wax pensively on full display. The title track shows off Ann's combination of sex kitten appeal and snarling "Hands off me poser" mystique. Not that there's a lack of deeply burnished ballad cuts to choose from. Ann paints a vivid picture with "Pennsylvania" as well as "Rock Deep (Vancouver)". On these selections you won't just face an interface that comes naturally to the Wilsons and whatever back up assemblage of cracker jack musicians they have on hand. What you'll get as a bonus is the weather-scarred chronicle of life in Ann and Nancy's shoes that could only be this rich due to a lifetime of sisterly affection. These two had each other's backs long before the term was a regular part of the modern vernacular. In rock 'n' roll a certain amount of snake oil is applied to lube the commerce aspect. You doubt the level of sincerity much of the time. With the Wilsons you can discard the putty knife you'd normally want to use to scrape the bullshit off. You need look no further than "59 Crunch" to find proof that 4 decades into the rock 'n' roll life they still can blast the doors off concert halls like nobody's business. Ann's urgent delivery bolts from the porch in "A Million Miles". This single is a whirling dervish of keyboards and surplus energy. The rapid pulse stemming from her chest is palpable. You're anxious to grab onto her shoulders and hold on tight. It would be a mistake to write off Heart just yet. It would not surprise me one whit if they went off to their graves heads held high, guitar picks lofted skyward as if to say "Yeah...we did it!!"

Three Days Grace Pilots a Stellar Ride to Venus

You know what parents say about their kids, namely that they seem to grow up so fast. Same words could be said after listening to Three Days Grace's new album "Transit of Venus". These Canadian hard rockers are in fact the same dudes who brought singles like "Pain" and "Never Too Late" to the wider world. Those songs clamped on to your throat but didn't completely seize the upper hand. On this new effort the boys have sprouted attitude with a tremendous bite to it. There's not a bad track in this batch. "Chalk Outline" gives you the razor's edge jagged menace that great hard rock music can be measured by. Adam Gontier approached the recording session as if he was determined to leave drops of blood dripping from his apoplectic fangs. Mission accomplished. This man is not shy about exposing his inner battle scars. Nor will he shy away from dismissing toxic influences from his world such as the female depicted in "Operate". You know the type. She wants you only because of what she thinks she's going to get out of you. Though the booze as healing salve image isn't a rarity in the inebriated history of metal, "Happiness" adds a devilishly wicked spin. Plus the notion of draining happiness straight from the bottle when reality isn't so palatable is an idea folks who are either in hard rock bands or folks aspiring to join the ranks can sympathize with. Barry Stock pulverizes eardrums with his otherworldly guitar attack. Neil Sanderson shakes off any restraint he ever possessed in the capacity of drum lord. Whatever drugs he was on at the time I suggest he maintain the dosage. His precision on this set is nothing sort of astounding. Nice he's one of those drummers who fully realizes the potency he can cull from his instrument. Michael Jackson would be proud of the tough as nails renovation job his "Give In To Me" receives. As a bonus the band shows it knows its way around a compelling story song. "Expectations" erects an unsettling big city tale of an innocent sixteen year-old searching for silver screen fortune only to find out innocent sixteen year-olds don't tend to fare too well in that environment. The nausea-inducing (in the most flattering rock way) chord shifts peel back the curtain without sparing either expense or detail. Just one impressive change up the guys offer on this trip to the musical mound. Not only do they offer a jaw dropping ensemble of pitches, they knock it out of the park too. If they weren't treated that way before, Three Days Grace can now be considered a meaty rock outfit that fully deserves to be taken seriously. They got the memo that you've gotta leave the testosterone aggression out there on full display. If this album doesn't send at least one chamber of your heart pounding like crazy than you, sir, are a metal lightweight.

Muse Lays Down The 2nd Law

I have to take my hat off to Muse. Its members usually bring an everything including the kitchen sink attitude to their work. I've been a gushing fan of theirs ever since the Absolution era. While the brand new The 2nd Law isn't as dynamic, compared to the somewhat heavy handed effort The Resistance, it's an impressive step back in that direction. What sent 2006's Black Holes and Revelations out with an explosive "In your face" as far as I'm concerned was "Knights of Cydonia". That track got more and more massive as time wore on. Need a similarly mind melting demonstration of cool from The 2nd Law? I'd like to serve up "Supremacy". If blond Bond Daniel Craig's listening he needs to contact these guys about inserting material like this into a future soundtrack. Christopher Wolstenholme's bass should be place on a Wanted poster due to this outing. It's that dangerous to the ears of those unaware of the instrument's power to wreak havoc from your skull all the way down to your gut. Dominic Howard lets fly with titanic rips from behind the kit. Throw in the camp of an imposing Bond movie opening credits symphony and you've got prime guilty pleasure fixings. "Panic Station" is about as sexy a vocal display as I've ever heard from Matt Bellamy. You'd almost think he stole Jet's swinging loins swagger. What a nice change-up from the soul-piercing deep reflections which account for most of the listening. "Explorers" is a jaw-dropping salute to our planet and how we puny humans are constantly struggling to keep the light of life burning bright. "Survival" finds Matt copping the defiant persona that fits him like hand in glove. Many of the songs here turn to either keyboards or bass to ramp up the intensity level. "Survival" is that rare exception where the electric guitar gets license to cut loose. There's all the menace of a freshly uncorked chainsaw here with not much chance of bodily harm. There is more than one example of how Muse represents the soundtrack of our dreams/nightmares. "Explorers" is the most vivid example of how Matt populates one's dream life contending, like a good many of us probably are at some point, that he's a prisoner in this world and how wonderful it would be if someone were to grant him freedom. Liberation as theme pops up repeatedly. When that isn't front and center than being able to outlast or outrun the sources of inner torment is. Muse closes out this blast of hypnotic parallel artistic dimensions with "The 2nd Law Unsustainable" and "The 2nd Law Isolated". The idea in play is that a society shackled by technologically encouraged isolation can only serve as a breeding ground for entropy among the society's members. Again, being a prisoner lashing out against self-inflicted or societally mandated wounds is up for reflection. "The 2nd Law" has hit store shelves at the right time. It haunts and reassures simultaneously. You won't be able to resist its pull.

Mumford & Sons Slay The Sophomore Jinx

Many a musician lives in fear of the dreaded sophomore jinx, the second album that doesn't measure up to the lofty standard set by its predecessor. If you're Mumford & Sons you needn't lose any sleep over it. "Babel", the sophomore set in question is a glistening diamond from first track to last. Filler material just isn't part of the package here. The Irish folk ensemble have already turned heads with the fleet footed yet grounded "I Will Wait" and the slice of vulnerability known as "Babel". There are plenty of other attention grabbers in the bunch. Whichever emotion Marcus Mumford is zooming in on his full bodied voice cuts right to the chase. "Reminder" possesses the slow, wounded rhythm of a man not wanting to cause his lover any more strife. He's barely got the energy to come crawling to her door. The revelatory aspect of "Hopeless Wanderer" lies in the cleverly planted pace shifts. At first it's jaunty but not at a breakneck level. It isn't long before you're taking a spin through the Irish countryside with a band of gents with something extra in the tank. All participants show off the full power of their instruments. "Country" Winston Marshall's banjo lends authenticity to the regional flavor. Ted Dwane's string bass endows the melodies with a undeniable spine. Ben Lovett dives into his accordion fearlessly. His style demonstrates he can face nettlesome relationship issues unintimidated. "Ghosts That We Knew" burns straight from the heart with a level of intimacy usually reserved for a group of lads telling stories around a campfire. Come to think of it that's not a bad description for this foursome. You'll leave the listening experience without pangs of starvation following a go round with "Lover of the Light". It takes all the time it needs to gel into a rich Irish stew. Mumford & Sons has done everything possible to convince the sophomore jinx it needs to pick on someone its own size. These songs are bigger than life.

Green Day Should Make Energy Numero Uno

In my mind there will always be Green Day before "American Idiot" and Green Day after. "American Idiot" was a prime example of what one's imagination can do when it crosses paths with untamed ambition. To this day "Holiday" remains one of my all-time favorite singles. There's fangs with blood dripping off of them. Billie's guitar has its sights set on you from the first note. At the song's close I feel contentedly exhausted. He gave it one million percent and I felt every bead of sweat. 2012 brings with it "Uno!" If you miss the unabashed stick your tongue out at posers, unworthy lovers, and losers you were only too happy to graduate high school to get the hell away from bursts of vigor that comprise "Dookie" era Green Day then grab a knife and fork 'cause you'll be eating hearty for a good while. However if you're in search of Green Day music that's consistently engaging from first track to last you'll be left wanting. I prefer Billie Joe, Mike, and Tre' when they take their pop punk energy, roll it into a tightly compressed ball, and then proceed to ram it straight up your ass. This style of bravado makes me think of soldiers storming the Bastille. They're busting down the door whether you're prepared for it or not. Take "Nuclear Family" for instance. It's an exemplary way to kick off the album. Potency spews out the yin yang. Show of hands amongst the already converted who share my appreciation for the short bursts of raw punk aggression. Billie expresses his commitment to grabbing life by the balls and holding on for all he's worth. His second and third wind becomes ours. "Carpe Diem" has the mojo needed to get others inspired to grab the pen and keep writing the life script the way they see fit. Try to avoid getting prickly excited when you hear the vitality go up in increments between Tre' behind the kit and Billie with his twanger. Even "Loss of Control" unapologetically shows off the burning flame of empowerment that comes from knowing it's best to embrace the screwed up half-wit inside of you rather than to try running in the opposite direction because deep down we're all screw ups on some level. It's during the course of songs where the pace seems to be flagging a bit ("Fell For You", "Angel Blue") that you'd have to shift your focus more to the nostalgic lyrics since there isn't enough pep to hang your hat on. I can see why "Oh Love" was released as the first single. In rhythms and attitude it's far and away different from the other 11 tracks. In this case standing out is a good thing. I enjoy how the layers of chord and unrushed delivery sort of inch into place. The song is the only standout example of how what the tortoise said in that famous fable is sort of true. Slow but steady does in fact win audience appeal. No one's going to confuse "Uno!" with "Nimrod", "American Idiot" or any other link in the Green Day chain of artistic efforts but that's not entirely bad. I merely wish Green Day had trained for twelve rounds of fret guided fisticuffs instead of becoming bogged down in more methodical selections late in the fight. Even still having Green Day back in the music mix is unquestionably rewarding. Spending time with them once more is worth the effort.

No Doubt's Push and Shove An Engaging Return

It does seem like forever since No Doubt graced us all with "Rock Steady". 11 years is the time equivalent to forever in the music business. So is there any ring rust to the funsome foursome? The brand spanking new "Rock and Steady" presents a resounding "no". Gwen Stefani hasn't lost her breathtaking vocal style. Tom Dumont and Tony Kanal are the aligned forces behind the omnipresent keyboards which give off a dazzling ambiance for Gwen to plunge into. As for Adrian Young he's still one of the most stalwart timekeepers of any skin basher presently in the biz. For any of you wondering these guys haven't lost touch with the dance groove mentality that made "Rock Steady" an outstanding romp through late night hours in club territory. Gwen remains firmly planted in the realm of lyrics spotlighting the ups and downs of male-female relationships. "Heaven" has one of those clap along vibes that reduces your inhibitions even if the neighbors are walking past your front window wondering who the dance fiend is in there. Adrian's muscle behind the kit gets its chance to show off "Dreaming The Same Dream". This track trades in some of the bubbly optimism of Gwen's more recognized tracks ("Underneath It All" springs to mind) for an aggressive, densely texture storyline. Gwen's trying to figure out if she and her man are on the same page in the relationship. "Undercover" runs stride for stride with Gwen's animated colossus personality, and that's definitely a good thing. Another winner is "Gravity". This wall of keys and lightness dazzles and disarms simultaneously. I doubt anyone on the No Doubt bandwagon will be disappointed with this set. As LL Cool J said "Don't call it a comeback". This collection of music is more like a reaffirmation of the special pop culture juggernaut that No Doubt has cultivated for 2 decades and change. The California waves splash at you time and again and you're all too willing to feel the water on your face. Unquestionably breathtaking.

Aimeen Mann Uncorks an Unqualified Charmer

Those of us '80s teens will likely always remember Aimee Mann as the voice behind 'til tuesday and its nugget from the decade, "Voices Carry". Well she's long since gone on to be a critic's darling sticking such feathers in her cap as 1993's "Whatever" and numerous tracks contributed to the art house film "Magnolia". The title track from the brand new "Charmer" is exactly what the title suggest it could grow up to be. Aimee manages to pull off some meaty guitar playing which makes a nice counterpoint to the 80s friendly keyboards sprinkled throughout. Aimee throws a hot spotlight on people who come off as charming but are secretly uncomfortable with the attention they get because a hidden agenda won it for them. Aimee's pipes are firm yet never flirt with an octave range that would shatter glass. That's a wonderful artistic persona to project. She gives off confidence that her voice can be powerful in message and chord shift without having to beat people around with it to make them get the point. "Stalwart" comes to mind when one thinks of her place on the contemporary music scene. She never really has gone away since 1985. All she's managed to do is piece together an uncompromising catalog that allows her instruments both electric and all-natural to command each drop of the well-earned attention. "Charmer" the song is a crisp, crowd-pleasing tap into what I'm confident will prove to be a lucrative album. The loyal masses are going to go wild. Newbies will have plenty to cheer about, too.

Dave Matthews Band Returns To a World of Its Own

You really want to give Dave Matthews a big hug and tell him the weighty burdens of the world he knows will, in fact, work themselves out in the end. Until someone gives him a strong enough hint we can all lick our chops at the latest tantalizing collection from The Dave Matthews Band. "Away From The World" finds the boys just as jam groove oriented as they ever were, showing off how they are one of the few outfits that has demonstrated legitimacy as an honest to goodness "jam band", the kind where the musicians toss in their own ingredients to make a toothsome stew. "Mercy" is a showcase for the quadrant of Dave's psyche that hopes the man made damage of the planet we are supposed to be stewards can be reversed before it's too late. "Broken Things" reaches for Dave's vulnerable epicenter, the one I suggest is in biggest need of a hug. "Drunken Soldier" is militant, undeterred by the obstacles felling lesser men. The theme, just be yourself, isn't new, but the authoritative percussive imprint the band leaves on it succeeds in reinforcing the importance of not letting anyone, friend or foe, tell you what the best way to live your life is. Boyd Tinsley, as usual, works his violin with gustatory seasoning. Carter Beauford's drumming still guides Dave's at times melancholy verses with the reassurance a captain is given by the first mate on a ship where one wrong turn spells disaster for all involved. "Away From The World" takes its place as excellent addition to the music world not to mention a noteworthy link in the chain which comprises the Virginia rock mainstay's body of work.