A Swinging Bargain From The Thrift Shop

I just have to say what a relief it is to have "Thrift Shop" in the rap ozone. It's a buzz because nowhere are you hearing about a homie bragging about how drunk he is or how many women he's flashed his junk at. Seattle native Macklemore, his producer Ryan Lewis, and the joyously low registered Wanz are rapping about the thrills of having 20 dollars be good enough to cop some choice vintage threads from the titular thrift shop. Broken keyboard? Hell yeah! Flannel zebra jammies? Ring it up, dude. What aids the levity score for this effort is a light-hearted horn along with hand claps. Wanz nailed it. Life at the thrift shop really is fucking awesome. Not to mention it helps to get your traditionally square grandparents from sounding too square. At least they turned out to have good taste in clothes. Thanks to all from dropping some love on Velcro shoes. I had a pair of those in the '80s. Sure beat the waste of time associated with bending over to tie undone shoelaces. Perhaps their inclusion in Thrift Shop will once again make them trendy. Useful? You better believe. "Thrift Shop" took its time getting to the pole position on Billboard's Singles Chart but, after a few listens, I understand why pop culture's all the better for its being there. No surprise if it gains a rep as the first hipness quotient song of 2013 even if it launched last year.

Teena Marie's Posthumous Luv Letter Is a Message Not Short on Passion

Teena Marie's legacy is amazing. An artist with strong ties to the Motown label, she became the first white R & B singer to forge inroads in what's traditionally a black segment of the music industry. A great many people, upon hearing her silky-smooth pipes, believed she WAS black. My own fond memory of her grows from late 1984 when her Billboard Top 5 smash "Lovergirl" was on the rise. She had her own niche carved in the diva market before the word gained traction in later decades. Her final project, "Beautiful" is now available for downloading or, as that not-so-guilty pleasure you hole up in your bedroom digesting in one delectable bite while fantasizing about the dream guy you want to deflower. The first single from the project is "Luv Letter". If you need a refresher course on what makes Teena a true legend, immerse yourself in her universe. She's a dynamo because her vocal style is feather light but not tepid in a way where you can't tell she sings with absolute confidence. "Luv Letter" is a surefire time trip back to the '80s when fans of this genre of music became spoiled on a regular diet of Teena's mentor figure Rick James, The Mary Jane Girls, and Ray Parker Jr., among others moistening up the air waves. Lady T leaves zippo to the imagination. She's your love letter, guys. Read her and weep. She's smoking in your eyes. Time for a show of hands. How many of you guys out there are already in the process of either unzipping something of yours or making plans to unbutton some part of your woman's ensemble? The bassline here is an orgasm moving in sinful time with a mid-tempo beat. The obligatory keyboard noodling helps lube this call to sexual arms. To make it complete add in a shuffling percussion section. If this song isn't already a fixture on urban radio, it damned well better be in short order. There's nothing in these lyrics that's snug in the pocket of deep thought. You'd be wise to get the champagne chilling and at least make one housecall to Victoria so you can purchase at least one version of her secrets. It's so sad that on December 26th, 2010 she took her final celestial bow. "Luv Letter" does succeed in providing some much needed comfort. Old school is back in session. What Teena's teaching is worth your attention. If it manages to make your afterglows more rewarding then, not only is Teena smiling  from Heaven, she's pretty sure she's followed her earthbound assignments to the letter.

Dead On Dance Classic

Many enticing dance tracks have skittered across my ears since I was first hatched but none of them have quite the flamboyance of Dead or Alive's "You Spin Me Round (Like a Record)". It filled many a summer day in 1985 with super radiant sunshine. These days lead singer Pete Burns, thanks to ill-advised plastic surgery, doesn't even remotely resemble the exotic pop tart he was then. The video's super corny but, once you're immersed in those hot grooves, it ceases to be all that important. The reason I'm so high on it is it's an instant party starter. The drums are relentless. The keyboards have spark. The guitar's extremely sassy, especially after the first chorus. Pete's animal magnetism is undeniable. He can be somewhat scary but that's an artistic point in his favor. During summer '85 when more seductive acts like Wham! and Tears For Fears blossomed with more of a proper gentleman delivery Dead or Alive got up in your face with just over 3 minutes worth of dance magic that circles around your feet, works its way up your spine, and gives you a cosmic infection that you'd never want cured.

Dropkick Murphys Rich Blood Pours Out In "Signed and Sealed in Blood"

Just by listening to even one of the Dropkick Murphys' records, even if for only 45 minutes, that is good enough to make you an honorary Irishman regardless of what your true ethnicity is. "Signed and Sealed in Blood" represents a beefy travel guide through the travails of modern day Irishmen delivered to you in an uncompromising, teeth sawed off at the gum line sort of way. Want proof that these rowdies mean it? "The Boys are Back" hits its mark with a galvanized fist. There's a nice new hole punched through the side of the pub. Send the bill to the Murphys. Matt Kelly demonstrates on this track how electric guitar isn't always the most amped contributor to a song. How else would you be compelled to pull up a bar stool and knock back an O'Douls or three? It's been a long time but they're out to bust heads down at the watering hole. In no way is this an example of bastardized Celt punk fresh from Boston. It's just as deserving of your awe as Cheers bar or the oft played up Red Sox or baked beans. I was flat out floored by this song. I felt the leather punching me upside the head and, what's more, I totally enjoyed it. Working man blues consume each cranny of "Prisoner's Song". Still waiting on these American shores for opportunity to come knocking? The Dropkick Murphys have exactly the brand of reassurance you need. Jeff DaRosa's banjo keeps the time. Tim Brennan's mouth-watering accordion resurrects the place. These aren't wimpy shoulders to cry on, but truer troubadours you'll never find. "Rose Tattoo", only tightens the relentless foray into Celtic loyalty, into blood ties that  the grave doesn't tarnish or wipe away. Here we get an indoctrination into how wistful a tin whistle can be. The credit for any and all lasting impression goes to the mastery of that instrument as displayed by one Josh "Scruffy" Wallace. I know Xmas season is now in the rear view mirror again, but I couldn't let this review get printed without playing up how milk out of the nose hilarious "The Season's Upon Us" is. In the world of stand up comedy one of things that impresses me most is how the comic, through timing and perception, manages to get away with saying things that most of us can't blurt out in public. If there's a particularly virulent strain in your DNA that seems to be fully exposed when the extendeds come calling The Dropkick Murphys take impish delight in holding it aloft, and broadcasting its ugliness much like a neon EAT AT JOE'S sign is impossible to ignore simply because it's so remorselessly tacky. You'll feel a bit better knowing these guys are fully aware that some families, like bands that haven't struck a chord of harmony once, should never be in the same hemisphere, much less the same dinner table. The deliciously naughty mystery Maggie is front and center in "Out on the Town". The pelvic naughtiness implied here is hard to turn away from. If you can be a Celtic bad girl and radiate sex appeal at the same time, this is the track to prove it. Watch out for Maggie's sharp tongue though. Butcher knives are seldom merciful. "My Hero", an impassioned salute to the old man, has juice to burn due in large part to the whirring buzz saw masquerading as James Lynch's supercharged guitar. Take one listen here and the male portion of the audience will swear it received a complimentary shave minus the unforgiving steel blade. After all that in your face mayhem isn't it nice the lads close up shop this go round with a song that refuses to stand still until the barkeep kicks everybody out. That would be "End of the Night".Lead vocalist Ken Casey has scads of stories to tell. By the time this nostalgic Massachusetts evening concludes he'll have amassed a pretty fine batting average pertaining to how many he's told front to back. What a smartly executed way for all of us to catch our breath. "Signed and Sealed in Blood" is far more than merely worth bothering with. If you wish to hoist a flagon of ale afterwards, that's a bonus. The Dropkick Murphys is one band of scamps with an amazing future ahead of it. They've hit their stride in every facet. You'll be grateful tired as opposed to drained tired. Only master storytellers could take you to that state of being.

Chris Tomlin's Lights Shine Bright

For a contemporary Christian musician to be successful not only does the devotion have to feel palpably real but the musician has to deliver the goods in a genuine fashion. In a way he has to eclipse whatever hired hand production values have been erected for the sake of tilting the odds towards mass consumption. I'd say Chris Tomlin's brand new "Burning Lights" album succeeds on both counts. His is a boy next door likable persona. You don't feel like you're being hustled through church doors to hear whatever message is the flavor of the month. Tomlin and his accompanying band manage to construct several "pleasing shapes" for their salute to the Almighty. You're sure to get caught up in "God's Great Dancefloor". It's deceptively accessible. By that I mean Christian music in a poppy vein runs a risk of sounding light a light beer version of entertainment but here you'll have a hard time not giving in to the sweltering tempo. As for "Awake My Soul", it wouldn't sound out of place on one of Kirk Cameron's movie soundtracks. Kirk, as you may or may not know, is fervently Christian and has those themes emanating from such films as Fireproof. What punches this number up the scale of audience engagement is keyboards, guitars, and drums working as a camaraderie aided unit with all members perusing the same page. Steady but not overreaching harmony carries the day on "Whom Shall I Fear (God of Angel)". The revival tent crowd never had it so good. His female duet partners, Kari Jobe and Christy Nockels summon up maternal gentleness on "Crown Him (Majesty)", and "Jesus, Son of God, respectively. In both cases instead of a yin and yang cross pollination of devotion you get two yins intensifying what was already Chris's one man mutual admiration society with the Lord. "Crown Him (Majesty) cleanses from the jump. Bandmate Matt Gilder's thoughtful piano enhancements ripen the climate in favor of washing away cares so the Lord can work on fixing what's in need of healing. On the other hand "Jesus, Son of God" billows out in a lavish extension of hand towards God and, one hopes all manner of listening audience. There's an epic storm of worship brewing and Chris and band are positioning you to be front and center for the hoped for impact. "Shepherd Boy" is the ideal closing tune. Chris is alone with piano and an uncluttered connection to God. Weakness is laid out on the table. Pride is abandoned. The welcoming of solace in the Lord's arms is the consummate salve. "Burning Lights" has already hit #1 on Billboard's Christian Albums Chart as well as the Billboard Top 200 Albums Chart. In the latter's case the album is only the fourth Christian album to debut in pole position. The public got it right this time. There's plenty for both he and the listening audience to be proud of. "Burning Lights" won't fade away any time soon. Chris has the neighborly spirit and then some.

Justin Timberlake & Jay Z Present Some Suit & Tie Sex Appeal

Mr. "Sexy Back" himself, Justin Timberlake, takes a break from conquering the film world to grace us with this caramel smooth spoonful of refreshingly tight R&B. You'll drool over the dashing horn section. Try not to be seduced by the glittery piano. But most of all, particularly if you're a club dude on the prowl, remember to visualize J.T.'s mellow brand of croon if you need to kickstart the tenderness level in the bedroom. No speed race jam here. Just easy flow dreaminess that's conducive to holding that special someone as tight as possible. Jay Z pitches in equally player to end all players rap riffs invading the universe of makeup sex and dropping a spicy homonym play on words flipping DNA genes on their petards to stylize over how great a woman looks in jeans. J.T. can be forgiven for keeping us all waiting when the result is delivered with attention to the debonaire. As his lyrics would agree, he certainly did leave it on the floor. Such a divine '70s retro splash bodes well for the future prospects of his forthcoming disc "The 20/20 Experience".

The World Is Brought Into Sharp Focus By Deap Vally

One trick pony lyrics have the potential to weigh any act down, regardless of genre. Country has its cheatin' songs. Pop and R & B have their deepest, most unwavering devotional love songs. Those genres have the benefit of striking a nerve of global appreciated sentiment. In the rock arena you better have the moxie if your songs hitch their wagons to one concept. In the case of L.A.'s Deap Vally (friendly wink out of respect for the deliberate misspelling of both words) the prime theme of "End of the World" is how, by not figuring out how to love one another we're racing towards the end of the world. Runs a big risk of sounding preachy. After all getting all 7 billion plus humans marching in the same direction isn't exactly much simpler than, say, brain surgery. This analysis of the hoped for humankind lovefest strikes paydirt basically because of the chutzpah shown by guitarist and vocalist Lindsey Troy and drummer Julie Edwards. Lindsey brings a carefully dangerous power attack to her guitar. The chord sequences are about as gentle as a chain saw but no less rewarding on a caveman level. Julie drums loosely. She lets the adrenaline come to her rather than try to grasp for the added strength that may not be there right when she wants it. According to Wikipedia the twosome first met at a needlework class where Jules taught Lindsey the finer points of that craft. Needlework equals fabrics. Social fabric equals "Why can't we just love each other because, to do otherwise is an invitation to trouble." Being a hardcore Muse fan I take more than a little notice at news that Deap Vally recently opened for the prog trio on tour in Helsinki (Finland), Tallinn (Estonia), Riga (Latvia), and Hamburg (Germany). Muse wouldn't allow just anyone to help them hoist the rock banner overseas. The femme duo has drawn comparisons to The Black Keys, another point of flattery in their favor. At this time any confirmations of artistic brotherhood between the two acts will have to wait. Deap Vally just got cranking in 2011. The Black Keys are possessed of a poke in the ribcage sense of humor to go with their trademark blues rock delicacies. At least the ladies have an untainted edge to what they offer. Whether or not the roughest edges need to be sanded over has yet to be determined. Right now potential is what Deap Vally has on its side. That's a promising step one. By staying roots rock oriented there could easily be other steps to visit as the decade progresses.

Pat Benatar Dished Out More Than a Few Best Shots

Today is the 60th birthday of a woman whose influence on the rock quadrant of the music industry is undeniable. She first stepped onto the scene in 1979 with In The Heat of The Night which yielded the monster rock track "Heartbreaker". As she sliced her way through the '80s the hits seemed to extend forever. With "Hit Me With Your Best Shot" she showed off the grit that became her trademark. In the mid 80s "We Belong" demonstrated she could depart from the straight ahead provocative sound her record label pushed her no end to duplicate in favor of artistic statements that revealed her softer, maternal side. The goddess I'm referring to is Pat Benatar. If you don't have it as part of your library I highly recommend you get your mitts on a copy of her memoir Between a Heart and a Rock Place. In it you'll follow her process through the shark-infested waters of the music industry, for the most part a playground for the boys only. She discusses how Chrysalis Records drove she and her incredible backing band to the limits of what they could create. From 1979 to 1985 Pat was contractually obligated to put out album after album until finally the creative well dried up. The 1985 release Seven The Hard Way was so called out of reference to Pat's none too subtle commentary that seven albums in seven years was an impossible order to live up to in much the same way one cannot roll doubles at a crap table and expect to come up with an odd number. What I admire most about Pat is that, despite her record label idiotically trying to push her sexy image over the fierce talent blasting out from between her lips, she blazed the trail for success and did it on her terms. Chrysalis didn't want her to make Tropico, the album that "We Belong" came from because it didn't want her abandoning the proven hitmaking formula which landed strictly in the all out rock territory. She did so anyway and proved her instincts were spot on. "We Belong" zoomed up to #5 in Billboard Magazine, and rightfully so since the song brings a welcome lightness of mood to her overall body of work. Her other #5 hit was "Love Is a Battlefield". To those of you who were diehard MTV viewers from the very start the infamous (or not) shoulder shake in the video was quite possibly a jaw dropping part of your music education. Again, Chrysalis wasn't pleased with the musical direction the song hinted at but couldn't argue with the results. I confess I wasn't pleased with her decision to make a blues record True Love in 1991. Still, she more than earned the right to walk away from her label's meddling and craft the sort of records she wanted to make. I prefer her tiny tiger roar to a remake of B.B. King's "Payin' The Cost To Be The Boss" but I likely feel this way for the same reason Adam Sandler fans shudder when he tries to lean towards weightier fare instead of overgrown teen fare like Billy Madison. His fans want to see him play the socially retarded dumbass and when the likes of Punch Drunk Love hits the multiplexes they get turned off. Guilty as charged. Pat is and, to my mind always will be a badass rock chick. She's a tiny creature but has the voice and intense range of The Fifty Foot Woman. She's that much of a world beater. Only she could've given The Legend of Billie Jean a reason to be something other than a pop culture punchline. "Invincible" was a white hot laser to the skull. Neil Giraldo, Pat's longtime husband, producer, and guitar wizard really laid down sinister licks. I'm just sorry it came out of the tortured writing sessions that led to Seven The Hard Way. Even the video reflects how frayed Pat likely was. Check out her makeup job and the look in her eyes. That's what a trooper artist stretched to the gills looks like. Still I absolutely swooned over this jolt of her take no prisoners attitude. She always had that "I'm not your baby, poser. Don't make me have to rough you up just to prove it" demeanor. Offstage she's girl next door approachable. Her place is in the pantheon of great female artists is secure. Pick any one of a number of contemporary artists from Pink to Beyonce to Melissa Etheridge and you'll find Pat's influence either in the way they command attention on stage or cling doggedly to independent spirit. Happy birthday Pat. The musical memories you've gifted me with are numerous and far reaching. You're one of those musicians who gets my blood flowing the right way every time one of your shining jewels pops up on radio. Keep on daring others to challenge your mettle and I'll reciprocate by daring others to stop me from being your loudest cheerleader.

The Saturdays Cut a Dance Floor Figure 7 Days a Week With "What About Us"

London-based girl group The Saturdays did itself a real flavor hooking up with reggae-spiced chart topper Sean Paul for its hot off the rack dance ditty "What About Us". His presence juices up what is already a club worthy slice of tag team inhibition slicing. Nothing like synth-pop to get wallflowers interested and veteran club hoppers firmly on the right path. This groove rains down undeniable vim that stands a better than even chance of getting the fivesome comprised of Una Healy, Rochelle Humes, Mollie King, Frankie Sandford, and Vanessa White some buzz-worthy stateside notice. Although the urgency underscored in the lyrics isn't a radical concept the sauna swirl of audio arousal does its level best to help you forget. The group has a nice high above the din merging of personality which the voice work only makes stand out even more. As an added bonus one can actually make out the words of Paul which was hardly an easy mission when his "Temperature" was perched atop the Billboard Singles Chart. I had to Google the lyrics to get my translation. Good job Saturdays for picking a formidable chart guest star to grab the masses attention. Infectious synth candy like this ought to hold said attention as well.

Skrillex's "Leaving" Leaves Much To Be Desired

Although cursed with a rep as being an aloof genre of music, electronica can be a spectacular collage of "wish you were here" excursion sauntering. Skrillex, Sonny John Moore to the community of mere mortals, only scratches the surface with "Leaving", his opening salvo of 2013. I realize an EP is usually meant to be just an appetizer to get the palate psyched up for what gustatory aficionados hope will be an unqualified banquet but Skrillex could've maximized this opportunity had he given the wider universe more of a top heavy sampler platter of beats 'n' boldness. Dropping eardrums on "The Reason" is like travelling through various sections of town in your convertible. The opening landscape consists of a mentality not at all unlike dawn's sunlight casting its glow on an eager populace. Then the shift is rather stark, plunging into the more ominous warehouse district with its disapproving snarl haunting your every move. Finally we roll back into the sunlight kissed respectable neighborhood. Believe it or not "Scary Bolly Dub" pulls off as close to a reggae frosted island backdrop as electronica ever seems to get. I'm not all that jazzed about the sawed off blitz of noise that follows. Try to wrap your perceptions around the drugged out flailings of an overstimulated robot being let loose to strike fear into the hearts of townspeople who only want a late evening sip of reduced inhibitions. The jerky melding of keyboards sort of hints at what could be but doesn't deliver the knockout blow. The closing track goes by the moniker "Leaving". That makes sense since the gnawing repetition of that word may just have your social gathering begging to march out the door with not even so much as a main course entree to show for themselves. Here we've got a light as air swirl of froth with a judicious smattering of drum taps. There's nothing too praiseworthy about it outside of its potential use as night club chill out fodder. The point of a musical sampler is to leave the audience hungry for more. Skrillex still has to answer for the unaddressed growl in my "tummy". What an engaging trio of stories these snippets could have been had their creator committed to the leg work needed to fashion solid storylines.

Blink 182 Bears Impressive Fangs With Its New EP "Dogs Eating Dogs"

Overall Blink 182 admirably tweaks its sound enough to assure followers they aren't the "All The Small Things" boys anymore. Their tight as coiled string enthusiasm remains but the ongoing addition of mature, complex edges make "Dogs Eating Dogs" a keep you on the edge of your seat surprise package of expression. Sliding drummer Travis Barker under the microscope I'm  impressed by how capably shifts from supporting player to potential scene stealer. "When I Was Young" opens with him huffing and puffing in the background. Soon after he rushed into the foreground like a rowdy high school football team running through the tunnel and tearing up their homecoming logo. The title track finds Travis ripping into the kit as if he just received word the world would end tomorrow and now respects where he channels his aggressions. Vocalist Mark Hoppus comes off as urgent but not without purpose. While navigating the song's pulse-pounding parameters his yen for a psychological center is a moving gem to behold. As against the wall as he feels there must, he thinks in his more lucid moments, be a position of strength grittier than suicide but not as debauchery based as sex. "Boxing Day' scores as a nod to how one obtains death with dignity in the romance department. Tom DeLonge, this trio's other vocal dynamo and resident lead guitarist, leaves you wanting to throw open your arms in a gesture of selfless reassurance. His lover broke his heart on Boxing Day, a holiday Canadians observe the day after Xmas. Mark comes to grips with the finality of what has gone down. This tasteful antithesis of self-pity derives much of its grace from the acoustic backdrop masterfully hammered in place. This breakup allows dignity to be preserved on both sides, which is a refreshing break from the pandemic blame many a tunesmith resorts to. This song is the jewel of the EP. Blink 182 was never really inaccessible as a band but this song should put any doubts to rest. "Disaster" doesn't sprinkle subtlety all over your ears in its tortured musings on eternal darkness. White hollow eyes and floating light as air, dove peaceful souls are but a few of the graphic visuals at work here. Black is the prevailing shade and there's plenty to go around. "Pretty Little Girl" commands attention due to its broad stroke examination of two lovers and the road they wish to walk on. Each person is content to play his role in this romantic entanglement. She breaks up with him. She returns to him. They try again. At its core is a lovable playfulness. She works her hand up his arm lusciously. He's content with this gesture even after the anticipated separation part of the power play comes to pass. "Dogs Eating Dogs" is filled with meaty themes and the bursts of vigor to back them up. Only 5 cuts but Blink 182 makes the most of them.