Cyndi Lauper's Gentle Soul Rings True

I swear it's National Honesty Day!! That makes Cyndi Lauper's "True Colors" an ideal song to reflect upon. It gave the sassy New Yorker her second Billboard #1 in 1986. The video is a dazzling display of what made her album title "She's So Unusual" so refreshingly accurate. The skirt made of newspapers alone should tell you this woman marches to the beat of her own drum. "Colors" opens with a percussion tap that would not be out of place at a campfire where loyal chums entertain each other with words and music. Such warmth springs from the guitar melodies. From the start Cyndi is a calming presence who makes it hard to be too defeated. Hers is the kind of voice you'd want waking you up first thing in the morning to usher in a day more promising than the conflict filled night that preceded it. The thought of listening to this while basking in a hot tub's bubbles doesn't sound half bad at all. The messages are easy to relate to. No matter who you are you can get identify with an overwhelming world. We're humans expected to confront seemingly impossible challenges. Comfort the four year-old girl with this song. Reassure your embattled hubby with it. The speed is nice and gentle. During the song Cyndi belts out her passion just enough to get our attention but doesn't fall victim to emoting way too much. With each choral refrain she grows more and more empowered. For its last go around she returns to that whisper soft tone meant to bring down our guard so the sunshine can race back in. There's a definite dignity to the song that makes you actually feel like being you isn't the worst assignment imaginable. "True Colors" supplies us with the entire rainbow of natural beauty. Sometimes admitting that what you see is what you get isn't a loathsome idea. Cyndi surely finds the right touch here.

The Flaming Lips Explode With The First Single From "Terror"

Non-stop energy greets anyone sampling the first single from venerable Oklahoma City band The Flaming Lips new project "The Terror". As this fivesome demonstrated on their alt-rock classic "She Don't Use Jelly" peddling oddball confections to the masses isn't exactly foreign turf to them. "Sun Blows Up Today" is an exercise in how much sweat the band can coax out of their pores before they collapse in a collective dead faint because, rather than respect their limits, they blasted right past  the clearly marked barricades. Wayne Coyne, Steven Drozd, and Derek Brown represent the Hydra like monster cranking out the juicy riffs that keep this track pushing along at a cruising speed beyond reasonable limits. Wayne's vocals mirror the lightness of spirit found in lyrics such as: "Run to outer space. See your smiling face. Everywhere it's all together on this epic day." Especially now, during a period where smiling faces appear to be in short supply, Wayne's unmasked giddiness is a real asset, not to mention a break from the onslaught of bad news that much of the time appears unyielding. Steven doesn't bang out the mission statement of the song much as he guides his fellow minstrels along with the steadiness of a parent who knows of the imminent dangers lurking on the outside but doesn't want his charge to be unduly intimidated by it because there's good mixed in with all that evil. Michael Ivins cranks up his bass until it spins defiantly, daring you to tell it to keep that damned noise down. It's this noise which serves is the devil may care epicenter without which "Sun" wouldn't shine with quite the same can't take your ears off of it attitude. Although it isn't an official part of the album proper, this bonus cut struts its stuff as if it was. "The Terror" ought to be an unholy terror on the album charts with this song figuring into the package. It's about limitlessness. Limitlessness never wears out its welcome because the songsters who respect it and strive to fully realize its potential are worthy of all the respect we can give them.

The Yeah Yeah Yeahs Succeed At Being Bitingly Clever With "Mosquito"

My hat's off to the Yeah Yeah Yeahs for taking their new record, "Mosquito", and injecting it with the kookiest elements of a Bjork opus and the dance friendly zing of No Doubt's "Rock Steady". Vocalist/pianist Karen O's frame of mind is slightly askew and that's all the better for this record because the more unhinged the surrounding ear tapestry the more compelling this rowboat ride through Strangetown is. Here's to genuine downtown street culture as pierced together with "Subway". You can see the graffiti paintings in all their slum crusted splendor. Karen's intensity level serves "Sacrilege" well. Brimstone manifests itself through Brian Chase banging away and Nick Zinner inspiring hosannas via his keyboard showmanship. "Slave" burrows under one's skin from the opening. Your most vulnerable cerebral nodes are no match for the organic rhythms. For the most part Nick succeeds in planting keyboard in such advantageous spots that they often become the infectious side attraction lending that fifth gear zoom factor to Karen's possessed by the alt-rock devil hyper focus. This is proof that a vocal chorus is not the only aspect of music that lends itself to being tagged "earwig". A keyboard has just as much ability to be irresistible if the set of notes aligns just right. New wave '80s band Berlin proves my point throughout "The Metro". From an instrument vantage point the song itself is about as weighty as an angel food cake but the keyboard drilled into my head with a Kung Fu grip and was impossible to shake. It very much lent the soap opera spirit of drama to the single. Nick accompanies Karen. He's by her side in the studio. He's not trying to steal her thunder. He just wants to drop in some curiosities to keep the shop operating with a little ready cash in the till. "Always" is the rare bead on this necklace where Karen's dialed up emotional response is unrequited craving rather than zealous tour guide who's taking us all through tripped out backstreets with the confidence of a seasoned vet who really has seen all this oddball turf before. In her own way she marvels at the disarray. How much fun is it to court the darker shadings of the mind. The title track finds Karen mouthing the word mosquito so dementedly you want to toss her a can of bug spray before any long term nerve damage takes root. Even more scintillating is The Yeah Yeah Yeahs made a nutty track high on foot shuffling possibilities. In order to sample this album I went to YouTube where both the full album and band members discussing their intentions in making this full album were found. Karen describes it as a Yeah Yeah Yeahs soul record. I can see that. I also think "Sacrilege" was the ideal pole position tune. You too may spontaneously erupt in hand raising testimony. Mosquito bites are not pleasant. The Yeah Yeah Yeah's "Mosquito" on the other hand is a captivating treat that merits taking out or plugging in for a vigorous spin. This alt rock soul trio finds the beat and adds fresh twists to it.

Duran Duran Fits In Just Fine on Planet Earth

MTV and Duran Duran were a match made in music video heaven. The five really knew how to dress to impress for success. I doubt Duran Duran would have been quite the juggernaut it became without their fashion savvy videos. You didn't just watch a bunch of drool worthy Brits strut their stuff, you got a backstage pass into their New Romantic way of life. Seeing their videos is like taking an exotic vacation without leaving your armchair. As my way of saluting Earth Day I'd like to express a few sentiments about the first song to make a splash in the band's home stomping grounds, "Planet Earth". At this point MTV was still well into its infancy. The canvas was blank. The world was indeed brave and new. Artists made vids on what would appear to be shoestring budgets and, while cheesier than a pack of Kraft American Singles, they got the artists' names vaulted to the forefront of public imagination. "Planet Earth", the video, keeps it fairly straightforward. Simon LeBon, Nick Rhodes, John Taylor, Andy Taylor, and Roger Taylor are in the process of driving girls crazy from high atop a towering block of ice. They are the boys Mom wouldn't mind seeing her daughter bring home. Earth-appropriate snippets of info about life on Earth such as what's the ratio of men to women living on our planet materialize IBM style on the screen. The song itself is a pretty snazzy debut. John's bass playing stuns much like the Romeo himself. Nick Rhodes frosts up the atmosphere with whipped cream light keyboards. It's those keyboards that give the song an aura that allows it to levitate a little ways above the Earth conceptually. Roger's drumming is sharp, never lagging behind the swagger of his other bandmates. Where John's bass tingles with sexual heat, Andy's alto guitar cries out with some heart-rending pathos, a loosely defined hint of human touch being omitted from the mix by forces lacking a scapegoat identity. Let's face it, many women of the day would've sold their souls to get their mitts on any one of the Duran dudes. Methinks Simon was first choice. There's a lot of impact behind a song fixated on two souls trying to break through to each other. "Look now, look all around, there's no sign of life. Voices, another sound, can you hear me now? This is planet earth, you're looking at planet earth". Two people reaching for other, hoping that they can make a connection without that damned ozone getting in the way. If you sell people, places, and things in nifty packages, chances are the masses will at least stop to sniff the merchandise. "Planet Earth" was Duran Duran's first persuasive argument that they were sniff worthy. The song still holds up astoundingly well today. The danger, the unspoken romance, the dashing trousers. It was all there for viewers to unwrap and they did so with the razor sharp focus of a four year old tearing open his Xmas booty. Duran Duran knew about booty long before it became a regular focal point in hip hop parlance.  "Planet Earth" was phase one of what would ultimately be Duran Duran's '80s domination.

Stone Sour Delivers More Skull Splitting Metal Mayhem From Their Comfort of Their Add-On "House"

Beautiful minds excite me. I love articulate people. Gene Hackman, Tom Hanks, Rolling Stone magazine's Rob Sheffield, Robin Roberts. I get all tingly at the prospect that people like these open their mouths and potentially brilliant pearls of wisdom come sliding out. In the metal community craft tends to triumph over the sense that when you put on a metal CD you're dealing with a bunch of guys who could string several sentences together on topics great and small. For instance James Hetfield, Metallica's frontman, knows his way around the metal turf, but he has this rep, deserved or not, of not being the sharpest knife in the drawer. It's his easily detectable rage that draws crowds to Metallica shows. Corey Taylor, vocalist for both Slipknot and Stone Sour, impresses me more and more with what comes flying out of his lyrical toolbox. He sees possibilities the way a pair of first time homeowners sees possibilities in the bare bones property they just signed off on. I could fill this space waxing eloquent on just how deep Corey really is but not only would that make me sound like a young groupie whose having his baby, it wouldn't present the full scope of Stone Sour's brilliance. "House of Gold and Bones Part 2" is detonated heartstrings times 12. "Sadist" will leave icicles hanging off your lungs. If this is the aftermath of a nuclear war I'd advise the powers that be to think long and hard before becoming too contentious with each other. Roy Mayorga dials back his drumming as if astute enough to realize we've just entered a sickeningly lifeless new world and he doesn't need to hammer the concepts into our skulls. The fangs we've come to appreciate from these denizens of the metal universe are still there. Still, subtlety strikes a real chord in this case. With "Peckinpah" we get the first of Corey's enlightened proclamations, the sort of thing that the more intelligent amongst us take for granted. "There's a knowledge that comes with being arrogant." How boldly deep I say, and a point of contention not hammered home often enough. One of the common threads throughout "House" is how skillfully the band spins intricate webs which shift from empowered definition of self to the uneasy sense of knowing how much one is enduring the weight of being merely a number in a larger game. Moving right along to "Stalemate", it's Corey's inner torment which ignites this inferno. "My mind is a terrible gift. I'd rather be numb than feel this way." On this track Roy's drumming flips into speed demon mode at the midway point. Corey spells out his discomfort. Roy drops in the blow by blow. Guitarists James Root and Josh Rand leave first gear back at the studio. Not a moment of holding back on the drama. Never fails to amaze me watching the convoluted twists the tag team thrashers orchestrate. Test their pee, I say . Puny humans shouldn't be able to pull off these stunts. "82" continues Corey's theme of being chained to a circumstance he didn't desire but is now forced to make the best of anyway. "It'll be my time once I get away from here." It's worthy of mention that by and large Corey doesn't stoop to the dreaded dirty "Cookie Monster" vocals as a means of injecting fear into our spines. At times the insane guy is the most brilliant guy in the room. Corey stuns, impresses, and even coerces audiences into seeing his point of view simply by flashing the power of his cranium. His vocals are aggressive but never impaired by the tendency to oversell people on how macho he believes he is. Acoustic guitars are added to the menu for "'The Uncanny Valley" and, given what Corey's reflections are this time, it makes the arguments he's positing that much harder to throw stones at. "When does your karma disarm your explosive demeanor?" Good question and there's no pat answer, is there? "Cherry Pie" this isn't. Tits and ass commentary is gone. Bubbling discontentment has risen up to replace it. "Do Me a Favor" throws higher power morality into the mix. Fist hoisting metal thunder with contemplative morality musings added for an extra bite. Maybe it's the wordsmith in me but I can't help but cop and ear to ear grin at sentiments such as: "Your behavior is the reason there is no savior." No Cookie Monster. Only Corey the monstrous. I do admire a man who knows he's smart and sees sharing his innermost impressions as an honorable mission. This ecstasy inspiring musical mini franchise wraps up as any intellectual tour-de-force should...with a downward spiral of increasingly foreboding chord shifts. Roy goes to rabid dog growl mode behind the kit. Once again, the glue that holds this scrapbook of scintillating sound together is Corey who takes us on more journeys in under an hour than we're likely to participate in all year. "House of Gold and Bones Part 2", from top to bottom is a masterstroke of human innovation. Once you've spent time at  this house, you'll be hard pressed to want to say goodbye to the yarn spinners who've inspired your global perspective to do a complete 180.

Many Magic Mushrooms Lurk in Black Angel's Indigo Meadow

As an experiment I plan, not on beating you all over the heads with my makeshift attempts to provide insider knowledge on the way guitars jolt out their wild magic identities, the way drums unleash torrents of machismo bluster, the way the vocalist is summoning confusion from a horrific center of a menacing other dimension. Nope. I'm simply going to tell you how it can be said that Austin psychedelic rock band Black Angel's "Indigo Meadow" is uncomfortably similar to the stages of one distorted drug trip. The best way to convince you of this is to attach a song title to the sensations it most readily hints at. Ready? Let's go then my partners in local flavor. The title track is the first link in the suspension bridge. Vocalists Christian Bland and Alex Mass have had it with the Man. Time to get as whacked out as possible using whatever pocket change will net them cheap, low rent district drugs. Drummer Stephanie Bailey hammers out her flustered approval. "Evil Things" slide into view. Pretty nasty hits going around the room. You may or may not have heard of folks who are so caught up in a trip that they swear insects are crawling on them. In goes the needle. Tighter, higher shock to the system. Organ burnout can't be too far away, can it? "Don't Play With Guns", a title that requires no justification for the at least partially educated amongst us, symbolizes the drug indulgence at its peak, inches away from going over the falls. As for "Holland" the post-hangover color palate is softer, as is reinforced by Kyle Hunt and Alex Mass's keyboards. They know better than to startle you when that nasty headache is growing more and more impossible to shrug off. Gone are the clanging, nothing to grab onto waves of oblivion. In their place are soft keys and better odds of terra firma forming under your feet. "The Day" brings you the first signs of coherent grasping of big concepts. Christian reintroduces us to the maddening cycle of the day-by-day. Up it goes. Down it goes. Up comes the next day. Down goes the next day. Not necessarily ad infinitum, but it's the first opportunity you've been afforded to shake loose the bong binge that seemed like a good idea at the time. Before we proceed, kudos to this band for successfully graduating from the Doors/Jefferson Airplane school of hallucinogenic experimentation. One puff of this group of songs and the late '60s have returned to tighten the migraine pulling at either end of your skull. "Love Me Forever" likes the skin its in. Could it be you're a new man now? Bass, guitar, vocals, and drums are know on the same side instead of rubbing salt in those morning after chills. Could it be there's some firm legs to stand on anger brewing from both "War on Holiday" and "Broken Soldier"? In any case bonus points to the band (or record label) for knowing the right sequential order for these tracks. In the case of "Broken", upon closer reflection you can see the image of a soldier, khaki pants cinched up tight, helmet strapped, locked, and ideally loaded. Nice job, Stephanie. You've snapped the right photograph of a stalwart battlefield vet going off to the needful, although his needs as an individual homosapien may be quite different. "Twisted Light" wriggles up the arms, toiler bowl at the ready, chowder blow pushed to the immediate agenda. Even songs like "You're Mine" which hint at the promise of some untainted romantic interaction are "jazzed up" shall we say by the ongoing fuzz feedback terrain of people in the throes of hanging too loose for comfort. Coming to the far end of that shaky suspension bridge we are greeted by "Black Isn't Black". How ironic. Hear how the guitar seems to be fading in surreal fashion at the close? That's right, people. We really are vicariously experiencing a tripped out yokel's fade into blackness. With any luck this sad sack is headed straight for the Land of Nod where he will go to get some sense shaken back into him. That way when the next day's sun rousts him, he might of use to anyone in the outside world. Christian nailed the uneasy, yet relief-inducing fade. If you like going where The Doors and Jefferson Airplane have laid their heads then "Indigo Meadow" is just your brand of powder affected paradise. You may try to avert your eyes from the train wreck but voyeurism screams, "It's not our nightmare, lunkhead! Let's see how the less fortunate are faring!!" Sit back and inhale at your own risk.

High Pressure Situation Suits Billy Joel Just Fine

No need to come unglued. It's me here with my post honoring National Stress Awareness Day. I doubt you'll find more of an apt song to pair with this important day than "Pressure" a track which comes off of Billy Joel's uncompromising album "The Nylon Curtain". So many elements of modern life push us to the breaking point. "Pressure" is sinister enough to push every button. The initial drum beat kicks it off resoundingly. Billy, since he is "The Piano Man" after all fills the opening portion with some unflinching chord work that makes one think of a cat hissing, its hairs standing up, armed for battle. As if that wasn't unsettling enough. Then you get these synthesized passages that, at least my case, remind me of rush hour traffic at its most head-scratching. The other drivers are weaving in and out of lanes. You're already time starved as it is. For good measure let's throw in an annoying ambulance siren or three. Cut to Billy Joel's unsteady, non-reassuring delivery of blunt sentiments like: "You have to learn to pace yourself. You're just like everybody else." Each set of lyrical stanzas comes complete with a few repetitions of the title. On either side of that word, the guitar is not having any of your bullshit. The drums want to see you pulled away on a stretcher if they care to tolerate you at all. The pacing doesn't know what oxygen is all about, a masterstroke in composition. If you're a survivor or casualty of modern day crazy you have to know what having "loaded guns in your face" feels like. Maybe it's that board meeting you should have been ready for weeks ago. Maybe it's your three year old trying to climb onto the kitchen counter while forgetting balance isn't something he excels at yet. "All grown up and no place to go" certainly must strike a chord with the younger slabs of the population. Kind of proves my claim, and likely the claim of countless others, that adulthood is vastly overrated. Listening to the song by itself is all well and good but if you want to heighten the creepiness factor try watching the video too. For 1982, it was pretty sophisticated. Among other anxiety stoking delights you get to watch coffee bubble over its cup, a booze consumer struggle to keep his nerves steady enough to down his drink of choice, and a childhood version of Billy get sucked into a TV where his cries for help are heard by no one. I find it apt that, in one portion of the video, young Billy is navigating a maze, a maze I guess must represent the adult world. The entire video maps out a maze of cosmic pitfalls. A dog barks, warped alternate universe game show contestants are introduced and, back in Billy Junior's classroom, one of his classmates is having trouble with his desk because it's spitting out water. The vid can be goofy at times but keep in mind this was one year after MTV hatched. The special effects are pretty intimidating. Billy's style of delivery here ranges from unhinged to infuriated to imprisoned. That's a fine trio of adjectives that modern dwellers can't help but identify with. Did I forget Billy, at the front, and back ends of the video, is staring at a screen of rapid fire images that are broken up only by stress compounding concepts such as "MOTHER", "LOVE" and "MONEY". I've never heard of a pop song inducing a heart attack before. However, "Pressure" would be the song to punch your ticket to ICU. Billy was still in his thirties at this point, so I detect no shortage of residual angry young man lunacy. It's played up to brilliant effect. "Pressure" pulsates with very real dangers. Billy's way of mixing overt rage with contained asylum patient is stunning. You might even call a return visit to this song incredible scream therapy. It's believable therapy because the threats are disturbingly real. "Pressure" sets off each pressure valve with authority. Up to the very last note there's no where for your blood pressure to go but up.

Missing Persons Put Their Own Imprint on New Wave In So Many Words

In tribute to Scrabble Day, that vocabulary expanding game that introduced us to what makes a Triple Word Score I shine my musical high beams on the spaced out New Wave quintet known as Missing Persons. Specifically I wish to make a few points about "Words". In the first half of the '80s New Wave came on like gangbusters. To be a New Wave sensation on MTV all you needed was reasonably well developed fashion sense, a tendency to be more than a little camera friendly, and a synthesizer that sounded like it was plucked out of the cantina of some rec room in the Orion Nebula galaxy. Sure one could make out the presence of drums and possibly some rapidly interchanging guitar wizardry but in New Wave land synthesizers ruled with an iron fist. My holy (or unholy depending on whether synths annoyed the crap out of you) trinity of New Wave intro songs are Gary Numan's "Cars" which is operating table icy, The Buggles' "Video Killed The Radio Star" which might have proved its own prophecy by failing to get any higher than #40 on the Billboard Singles Chart, and M's "Pop Muzik" which sounds like it was composed in a mad genius's secret laboratory. The body of work from Missing Persons doesn't fall far from this zone of personal detachment. "Words" is a blast for me because of how the instruments fight with each other, as if they're trying to prove lead nymph Dale Bozzio's point that there's no use talking when no one's listening to the words. For starters we get this ton of bricks subtle synth riffs followed by Warren Cuccurullo snapping at it with a guitar flash not unlike the sudden pouncing motion of a cat jabbing at a ball of yarn. This musical mano a mano endures for several seconds before Dale sets off on our voyage asking the perfectly innocent questions: "Do you hear me? Do you care?" Right off the bat you can tell there's a real social isolation at work. She speaks. He's stumbling around in a fog displaying an appalling lack of communication skills. Being I'm an avid book reader as well as an obsessed music lover I grin pretty widely at the lyrics: "It's like the feeling at the end of a page when you realize you don't know what you just read." Folks, I've read a hell of a lot of books in my time. The amount of stuff I actually remember from those books is far less impressive. I know exactly what it's like to devote all that cosmic energy to what you think is going to be at most an edifying or at the very least an entertaining read only to discover the snoozing donkey between your ears never woke up. On to the brand of atmospherics. Dale Bozzio, Warren Cuccurullo, and triple synth wielders Chuck Wild, Patrick O'Hearn, and Terry Bozzio (who also lays down some splendid drum drilling here) are Earthlings yet the single they hatched in late 1981 is from another dimension. Do you see the Milky Way on your right? Is the moon growing intimidatingly close. Congratulations. Now you know what listening to a Missing Persons record feels like. Many's the Walkman wearer who rocketed off to prime escapist entertainment listening to Dale, one of, if not the most exotic babe of all the '80s femme starlets, as her unique voice gave way to the occasional ditzy squeak, a possible precursor to any one of a number of pre-teen males' masturbatory fantasies. In the '90s, Bjork became that out of this world siren, in the 2000s Lady Gaga assumed that position. Really the only '80s female vocalist who might have been inhaling the same level of cocaine to maintain her persona was Grace Jones. Try to YouTube a Grace Jones interview sometime and you'll see while she's a woman capable of commanding a room she's not necessarily someone I'd want to be left alone with. In Dale's defense the infancy stage of MTV was blank canvas modes of expression and not much else. Videos were pasted together on the cheap. A lot of what you saw in the beginning was cam corder quality at best. There was not much of any precedent set for artistic achievement beyond the likes of Toni Basil's cheerleader pep rally  in "Mickey". Missing Persons photogenic, glammed up look was a direct product of they're being savvy enough to know that if you spritzed on enough hair mousse/Aqua Net (Dale's look in this video backs up at least one other band member's notion that she looked like a piece of candy. To this day you have to ask yourself, "What's keeping those jugs in place?" Musically 'Words" has lots to recommend it. The way the synths and guitar bounce off each other never fails to engage my attention. As alluded to earlier, Terry kills it behind the kit. The overall vibe is bouncy, pleasant, cotton candy easy to digest. On top of that, Dale really is asking a socially relevant question. What are words for when no one listens anymore? Come to think of it that's a very timely question. Our supposed leaders in Washington should take a second to reflect on that. A New Wave delectable lifted from the Reagan Era has the same relevancy lyrically here in the Obama Era. Our higher ups need to shut up more and bitch less. Maybe then actual headway might get made, the kind that will speak highly of our notch in history. The chords swirl around my head, crooking their fingers in an attempt to whisk me away from my suburban living room to a galaxy where dreaming isn't a sneer worthy way to occupy one's time. Some 30 plus years later "Words" is still a New Wave intro study worth talking about.

Cold War Kids Strut Their Versatile Stuff On "Dear Miss Lonelyhearts

Like with any pursuit be it professional or hobby-based, most of us don't commit to something lightly. As The New Radicals reminded us in the late 90s "We only get what we give". The fourth release from Ohio foursome Cold War Kids shows us time and again that we're not treating those precious quadrants in the hourglass like the fancy food alluded to in the lyrics to "Tuxedos". Pushing gourmet eats into the forefront lyric wise is one of many winning arguments for why we should spend airspace with Cold War Kids. "Miracle Mile' packs a knockout punch off the bat. There isn't a single blunted edge in this song. Nathan Willett finds the "zone" so to speak and that gives him freedom to let his creative juice flow go wild. Matt Aveiro gets his aggressions worked to a lather on drums. The lyrics here make reference to the individual who wasn't raised to go seeking glory. The safety is on that ambitious weapon. Nothing innocuous about the song. No chaining this to the front porch. It pays to follow the bouncing ball wherever it leads to. One of the stellar smashes of this 10 track collection is "Loner Phase". The band's genre leans towards indie rock but you ought to be slapped around for being daft enough to wait in the corner while this thunderbolt of divine dance harmony passes overhead. Add a sliver of rock desperation and the result is a call to crowd the dance hall. As usual the simmering effect of piano is a likable precursor to the full on fusion of ear friendly beats and sharpness of attitude. Hip nightclub wardrobe is definitely preferred. The underlying personality of drum in this set varies depending on where your iPod lands. In the case of the title track you're being transported to a tribal place and time. The bongo related heaviness at the start lightens up enough to give way to a presentation that rises then pops like 4th of July firecrackers. The molasses slow vibe brings up sly memories of Joan Jett putting her spin on "Crimson and Clover". Both the remake and Tommy James & The Shondell's original proceeded at such a turtle's pace you almost had to prod the damned stereo system to get any sense the players involved even knew how to find anything other than second gear. If you're looking for the track that might lay on enough spookiness to promote future nightmares I'd like to recommend "Jailbirds". During a couple of strategically placed segments in the song this massive rush of cacophony gets churning until you've just about reached gale force unsettling. Don't be misled by the kick drum beat at the start. When you roll piano, guitar and drums in one package and then place those in the hands of a band not shy about making a jambalaya stew out of them you're bound to come up with a zingy flavor that even Pandora would climb back into her box to steer clear of. High on the menace and rightly so. The song tackles what's familiar among parents, namely how to remember not to make the kids grow up too fast. Dads should play pretend with their daughters. Mothers should be loose with their sons. This parenting thing is a tightrope act. For now they need to stay young. The stages of childhood can be private prisons depending on how rough the ride is for the people involved. "Bitter Poem" is a undiluted cry for acceptance. Just about all of us walk the face of the Earth hoping and at times praying for that on some level. The piano falls across the ground with a raindrop delicateness. Kudos to Johnnie Russell for treading gently. Nathan's frayed nerves wouldn't have penetrated our psyches with as much grit otherwise. Possibly the most priceless lyrical snippet in this batch is: "I can't wait to see what you become when you became". He just described the perils of adulthood. Since we're pretty much works in progress we don't exactly know if, as brother and sister ask Mom and Dad in the back of the car on a long road trip: "Are we there yet?" Point is you won't really know until you get there. You want to embrace Nathan when he asks the offstage main acquaintance: "Are you happy for me?" That's validation most of us seek. If we snatch the brass ring will someone in our universe be there to clap, pat us on the back, or grab us in bear hug fashion. If Matt Maust wasn't blistering the soundboards with his rootsy bass picking then "Dear Miss Lonelyhearts" would be left rudderless as a less than seaworthy vessel of artistic vision. This batch of beauties is more like 10 separate stage plays instead of indie rock heart on the sleeve confessionals. I confess you'll likely not get bored spending time with these fellas. In fact you'll probably need a towel to wipe the sweat from your brow. Astute displays of versatility, lyrically and instrumentally, will do that to a person.

OneRepublic Returns With a Can't Lose Single

Sit back and relax. Good advice from OneRepublic to you. The Colorado outfit returns with a new album "Native" and an opening single, "If I Lose You" that isn't burdened by an overly aggressive percussion or the sort of guitar licks you'd associate with harder edged rock. At the center of this calming oasis is Ryan Tedder  who with "All The Right Moves" back in 2009, produced some of the more endearing lyrics from the latter part of the 2000s. In particular I'm pointing to the difference between "the noise you hear and the sounds you like". I don't think that audio comparison has ever been made on a hit song before but, as a dweller of a rapidly growing metropolitan area, I can tell you there is a difference. The noise you hear would be buses, motorcycles, or barking dogs. The sounds you like might be something like birds chirping or possibly the dingle of the ice cream truck. Pulling back on message, "If I Lose You" is more of an ambient jigsaw puzzle. Eddie Fisher is more of a steady timekeeper here whereas in "...Moves" his drumming packs more of a brass knuckle wallop. True the thumping rhythm gets going as the song's power builds but Ryan's reassuring touch is the prime attraction. He brings you into his two person world, a world out of all the faces he's connected to only includes his closest pal. If I was to equate this song to a food product it would be whipped cream. The sound is grounded in Brent Kutzle's meaty bass guitar along with a generous helping of Drew Brown's keyboard showmanship but it's all about Ryan's admiration for the closest person in his inner circle. The band cites U2 as one of its influences, and I buy the connection completely. Like the iconic Irish foursome, OneRepublic's sound is much too larger than life to be pinned down as mere pop rock. I imagine given the right acoustic setting this latest single ought to waft to the very top of the concert hall. The joy of listening to these guys stems from the cumulative barrages of multi-instrumental cooking going on in their kitchen. Put the right flavors in at the right juncture and what you're left with is a musical meal that can appease any and every appetite. You'll do yourself a big favor getting lost in "If I Lose You". OneRepublic has this way of making their presence felt without beating their chests about their artistic prowess. They are a reliably tight American pop rock outfit. "If I Lose You" soars from cabin check, to takeoff, to the ecstasy of being at the 40,000 foot level mentioned in the song. The one quibble is Ryan's singing towards the end, the final several seconds to be exact, sounds a little cutesy. Too much "hoo hoo" if you ask me, which you didn't but, since I'm only trying to help, I tell you anyway. Apart from that "If I Lose You" deserves a spot alongside "All The Right Moves", "Secrets" and "Good Life" in the pantheon of credibility stoking OneRepublic tunes.

Van Halen Jumps Into Its Most Lucrative Year Ever

A very happy Jump Over Things Day to you all. With your permission I'd like to do this holiday proper justice by flashing back to 1984, specifically to the album "1984" which saw Diamond David Lee Roth, Eddie Van Halen, Alex Van Halen, and Michael Anthony hit the pinnacle of pop success with "Jump", the first Van Halen song centered around a keyboard. Eddie regards the "1984" album as one of his all-time favorites. Make no mistake Eddie displays his usual ax virtuosity at the bridge but compared to past hits like "Runnin' With The Devil", "Dance The Night Away" and "Jamie's Crying" guitar plays a fairly understated role. MTV was gaining ground as a cultural colossus by early '84. Van Halen definitely had that star quality that sent the lumbering dinosaur rock acts of the '70s gasping for air. The fashion sense was on display as you'll notice if you check out Eddie's yellow leopard stripe top or the aerobic dance theme of what Dave has on. "Jump" is a blast simply because it's the first time Van Halen loosens up for the camera instead of putting their collective weight behind staying hungry, snarling at any media outlets or casual listeners who dare claim they aren't a legitimate rock outfit. Naturally, generous slices of the video are devoted to...what else?...Dave high kicking, quantum leaping, and basically being the biggest ham since Hormel's brand name invaded supermarkets. Nobody had to tell the man he had, as his later "Just A Gigolo/I Ain't Got Nobody" medley declared, "charasma". Call it sucking up for the mainstream. Call it Van Halen embracing MTV's direction by reaching in their bag of tricks and finding an artistically consistent way to blend in. "Jump" is goofball fun. All four guys are guilty of hogging like their careers depended on it. At the close of 1983, fresh off participation in Steve Wozniak's US Festival, Van Halen was a band climbing ever higher to the peak of rock god glory. "Jump" doesn't push Eddie out front to show off at the expense of what the others are capable of. Alex strings together some insane drum sequences. Michael Anthony's bass playing isn't confined to afterthought status. At times all you had to do to see how well behaved the Van Halen boys were was to look at what fun they had or weren't having in the videos. Throughout "Jump" self-consciousness is nowhere to be found. Need a splits jump from Dave while Eddie noodles away on his new keyboard pal? Done. Need Dave, Michael, and Eddie to hop towards the camera like a crowd of schoolyard scamps playing hopscotch? No need to question if their mighty titanium forged egos can handle it. Want Dave to play "Read my lips" in the final frame? Dave is there with bells on. Seldom would anyone accuse metal musicians of getting all Deep Thoughts by Jack Handey on anyone. "Jump" is angel food cake deep. Just dive right into life and stop sweating all the small stuff. Van Halen knew well enough to not present themselves as that band that wanted to right all of society's wrongs. Sadly, by 1996, during the unexpected close of the "Van Hagar" era the boys were barely on speaking terms. The video for "Humans Being" shows Eddie and Sammy screaming at each other. That wasn't too far removed from the backstage friction which would ultimately chainsaw this second stage partnership. I for one was crestfallen to discover that life after Diamond Dave, a life that pushed Van Halen's chart success into the stratosphere, had come to be more thorn and less rose. I truly thought Sammy Hagar was the tonic Van Halen needed to make everyone forget Dave's egomaniac bluster sort of got in the way a bit too much. Every Van Halen album with Hagar flashing tonsils went to #1. One misses the simpler times of "Jump", which spent 5 straight weeks at the top of Billboard's singles chart. Back before Dave and Eddie's strained relationship boiled over. Back before Eddie went behind Sammy's back and propositioned Dave about returning to the fold in case Sammy couldn't yank his heart back into the band. Back before I shuddered when Van Halen tried to shoehorn Extreme's Gary Cherone into a role as lead singer that didn't suit him one bit. Even back before Coke tried to make us all think New Coke was the answer to our soft drink slurping prayers. "Jump" stays in the shallow end of the water and cavorts like the biggest problem in the world is, "Do you want fries with that?"

Dido Thrives In Her New Role As The Girl Who Got Away

Dido is a definite coffee shop musical favorite. If "Here With Me" or "Thank You" is playing in the overhead sound system that's your cue to have a spot of tea or a steaming cup of java. Organic, earthy beverages to complement the angelic voice of an organic earthy artist. I salute her for taking her time coming out with new material. Peter Gabriel got into that delayed gratification zone in the '80s when he released "Security" in 1982, "So" in 1986, and then "Us" in 1992.Dido's released all of four albums in a 14 year span. She stands out from the cream of past and present female artists in that she approaches tension fraught subject material with a special wisdom. She's the golden angel high above the din whose ethereal presence delivers calm to the confused, dazed masses below. For her latest project "Girl Who Got Away" her ability to turn away from damaging entanglements of the past is irrefutable. She creates a triumphant splash with the title track which explores many day to day constructs of mood I bet any one of us has thought to ourselves during a moment of ennui. I too have some days I wish to stretch out as fast as possible. Those are the days I'm usually sorry to have to wave goodbye to. I want to dance every dance up until the end. Good for Dido for blending in a captivating tempo which complements her quest not to be stuck in rut mode for too long. "Sitting On The Roof of the World" gives you a ticket to the escapist voyage a title that grandiose hints at. The ever reliable unplugged guitar is as much a means for disarmament as a tousle of the hair or a thoughtfully prolonged hug. It's the support of a good man that plucked from any real or imagined peril. "No Freedom" is blessed with enough bounce to pry wallflowers from their seat but not so much hyperactivity that one can't fully digest the notion that shackled love isn't love...it's unwarranted slavery. "End of the Night" is so crisp it'll remind you of that last bag of Lay's potato chips you ate. Dido's done with an unworthy chap and is celebrating the night winding to a clothes. You may want to wrap a sweater around you during the listen or else the crosswinds will put icicles on your eyebrows. Pure neon glare and prickled slaps of truth in romantic disentanglement. "Blackbird" is also an electronic pastry waiting to be savored bite by bite. The track combines modern age with classical elegance as if they were meant to share the spotlight. As was the case with "End of the Night" distancing herself from a painful coupling is priority one. Dido slips through her own defense mechanism fog of piano melodrama to illustrate the angst she's cutting loose. "Happy New Year" slowly boils under a detached clickety clack drum pattern. Dido's trailing off into the night on the heels of a New Year's party that was a party for just about everybody but her. She gives her man a terse kiss off and then fades from view. Coming full circle on this review I bet none of the 11 tracks would go all that badly with Sleepytime Tea. All the better to mellow out after some shitheel got on your last nerve after promising he'd be the last man you'd ever need. "Girl Who Got Away" is a successful return to the scene for Dido because nowhere is she anything other than forthright about her feelings and how she plans to fend off any signs of poisonous energy. As is true with an angel, she's too high above the commotion to allow us to think she'll be permanently damaged by it.Whether she uses guitar, piano, or drums to fuel the fire of her miniature romantic stage plays, she's never at a loss for momentum. Dido knows how to wield it and earn respect respect from us for doing so.

Jim Henson Mined Pure Gold At The End of His Rainbow

In addition to being a music fanatic I also seek out any chance to celebrate life even at times when it appears like there's not much to celebrate. That said I'd like to wish you all a merry Find-A-Rainbow Day (Even though at the time of this posting it's more like Find-A-Rainbow Night). In that spirit I bring you to the day's musical contemplations. For many children of the 1980s, possibly some of you in my blog readership, Saturday mornings weren't complete without a good strong spoonful of The Muppet Babies, those pint sized versions of Jim Henson's Muppets. Part of the opening theme song found Baby Miss Piggy hamming it up so to speak by singing: "Close your eyes and make believe, and you can be anywhere". That's exactly the best way to listen to "The Rainbow Connection" which was a vital element in the soundtrack to The Muppet Movie. For many moviegoers the movie very well have been their first exposure to Jim's wide-eyed innocent creatures. Come to think of it, out of all the Muppets I've ever known only those critical curmudgeons Statler and Waldorf ever ingested Debby Downer pills. Anyway, When those opening banjo notes lock in place you're transported to a gentle oasis. There isn't the same modern day urgency. I was so thrilled when Jason Segal spearheaded the making of 2011's The Muppets. The fact that the storyline, the dedication to returning to the Muppets' roots was masterfully portrayed was icing on the cake. The argument was made by the villain conspiring to tear down the Muppets classic theater that the world has moved on, that their audience doesn't need or want them around anymore. In our 21st century blitz of pandemonium Muppets are just too old school to remain relevant. The box office tabulations proved otherwise. Sure the Twilight franchise still ruled the roost during that Thanksgiving week a year and a half ago but Kermit and his pals more than held their own. Perhaps goodness is lurking somewhere in this world. In true 1970s style "The Rainbow Connection" is designed around a larger than life orchestral sensibility. Violins and cellos, two of your classier members of the pit signal that Kermit the Frog's vision of a beautiful world where rainbows aren't some frivolous waste of productivity has taken flight. Maybe Kermit's so believable because within his amphibian soul there's the fascination with being alive that is little by little smacked out of us as adults. He's one of the few characters, animated or flesh and bone who, if he told a roomful of critically ill people with only a 5% chance of surviving their illnesses that they'd be cured by morning, would have reasonable odds of convincing them they'd just heard the God's honest truth. Wishing on a morning star and holding out hopes of getting an answer aren't laughably naive coming out of Kermit and, by extension, Jim Henson. Wow...pulled off a near rhyme there. Extension...Henson. You see? Muppets thrive on silliness so it makes me and plenty of others okay with deferring to their sillier sides too. Kermit runs on can-do attitude. He may stumble and fall but he doesn't know how not to get up and continue towards his personal destiny. "Someday we'll find it, the rainbow connection, the lovers, the dreamers, and me." I can't think of too many heroes in the world of film that are worth rooting for more than Kermit. He's the Every Frog. Today I doubt a song kicked off with a banjo would garner much airplay but, in the '70s campy musical instruments were part of the daffy package. Banjo equals back to nature simplicity. Kermit is and will always be grounded in that kind of admirable simplicity. Many's the time a song has proven the best ideas are the simplest. This simple journey to the dreamer's quadrant of the brain helped make The Muppet Movie a triumphant leap to the big screen for Kermit and his associates. After you've closed your eyes and played make believe with this song serving as your central focus, tell me what adjective comes to mind. Were you spellbound? Reassured? Revived? "The Rainbow Connection" does all of that for me.

Brian McKnight's Way With "Words" Sure To Arouse and Melt Hearts Equally

1990's ebony crooner Brian McKnight is the type of dude women clamor for to diffuse any one of a number of stressful situations. His game elevates above new jack swingers of the '90s era when he goes beyond selling chocolate coated romantic fantasies. His declarations massage your shoulders, loosen your defenses, and lift you out of sluggish doldrums that are the result of exposure to daily yuckiness. "More Than Words" promotes relaxation as filtered through various prisms. "Don't Stop" is gorgeous pillow talk. Keyboards supplied with elevator shoes crook their finger as if to say: "Come on in. This bed won't satisfy quite as much if only one person occupies it. "Letsomebodyluvu" gives wide open friendly a spin. Brian wants you to walk with him. If you tell him what's wrong maybe he can ease the pain. Keyboards return to remind you you're sharing breathable air with a Romeo whose mission is to dazzle you with his innate charms. "Slow" focuses on how necessary it is to take romance slow so the relationship can grow solid. It's getting there that makes love affairs as spicy as the rhythms of this track. "Sweeter" gladly exalts the woman perched on her pedestal. Steeped in good vibrations the song has the power to make women of all temperaments think Brian's s singing directly to them. "She Doesn't Know" uses cubicle life as its source material, namely a female who's too comely to last five minutes in Dilbert's hemisphere. Stem to stern this babe's g goddess. Check out the comical percussion patterns while Brian wraps the R & B equivalent of Hershey's kisses for your pleasure. I believe the most enchanting selection of the bunch is "Trying Not To Fall Asleep". Childlike awe comes through abundantly. In fact I can't help but relate to the fight to stay awake despite drooping eyelids. You might miss something amazing if you check out too soon. Parents know what it's like trying to hammer home the concept of bedtime. Drop for drop "Nothing But a Thang" has the other tracks outgunned so far as raw perspiration is concerned. "Get U 2 Stay" highlights how a man's quest for elusive amor can drive him to say anything. Brian's considerable sex appeal slinks through excitable aerobic and unforgettably sensuous arrangements with equal dexterity. "More Than Words" more than reminds us how Brian cemented his rep as a lady's man two decades ago. Time has only solidified his mad skills.