One Blogger's Animated Opinions on Katy Perry

How appropriate it is that Katy Perry returns to reprise her role as Smurfette in The Smurfs 2. Of all the females currently prowling the music scene she's the one that most closely resembles a real life cartoon. I started to notice when she released "I Kissed a Girl" in 2008. There's that famous (maybe infamous depending on how your parents raised you) line "I kissed a girl and I liked it, the taste of her cherry chap stick." TMI for sure but grabs your attention, libido, eyebrows, and essentially everything else. Playfully arousing but at no point did I sense any corruption of the children of America at work here. The first single that has me thinking animated cartoon persona is "Hot 'N' Cold". It features those key synths that take me back to popping quarters into video games back in the '80s. All her kinetic energy springs out of the lyrics. You feel some compassion for the guy who has to inject downer drugs into her veins. How do you lasso that chick? It was an adorable romp that beautifully captures the highs and lows of a relationship. Katy isn't one to tolerate a dullard boyfriend. "Firework" seemed to be pop radio's go-to tune when it came out in 2010. She emitted a girl next door sort of charm. I thought it to be inspirational. Who wouldn't like to make crowds gasp as their star shoots across the sky? Yes no one of us can be replaced. That message needs to be repeated until the powers that be find someone or something else to torment. One thing I'm going to have a hard time forgiving her for is "Wide Awake". Big hit yes but the way she says wide awake is so robotic and, worse yet, impossible to shake from my brain. I guess the point was to say it in a zombie fashion to hint to us all that that's what your frame of mind likely is when you're wide awake. Even though her appearance on Sesame Street had a touch of controversy to it she gets point in my book for agreeing to appear. Otherwise what would break up the too comfy sameness of Elmo who pretty much rules the roost now. Her 5 #1 singles from "Teenage Dream" tied her with none other than Michael Jackson for most #1s from one album. Purr is the name of her Nordstrom's available fragrance. Her new album is slated to be called "Prism". I'd take her over Lady Gaga any day. Gaga knows her way around marketing herself and shocking as many easily shocked eyeballs as possible but I just appreciate Perry's aw shucks not impossible to approach persona more. Of course Pink could thrash both of their backsides but, that's fodder for another blog. Katy Perry is rolling full steam ahead through her career. Whether it's movies, music, or sex kitten sounding fragrance, she's on a pronounced roll. I however won't be watching her star turn in the new Smurf movie. Why? Smurfs were never meant to be taken from their captivating 2D world into something super high tech that only gives theater owners an excuse to charge more for tickets. While I'm glad Neil Patrick Harris is back on the screen not even that's going to reel me in. Good for him for essentially keeping the first movie from being a washout. Good for Katy for keeping herself firmly in the public imagination. To any of you out there old enough to remember The Smurfs and the Magic Flute you have my deepest sympathies. It was a travesty of cinematic justice. Katy's career progress is anything but. She's full of dazzling surprises. What she comes up with next ought to be a real conversation starter.

Matt Nathanson - Earthquake Weather [AUDIO]

Matt Nathanson Brings Some Fine Weather With Him

Playing from the heart... it will outlast any trends that bound over the cultural horizon. In the pop world Bruno Mars currently embodies that sentiment. Veering into the folk rock vein we've got Matt Nathanson defending the honor of artists with depth. "The Last of The Great Pretenders" was released a mere eleven days ago. From said album comes "Earthquake Weather". It certainly possesses a defining rumble not unlike an earthquake. At its "epicenter" Matt makes it plain that he'd kill anyone who treats his lady as badly as he has. How clever it is that he works in other explosive imagery such as the fireworks at a 4th of July parade to make his point. As has been common with many past artists, he wants to believe love works out. He and she watching the parade wrapped in beach towels but the proof is still lacking. The direction he takes his guitar, wobbling upward ever cautiously mirrors his own brave uncertainty. The way he belts out the chorus, "It feels like summer but it's earthquake weather", doesn't spare a single drop of sensitive dude vulnerability. As a result his rooting value skyrockets to his own private plateau. If he doesn't have the girl as yet, you want him to find the right combination which will open the lock to her heart. Drummer Konrad Meissner doesn't keep time so much as he drums Matt to the pivotal moment of release the chorus represents. There's the march to catharsis, the catharsis itself, followed a repeat of the march to divest Matt of still more catharsis. The body of this folk rock machine chugs along worthily. The ride will get you where you need to go and maybe even put a knowing smile on your face while you ride. Thank (or blame if you want) Matt's genuine leading man chops. Dare I say he fits the profile of the statement, "Women want to be with him. Guys want to be him." He's an accessible hunk by design. Having a cold beer with him wouldn't fall under "impossible dream". Just a mesmerizing gent in his early forties trying not to drown in the elevating waters of love or, get swept up in the rubble of the earthquake. If ever there was a male vocalist with the goods needed to debunk the myth that guys are incapable of expressing their feelings, Matt's that someone. Need convincing? How about this lyric: "It comes natural to be so cruel, to be an asshole to someone as good as you." Direct admittance of culpability. Wow. Any of you ladies want to march down the aisle with him? Sadly for you gals he's taken. Lucky is the woman who's Ms. Matt Nathanson. He doesn't run from the notion that he's capable of doing his woman wrong. "Earthquake Weather" nudges the musical Richter Scale in a compelling direction that's worth any and all aftershock.

Lenny Kravitz - Fly Away

Lenny Kravitz's Invitation To Fly Away Positively Spellbinding

Soar with me into my salute to Amelia Earhart Day. Taking the helm as musical pilot for this trip is Lenny Kravitz. If he walked away from the music scene right now he'd have a pretty damned impressive legacy of indelible tunes to show for his efforts. Among the gems on this string of pearls is "Fly Away". Buckle your seat belts. This plane's going airborne really fast. Just dig right into the attitude copping guitar and you know the sky truly is meant to be the limit here. Toss some whip crack percussion in for good measure. Lenny has one of those magnificent soul voices that embodies what genuine means. You don't have to peel back studio production, marketing tactics, slick overdubbing, or an excess of ego to learn the true essence of the man. When he tells you he wants to fly above the trees you know he's elevating to a higher spiritual conscience. He's a man who wants to visit the Milky Way and you don't doubt he, with the strength of his compelling mind, could very easily make that happen. There's a heavy emphasis on rock guitar the same way he employed it in the remake of "American Woman" or his skull thumping jam "Are You Gonna Go My Way". Throughout his career he's done an amazing job of straddling rock, soul, and R & B. It pays rich dividends on "Fly Away". The video displays no shortage of a standing room only party personality. That's smart photography at work. Lenny is so totally caught up in the moment, and that's an enviable place to find him. He's the real deal and I suspect always will be. The more he sings about wanting to get away, the more excited you are by the prospect of seeing just where he transports himself. He's triumphant in the utterance of that exultant "Yeah!!" as the "I want to get away" chorus repetition multiplies towards the end. You're excited for him because you know not only does he want to get away, you believe deep in your heart that he's more than halfway to succeeding. More often that not his songs contain a male/female dynamic. In this instance he wants to share the cosmos with this woman. He wants her spirit to fly. He encourages them to become one. At no point does he present himself as anything other than approachable. In a lesser artist's hands these lyrics might come off as being strictly the trappings of a trip to Fantasyland that no sane female would dare think possible. Authenticity knows no shelf life. Lenny has his own corner of that market nailed. "Fly Away" is a stellar aircraft right from that first push off the tarmac.

Bastille - Pompeii

Bastille Creates an Intoxicating Eruption With "Pompeii"

And now... something a little under the radar of the pop charts. Bastille is a four man band hailing from the UK where, if memory serves me right, loads of kick ass music has originated. Their latest single is "Pompeii". Good title for the primary reason that the drummer, Chris "Woody" Wood (could there be a better, more focused name for a drummer?) is capable of launching from playful to cavernous without breaking too much of a sweat. If you listen closely you'll realize that when Bastille hits its chorus, that's when Wood launches into that devilishly brief "I'm serious! One false move and I'll peel the hairs off your inner ears with the power of my sticks!" display of manly bravado. Nowhere is the word "Pompeii" mentioned but I suppose that's because the boys explode enough on their own without a volcano reference cramping their ample style. Lead vocalist Dan Smith's one time solo project blossomed into this outfit. If you remember nothing about "Pompeii" other than the massively effective drum work or the church sanctuary discipline of the chorus then you've left the listening experience a better person than when you began. Drill like in their persistence keyboards dot this curious other world. Dan's cranking out some decorative notes as are Kyle Simmons and Will Farquarson. Will's bass playing is the steadfast heartbeat guiding the song through its chain mail warrior twists and turns. For my money the keyboards cock the gun and the drums pull the trigger.  From there it's off to the races we go with some tight melding of voices. Lyrically optimism is under scrutiny. "Where do we begin? The rubble or our sins?" Probably a good many people, although not in that exact framework, have pondered the same question about their own universes.Haven't many of us closed our eyes only to find we're in the same situation as before? It's relationship water treading at its most disconcerting. "Pompeii" can be found on the band's first studio album "Bad Blood". The blood's flowing nicely here. "Pompeii" is one eruption of tight as nails noise you'll be happy to dig out from under.

Ciara - Ciara (2013) (Full Album)

Ciara Stumbles Staggeringly

Note to reader. The title of my latest post is kind of my gift to you. Compared to the overblown tripe predominating much of Ciara's self-titled new release I'd like to think I'm giving you the ultimate palate cleanser. Ever buy a candy bar, unwrap it devilishly, taste buds primed for a heart stopping payoff only to discover there's not much candy inside the slickly assembled wrapper? If you have reach through the screen and accept the imaginary Kleenex I'm handing you. Nobody has the right to screw around with candy. What I'm driving at is, for all the heartfelt sentiment Ciara thinks she's offering us, it amounts to a lot of wrapper with hardly much meaningful candy to bite into. Is it a corroding influence for the youth of today? Um...no. Will it make people who downright detest Nicki Minaj detest her on a deeper level? There is that possibility. "I'm Out" is one track Minaj gets guest star billing on. The sound of her hammed up voice is enough to make my nose hairs curl up and sprout middle finger salutes. All I want to know is who was this creature in a previous life? How badly did Mommy and Daddy damage her to make her want to sound so decidedly unfeminine? Has the music industry decided the Earth will no longer spin if she's not steadying it? The thought of "big fat titties sticking out her tank top" is a sad commentary on the state of America's cultural life. I can see why she was tossed into the dunk tank. She's distracting everybody from the action adventure soundtrack posturing of the instruments backing her up. Like I said. Lots of wrapper, not much to chew on. And if you'll allow me a bit of big picture social commentary I promise I won't go all Scott Pelley on you. People, our youngest black Americans are never going to appreciate the slanderous influence behind the word nigger if the recording stars (not artists because that's not what Minaj is bringing here) they listen to display no qualms about using the word. "F-f-fuck these petty niggas" is a bitch motto? Nice going. Set the race back another 200 years and dropped the b-word just because it was the cheap way to draw controversy. In fact the omnipresent bitch rears her questionably ugly head in a number of stanzas here. "Which bitch want it." That bitch did it." How many times do we need to know from some trussed up R & B diva that some bitch is trying to play her? That's so 2005. More to the point it demonstrates the unavoidable stench of moral bankruptcy. "Sophomore" couldn't be more aptly titled. It's sophomoric, plain and simple. Even her backdrop choice appears to have involved all of thirty seconds of emotional investment. Sigh...Y'all up for another round of a star waxing complimentary about her soft skin and booty? Maybe you're all rested up from the big dicks following a generously proportioned ass. If not, too bad. You paid the ticket. Time to ride this train into the brick wall I must warn you we're heading to, brake lines cut. I beg them please lose the foreboding nighttime in the projects synthesizer ambiance that's supposed to tell us, "Yeah, the silly ho means what she says". "Body Party" is not cause to bust out the streamers and go on with your bad self. So...very...tediously...slow. Haven't other people extended the thinly disguised invites to "rock my body". and done with a little something we big boys and girls might want to call flair? Nothing's left to the imagination. I suppose that's okay because this track didn't withdraw any petty cash from the bank of imagination. One...long...booty call. But wait...bored with booty bopping? "Keep On Lookin'" renders Ciara woman under glass, but that's basically the coquettish trap she's allowed herself to be wedded to. The sonic landscape screams backwards African cult. Another K-Mart shopper brand of faux seriousness begging for people to think it's valuable art. Those tribal drums beg for some aspirin and an amnesia inducing drug. Of course we have to have some boy in the hood getting all "Ay" on us. Does it lend much to this outing? I think not. Moving on to (rather than the much preferred running away from) "Read My Lips" Ciara brags about how she's the best meal some man is ever going to get. "All I got up in these jeans really ain't none of y'all business". Moan. Gasp. What ever might she be talking about? I was never that great a biology student. Glad she's a liberated woman comfy with uncorking her lady parts but some of us don't want the entree plopped on our plates, if you catch my drift. The keyboard fills here are similar to the mannerisms of a retarded woodpecker. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Poor Ciara. Such damaged self esteem. Next problem lies in the lead in phase of "Where You Go". This song is only 3 minutes and 48 seconds long. Why does it take 1 minute just to get the backing rhythms established? Then, when we get there, we're greeted by the acid flashback sounds of what I label as the cute tinklings of a retro video game. There's a bass line on hand to make these proceedings not seem quite as shallow. I said not quite. If only the producers, the talent, the janitor mopping the floor during the recording session dates had had the good sense to rein in the superfluous pre-processed eardrum spew Ciara might have at least escaped this record with something like dignity intact. Ciara and special guest Future's honest intentions to make it work with each other are laudable. But with only 2:48 left to make their case by the time the sound trails off we don't have much space to decide yay or nay whether their union will bear satisfying proof or be just another cautionary tale littering the highway of broken romance. 2 minutes 48 seconds. That's like having a couple of neighbors invite you in for coffee, pour it, make a move to sit down beside you, and then discover there's no time for small talk because Poopsie's PowerPoint presentation starts very early in the morning so no time for idle chitchat. What's this? "Super Turnt Up" springs into action with monster truck ferocity superimposed across drums that punch you squarely in the chest. If nausea is your next reaction I salute you and understand wholly. "Super Turnt Up" leaves me super turnt off. This gushing tribute to "Mr. Badman" needed more attention paid to direct pressure. The hemorrhaging of overheated hormones might have stopped sooner. Ciara toys with speeding up and slowing down her voice at the bridge. How goofy. I'm not any more inspired to dig deep into her entanglement. It smacks of cheap tricks designed to make her sound more edgy than she has demonstrated throughout the record. To you and me "DUI" is shorthand for "Driving Under Intoxication". Ciara has decided to form her own not exactly new take on this concept. Presto...we've been handed "Driving Under Influence". In  this case the influence pertains to a man's love and his touch. Ciara needs to take a bow for introducing this cliche into the music lexicon. I guess my standards are too high. Most of us should observe DUI as a surefire way to wreck your life and have the general population regard you as a definite schmuck. She should not be encouraging people to be love drunk. That's very Romeo and Juliet but how many of those walk and breathe amongst us? It's some kind of miracle. "Livin' It Up" doesn't drown itself in splashy production. I can actually sway to this without wanting to slap myself upside the head with a rolled up newspaper (or in this day and age should I be saying supercharged Nook?). Ciara stays firmly on message. She's living on borrowed time (yet another sentiment I haven't heard in the past three seconds). She's living her life her way. Still nothing that's going to stand out as a cultural touchstone but at least the rhythm section is amiable. Johnny Mathis and Deniece Williams had a hit song in the late '70s called "Too Much, Too Little, Too Late" And there you have Ciara's self -titled latest chapter of her career. We have to wait for the ninth track out of ten for her to adopt a pace that doesn't bulldoze both listener and potential listener alike. By the time track ten ("Overdose") rolls around she's balanced her pipes with the energies churning behind her but it's way too late for that to make a difference. You can dance to "Overdose" without needing an instruction manual. The lyrics Ciara sings are derivative but the body shaking potential is high enough to help you forget she's recalling how much she OD'ed on love. Since the days of "1,2 Step" Ciara has demonstrated her abilities as a proven hitmaker. That doesn't mean she's one with a hell of a lot to say worth pausing for. Too much wrapper, not enough candy to satisfy the senses.

Kelis - Milkshake

Kelis Lays Her Milkshake On a Bit Too Thick

It's udderly nice to see all you beautiful blog lovers, likers, appreciators, and tolerators today. Let's hear it for Cow Appreciation Day!! Cows are a vital part of the dairy industry. Without them we couldn't enjoy the sublime pleasure of a fresh whipped milkshake. In 2003 Harlem, New York's Kelis put her own highly sexual spin on this drinkable delight. Let's clear the air right now. In Kelis' case the subjects on the table, absolutely no drop of Mac truck subtlety spared, are the boulders tucked away in her over the shoulder boulder holder. She certainly "puts them out there" so to speak. Over and over again she proves she can brag about her goody bags in much the same way that the male rappers brag about how many pictures of dead presidents they have in their wallets. Her milkshake brings all the boys to the yard. Insert images of boys in the hood, tongues rolled out of their heads onto the floor. To the marrieds out there you might want to exercise some restraint. Tasty but not that tasty, right? She's quick to point out how much better her milkshake is in comparison to the other fly girls. Again, where's the modesty? It's probably trying hard to peer down her dress. Kelis is quick to add: "It's what the guys go crazy for." Kind of like laying on four coats of the same paint rather than saying, "Self, there's enough color to this wall. We don't need to empty out the entire bucket with one fell swoop. The backing groove is pure Cleopatra temptress focused straight at the groin area. Some buzzing synth mating dancing along with a knock knock sort of back beat. The level of nastiness to that scene only gets lower the longer the song goes. But fear not. Once Kelis stops beating us over the head with how great her dairy cases are she actually finds time to educate. First and foremost people, according to her, these techniques that freak these boys can't be bought. Fair enough. If a woman's not endowed with the choice cuts then how unfortunate. She's not going to be doing much mattress tag before the night is over. Note to thieves. You will get caught. Don't just take without asking. Overall "Milkshake" leaves too much of a thick taste in my mouth. Kelis never strays far from bragging about her feminine superiority. An actual milkshake would've gone down easier. Were it not trying so hard to reach my erogenous zone I'd cut it some slack. As is Kelis needs to stop waving those things in my face. She's not strong arming afterglow out of me.

Plain White T's - Should've Gone to Bed (Audio)

The Plain White T's Unleash a Fine Attention Getter From The Comfort Of Their "Bed"

Plain White T's are a good band to have on the shuffle rotation of your IPod when you crave a break from the doom and gloom of daily life. "Hey There Delilah" wrung so much charm out of a simple acoustic guitar melody. Uncluttered served the purpose well. "Rhythm of Love", in my opinion, is best appreciated by watching the video. You'll start to give in to the celebratory mood there. This NY brotherhood of souls has an EP out called "Should've Gone To Bed". The title track continues this bunch's way with songcraft that did involve some well thought out ideas but pulls off the feat of producing a pop cutie that's doesn't put up walls of artistic pretension between band and audience. One difference between "Bed" and "Delilah" is there's more of a percussion presence in the former. De'Mar Hamilton patiently knocks out the bouncy pieces that hold this fun jigsaw puzzle together. Tom Higgenson hasn't lost his ability to guilelessly bare his flaws. It's midnight. He misses "her". The devil's getting to him. The angel on his other shoulder has no chance whatsoever. Tim Lopez lets his guitar weave around De'Mar's drumming with laser focus. He's the puppy dog keeping chase with De'Mar's bouncing ball of gregariousness. Tom learns that maybe when you have a few drinks in you that's probably not the time to call your girlfriend on the phone, and let whatever comes out come out. Plain White T's are all about innocence, youthful exuberant innocence. Even when they screw up you want to pull 'em in for a group hug and say, "That's okay, you scamps. I remember what it was like to be that young and that clueless." As pop songs go "Should've Gone To Bed" has more body on them bones. Mike Retondo's a highly capable bassist. What he brings to this party is pec flexing, so to speak. His choice of chords is a reassuring aural embrace. Dave Tirio drops his rhythm guitar in at the right spots to ensure the bolts in this machine don't come flying out, and pop someone in the eyeball. Justice would be served if "Should've Gone To Bed" began a steady climb up the single charts of the leading music magazines. It's not like the boys grew up too much. They still have that take on the world level of surplus energy. Simply put, this is the first time I've noticed there's a drum kit back there to keep the rest of the guys honest. Both "Hey There Delilah" and "Rhythm of Love" employ guitars as their bread and butter means of engaging the audience's attention. The result is a weightless quality which conveys the previously touched on innocence but doesn't do much to remind us there are horses revved up in those engines. "Should've Gone To Bed" is grounded in drum sequences, the guiding hand helping the kiddos along. What a nifty wake up call for anybody who remotely thinks the basic pop song is an art form ready to be hooked up to life support. What a relief notes, not studio trickery, speak for themselves.

Joe - Double Back Evolution of R&B (Full Mixtape)

Joe Teaches a Master Class on Romantic Evolution

Kudos to Joe for managing to sculpt the tracks of "Double Back Evolution of R&B" so that even when he's trying to teach life lessons or find a pulpit for his litany of regrets his audience is still thinking about condoms, champagne and designer sheets. Given the sensual orchestral magic that's embedded in each cut anyone can see how all pathways lead back to the covers. "Something For You" states it flat out. Joe's cementing his place in the firmament of ebony Romeos as a snappy convincing mix of Romeo and playa. This virile dart to the heart, zestful horn section and all, is smooth in all the right places. Using this song as a background I'm sure many a magical foreplay session would manage a dynamic exclamation point. Be careful when listening to "Easy". The point Joe's trying to make is that love isn't easy but the woman he's with makes it seem so decadently simple. There's a dynamic bass stoking the flames in the background. It pops up in both "Easy" and "Baby". That's what's known as the bedrock building up to a exquisitely crafted house of love. "Baby" definitely benefits from the bass stirring this pot of ecstasy. "Compromise" knocks about the necessity of what compromise is involved in boy girl relationships. You can thank a cologne drenched synthesizer with finger popping drum fill tagging along for the ride for keeping this track from getting too preachy to leave amorousness all that desirable an end result. Time and again Joe and his background posse go beyond the service of setting up music to get horizontal to. There's a Wesley Snipes movie soundtrack level of romantic drama which seldom makes its way to an off switch. "Magic City" didn't really need the streets of New York just after sunset instrumental flourish it got but, listeners can dip their pinkie toes deeper into the magic aesthetic since it got dropped into the broth. "Love & Sex" couples Joe with R & B diva Fantasia. The finished product sees Joe, our Romeo learning the ways of love on the job, wearing vulnerability on his well-tailored sleeve. Watching it peel off bit by bit is compelling theater. "Sexy" isn't subtle but, then again, that's why it's smashing good fun. Joe doesn't appreciate a woman who makes him wait until the third date for an evening of climax. When he says take your shoes and jeans off, you're excited about the many possibilities that appear about to open up. What woman who was in the company of a dapper dude wouldn't tried to hold back a squeal of excitement about the possibility of being shown ten new sex positions. My selection for greatest chorus of all these songs is "More". As the guitar starts taking up residence in the more unguarded portions of your brain you know you don't mind being putty in Joe's hands. Now we know where the grind end of bump and grind comes from. "Mary Jane" is slick to the nth degree. The opening vibe is warm, heavenly, an escape valve with the door all the way open. It really is about how you package the message. The package on display here is one you'll be begging to open as soon as possible. The ball rolls blissfully by the time "1 to 1 Ratio" rolls around. Rap vet Too $hort is called on to up the street cred quotient. Good call. The 1 on 1 party taking shape here is bound to be an exercise in success with this steady commitment to cutting out all the distractions leading away from the promise of sex, music, smoke, and liquor. Joe is a fast learner when it comes to knowing when to shift from slow foreplay pieces to more animated getting there is half the fun dazzlers. To wrap things up we get "DoubleBack". Joe's got more than his fair share of regrets and he has no problem spelled them out for us in the audience. As you'd expect in young, or younger love not appreciating what one has while one has it tops the list. Joe has his own corner of the look deep into my suave brown eyes and tell me I'm not sincere market nailed down. "Double Back Evolution of R & B" is a triumphant step forward.

A Great Big Pile of Leaves Doesn't Present Much To Snack On

I very much wanted to like "Snack Attack". It's available on the Brooklyn, NY outfit A Great Big Pile of Leaves' "You're Always On My Mind" album. What's not to like about that title? Visions of ice cream, chocolate chip cookies, potato chips and scads of other munchies dance around in one's brain. The band name is cute as well. Autumn leaves. A nice well-worn rake. Little kids running around in frolic. Then I plugged into the tune itself. Jumping into leaves is an act requiring energy. Singer Pete Weiland appears to have tried pasting his tongue to the roof of his mouth while uttering decent chunks of the lyrics. Maybe it's the jarring crunch of his guitar coupled with drummer Tyler Soucy's weighty banging. However you slice it his Pete's singing sort of bleeds over into the instruments. Leaves me left with a paucity of sympathy for the fact he and the female he's conversing with "never work out quite right late at night". I feel sorry that all the horsepower was used up before Pete could save some energy for his vocal technique. Could it be he designed it to be messy as a way to clue us in that his current relationship is also messy? Perhaps since he makes reference to late night he wanted to orchestrate the mad buzz of chaos which occurs during the late part of the day. Prime example of good intentions gone astray. There is a nice level of musicianship at work here. The guitar work is octane engulfed. The drumming flows naturally through Tyler's sticks. I'm not saying this song threatens to be more of an instrumental jam session than a vocal effort. Just implying that Pete's cratering under the weight of all that enchanting noise. In short "Snack Attack" might leave you with audio indigestion. That's not a commendable taste to leave in one's mouth.

Mavis Staples Offers Numerous Windows To Her One True Self

"One True Vine", the outpouring of gospel goodness from veteran tunesmith and birthday girl (she's 74 today) Mavis Staples, demonstrates how overcome by faith she is, and how she and her backing band employ liberal tempo changes to do it. "Holy Ghost" is sung from such an undeniably real place. That low, throaty style paints the scene of threadbare naked church devotional. Sure the backup drum inches her along but you can tell by how each note is stretched for maximum impact that she's in no hurry to escape God's healing powers. "Every Step" shifts the mojo's conversation to at least third gear, although fourth is kind of implied. "Can You Get To That" runs in the spirit of "Be good to others for in the end your deeds, good or bad, will tell the tale of what sort of mortal you were." Mavis extends her warm thoughts for her Creator in "Far Celestial Shore". This playfulness is hard to turn away from. Not only that, the miles from the urban din imagery constructed here, the valley of crystal waters for instance, comes across as a serenity gilded vacation you can take without putting down your I-Pod. Mavis rides her wave of joy as high as humanly possible and the results are incandescent. "What Are They Doing In Heaven Today" has your need for reflection covered. Mavis asks the titular question with a curiosity that knows no set age, season, religion, sex, or ethnicity. I can easily picture her rocking back and forth in a well-worn easy chair while singing. Sure there's heartbreak for the fallen but there's a larger measure of relief for the suffering her friends no longer have to experience. "Sow Good Seeds" opens with a guitar a bit on the swampy Bayou-hatched side. From there Mavis takes to her pulpit to preach virtue, sowing the seeds of good, seeds worth their weight in gold in the final analysis. "I Like The Things About Me" plays up how wonderful it is to be comfortable in one's own skin. It's a time forged nugget of personal victory that Mavis wears with pronounced gravitas. "Woke Up This Morning (With My Mind On Jesus) derives its cosmic energy from fleetness of pacing. All Mavis has to do is step into His reassuring arms and the engaging revival is on. Closing out the love fest is the title track, flavorful, deliberate, fully realized tribute to the guiding hand. Mavis does strut her stuff during this compilation with a ebullient choir now and then, but I'd say it's window dressing in service of a singular voice which can raise many a roof. There's lots of juicy fruit growing from "One True Vine". You'd be wise to take a bite.

Catching Pac-Man Fever Is Worth The Trouble

Whether you're a classic gamer or into nothing but a Wii thing (or of course there's the occasionally popular neither of the above) I'd like to welcome you for this salute to Video Games Day. At the center of the frenetic activity is "Pac-Man Fever" a novelty smash from Buckner & Garcia. Billboard confirms it. This prime slice of camp went to #9 on its singles chart. For some of you who may remember the song from '82, this song falls under the category "so bad it's good". The two of them stack the deck with all kinds of winning reminders of the classic arcade game which kicked the door of quarter popping dominance open that stalwarts like Space Invaders and Asteroids had pried open. Note the opening ditty which plays once the player has pressed "One Player". Bathed in vintage nostalgia. The sounds of game play pop up time and again. To those of you who know your way around an arcade the way I do, you'll recognize the sounds that get made when Pac Man eats a super charged space wafer, thus turning "the ghostly quartet" blue, and even more thus making them dinner time fodder for the now empowered yellow wedged wonder. Quite lamentably the sound of Pac Man himself getting eaten and disappearing from the screen should ring a bell also. But what is this a video game history class? Not on your life! Well, okay...maybe on some of your life. Pac Man is, like or not, part of the fabric of video game history but it's the tribute I'm here to discuss. It's jukebox ready from the start. Backing the two on drums is Ginny Whitaker. Nothing overly flashy. Just a steady timekeeper who leaves the storyline in the hands of Garcia, who's the one doing the belting here. We hear the story of a man (I presume he's young given the arcade climate of the time, but don't hold me to that) armed with quarters, headed to the arcade with what little money he has. Callouses on his fingers, shoulders hurting, he ventures forth into the only slightly seamy underbelly (are underbellies anything other than seamy, really?) of Pac-Man Fever. As the chorus contends, it's driving him crazy. Must be a benign sort of crazy though. Usually when I think anthem I envision something in the rock vein of "We Will Rock You" or "Another One Bites The Dust" by Queen. However, to the Aladdin's Castle frequenting set (I was one of those), "Pac-Man Fever" also belongs in the anthem category. Kind of an anthem for nerds (again I was and probably may still continue to be viewed as one).Be clear on one thing, I doubt anyone in the band took themselves too seriously when putting this on vinyl. It's loyal to its subject matter but there's a rollicking good time sensibility in play (no pun intended, game play, etc...). Unless you need Cliff Notes you'll probably remember well what "the 9th Key" means. For the record it's an advanced level of game play. "Cherry" refers to one of the bonus point objects that would appear in the center of the screen from time to time. Strawberry and lemon would also appear there on other levels. Ms. Pac-Man's designers took it a step further by allowing the fruits to move about the screen. Garcia's really throwing himself into the role of Pac-Man addict who's not exactly aching for a cure. By the time we reach the bridge he's name dropped Pokey and Blinky, two of the ghost monsters I made reference to earlier. Chris Bowman ups the chuckle ante with his guitar emoting at the bridge. You hear him maximize the camp value, sense of decorum tossed into the waiting cup of beer nuts. Pressure building. Garcia, or the man of untold demographic he's telling the story of, is burning up the scoreboard. The high score's in his sights. His hero's voyage through the "side door" gets more intense. Pac-Man's eating everything in sight. But what's this? No more money? Always tomorrow then. You know damn well he means to return to that same arcade, to that same game, tomorrow night. What homework? What girlfriend? That's what Pac-Man Fever can do to you. I'm guilty of having owned the "Pac-Man Fever" album the song came from. It's also home to several other video game-themed charmers like "Froggy's Lament" (Frogger), "Ode to a Centipede" (Centipede), and "Hyperspace" (Asteroids). "Pac-Man Fever" is goofy but endearingly so. Smiling comes easily.

Forever The Sickest Kids Possess an Undeniable Vigor Throughout "J.A.C.K."

For the most part Forever The Sickest Kids are busting out all over with in the pink vitality. "J.A.C.K." is a convincing testimonial. The only track that sounds like the band got lazy is "Life of the Party". As the sequence of songs unfolds this third track, when compared to "Keep On Bringing Me Down" (Track 1) and "I Guess You Can Say Things Are Getting Pretty Serious" (Track 2) is a marked lapse into fake drums, overplayed synth harmonies, and a curious decision to abandon authentic band intensity for a style phoned in before the guys even took their places in the studio. Not only that but main vocalist Jonathan Cook kind of maxes out on the number of ways he can salute the wonder and beauty of the opposite sex. She turns heads like the pages of a magazine. She's the mainstream, sour and sweet. Even a mashed up, techno punk dancing queen. There's no true balance between bragging about the greatness of woman and a sound that isn't engulfed in studio smoke and mirrors. Thankfully that's the exception in quality for an 11 track collection of songs that does plenty to boost Forever The Sickest Kids stock as a pop punk outfit that doesn't skimp on enthusiasm, candor of lyric, or group cohesion. Despite a lyrical backdrop heavy on "How this cruel world brings me down no matter what I do to alter the course of destiny", the pace of "Keep On Bringing Me Down" is steady and true. There's this determination to shine no matter what outside forces are conjuring up. Regardless of which chamber of the human heart these guys are exploring their commendable honesty rises to the top. "I Guess You Can Say Things Are Getting Pretty Serious" is classic relationship at the crossroads drama but the boys' hot licks punch through a running theme that could easily have threatened to be downer city all the way. You know the story, or at least are friends with someone who's living it right now. He's still stuck in some phase of adolescence. She's finding her footing in maturity. What ever will they do since they aren't growing together? Skip forward to "Robots & Aliens" (Track 4). I don't know if lyrics such as, "Like my favorite song I'll put you on repeat" are unique to the younger set but the charm can't be ignored. Something eternally innocent about it that makes you, as a somewhat mature jaded adult swat aside the rhetorical question "Was I ever that young?" This chorus is a fun ride through the world of two souls who obviously crave being intertwined. The mixture of bounciness and optimism that is the calling card of "King for a Day" signals the necessity of unabashed rooting value. Drummer Kyle Burns leads the charge. He's the head horse for this purposeful cavalry. Jonathan's laundry list of promises, a series of bread crumbs supposedly leading to the doorway which opens to a better life is remarkably rife with sweetness. When he tells his girl she's beautiful and deserves more you'll want to rail against the injustice that imprisons her too. "Good Life" may roll around in superficiality of character but you've gotta be impressed with the stars Jonathan's reaching for. Remember Sinead O'Connor's 1990 CD declaration "I Do Not Want What I Haven't Got?" Well, Jon covets the cosmic ice cream sundae, cherries on top. Girls, fortune, fame, spotlights, you name it. Again, between Austin Bello's brisk bass playing, Caleb Turman's solid rhythm guitar, and Jonathan cluing us into the many items found on his life wish list, Forever The Sickest Kids doesn't bust out the jams in half-hearted fashion. "Same Dumb Excuse (Nothing to Lose)" shows Jon playing the vulnerability card, namely by insisting that putting all his cards on the table before a girl is harder than jumping off a cliff or swimming with sharks. It takes bravery to utter sentiments like these. "Bipolar Baby" is saved by the mini labyrinthine chord combo which shifts into fifth gear at just past the 2-minute mark. Now we know why this girl's impossible to live with. Right on cue "Summer Song" lays down just the freshly scrubbed youth enthusiasm that's added luster to summers for as long as anyone can remember. Is there anyone out there who hasn't found that song of the summer which signified what made the summer worth participating in? Look out. "Forever Girl" returns us to sensitive man territory. Out go the amps. In comes a naked acoustic guitar. Of chief importance is the message that Jon and the unknown main squeeze have the "it" quality that will allow their relationship to withstand Time's slings and arrows. At the end of this pop punk rainbow of shininess we have "What Happened to Emotion? (Killing Me)". Kyle's percussion introduction sets the stage for the saga of two youths feeling the pressure, unsure how to proceed, where to turn, what to think. The repetition of verse possesses the knack of beating a path to your brain cells quickly. For that matter the clever hooks and ingratiating spunk will as well. Forever The Sickest Kids is very much alive here. Whatever boost of credibility this release gives them is highly deserved.

Kanye West Only Skin Deep in "Black Skinhead"

I've never really had the nicest impression of Kanye West since he upstaged Taylor Swift during the one MTV Music Awards not too many years ago. However that isn't what leaves me holding the bag for such a vitriolic opinion of Mr. West's latest single, "Black Skinhead". You can find it on his new "Yeezus" CD. I wouldn't mind leaving this single to rot in the trash of some local Walmart. It has the trappings of a rap that goes hand in glove with what, if the words are any indication, is his colossal ego, at least the ego where his sexual prowess is concerned. I mean..."300 bitches. where the Trojans?" Didn't know the man was trying to pitch Wilt Chamberlain style bedding stats. There are Roman conqueror drums throughout. Throw in a splice of menacing synth riffs, a splash of tribal oddball and you've got a player whose trying to play us. "But I ain't finished, I'm devoted. And you know it, and you know it." Does Kanye really need to up the loudness ante every time he lets loose one of those "And you know it"s? I suppose to many that could be considered his trying to up the sexual excitement. To me it's like he's trying to corner me in some parking garage determined to rock my casbah without my even remotely asking for it. I do give him a sliver of credit for rhyming "coon", "early morning cartoon", "goon", and "fuck up your whole afternoon". It's nice to close my eyes and visualize Kanye and Scooby Doo in the same air space. Conveniently he files his rhymes under the useful "shit" catch-all category. So that's about it. In a tribal way there's something that resembles artistry here. Given "Yeezus" has already made its way to the top of the Billboard album chart I doubt West will lose any sleep over the barbs I'm sending his way here. Call me old fashioned. I sort of prefer my raps without being alerted to some player's ongoing conquest score sheet. You may find this spirit of candid disclosure refreshing. I say rap isn't going to evolve into some cultural Renaissance lightning rod again if the prime movers and shakers don't stop using "bitch" as the go-to label for a woman. Kanye must be throwing his condoms around indiscriminately if "bitch" is his preferred address. This slice of backwards evolution of the sexes from "Yeezus" leaves me wanting to exclaim "Yeezus Christ!!"

John Mellencamp's Scarecrow a Haunting Sight To Behold

Back in 1985, John Cougar Mellencamp was just that. The "Cougar" portion had not yet sprung from the cage. The title track of sorts from his "Scarecrow" LP (I say of sorts because the exact title is "Rain On The Scarecrow") is compellingly laid down. There's no song I'd rather flash back to than that one in honor of Build a Scarecrow day. John's heartland loyalties run deep particularly here. Nothing but balls to the wall guitar playing coupled with some downright ferocious drum beats. "Scarecrow on a wooden cross. Blackbird in the barn. 400 empty acres that used to be my farm". Pure poetry aimed right at the sensibilities of the toiling, never completely compensated farmer. You'd be totally wacko not to catch the unavoidable spirit of loss surrounding the song. Loss of the opportunity to hand down the family farm from one generation to the next. Loss of pride in what fertile soil can reap. Even loss of dignity that comes with the gut level fulfillment of tending to such honest work. The skies are ever on the verge of opening up. What comes from them no doubt aren't just standard raindrops, but tears shed over what used to be and what likely will never be. The sound is heavy, not in the Led Zeppelin sense but in the weight of long abiding tradition threatening to become just faded memories cast to the wind. "Smalltown" is more of a valentine to the small town way of life. "R.O.C.K. in the USA" name drops many of the greats of the music world such as Martha Reeves, James Brown, and the Shang-Ri-Las. Those two songs are humble but you don't feel like a box of Kleenex is necessary to get through one listen. "Rain on the Scarecrow" is the sort of number where, after one or two listeners the makers of Kleenex put you on their Xmas card list because you've sent so much lucrative business their way. Haunting to the point of noting unmistakably the dire straits of the carcass of the farm ethic, "Rain on the Scarecrow" demands you keep that umbrella handy. It's raining blood. That last lurch from the drum mirror the sound of the coffin lid being slammed shut. John deals these cards with an iron fist and a still warm core of sentimentality at the epicenter.