Being Baptized By Daughtry Is Sure To Leave You Cleansed

Chris Daughtry, American Idol alumnus, knows how to give his legions of fans what they want. His band's practically brand spanking new album "Baptized" is, in the true spirit of a holiday season gorge fest, stuffed with all the elements of performance that not only answer the question, "What was all the fuss about in the only recent way back when?" but prove Chris and his chums went to and excelled at graduating class in the art of dishing out exemplary pop/rock hooks. The first radio nugget, "Waiting For Superman" has this pinch the cheeks quality about it. Try to be Grinch like after zeroing in on the image of some love starved female pondering the notion that her dreamboat in the red cape with the "S" on his chest merely got hung up at the laundromat and will be along to whisk his ladylove away from her life of high dudgeon at any moment. Keyboardist Elvio Fernandes is to be commended for using his keys to pump up the dreaminess in this unwavering fantasy scenario. If adult contemporary sensibilities aren't the water fountain you scramble to for artistic nourishment you could always test out the title track. It employs the battering ram school of drumming through and through. So you see...Daughtry can be both a gentle and gritty band within the parameters of the same album. Robin Diaz hammers away like the "I've got something to prove tag" is still very much emblazoned in his DNA. Turning to Chris Daughtry's vocals. He knows when to let it all hang out. He's got a pulse pounding instrument that operates on both sides of the affairs of the heart fence. I give him credit for not allowing his audiences to get too comfortable with tunes threatening to cave under the weight of their own vulnerability. In fact "Traitor" has the potential to be downright nightmare inducing. What the heck happened to the gentle giant who admitted his failures without apology on "Broken Arrows". That so and so is ready to reholster his Cupid arrows and head off into the unfulfilled sunset. This hooligan wants to pin his betraying femme fatale up against the wall until she grows hoarse screaming for mercy, mercy that if you're tuned in to this song with any degree of concentrated attention span, you know he's not exactly chomping at the bit to give her. I find myself taken with "Traitor" for this reason and hope the experimentation gets your blood pumping too. "Long Live Rock & Roll" is quite simply a respectful tribute to the greats of the genre and the amount of time well spent debating, among other things, who's the bigger badass, Motley Crue or GNR. All that name dropping for people like me for whom music is as essential a part of daily life as food, water, air, and shelter is a wicked trip down memory lane. The drums electrify. Josh Steely, Brian Craddock, and Josh Paul, the trio comprising the meat of the guitar section, mine this time tested motif for all it's worth. Everyone's laughing, reflecting, possibly clinking cold ones. To add to that the Journey/"Don't Stop Believin" reference is a fun tip of the hat to one of the all time memorable arena rock standards. Ten feet tall coming right up, sir. If I had a personal favorite of the batch it would be "I'll Fight". The way the song zooms from chord set-up to chord set-up with lightning precision and not one false footstep excited me from the outset. If you want to get my adrenaline cranked to insane levels work some sorcery with those chords. The same ooh and aah you'd hear from a crowd of thousands watching fireworks go off on the Fourth of July you can get from a well plotted series of guitar chords. "18 Years" wraps up the set. Its focus is on youthful nostalgia and how the first 18 years zoom by in a blink. Not groundbreaking but cut Chris and friends a break. The 11 tracks that preceded it gave us all a stunning emotional workout. If they want to stamp their own imprint on the whole "Time is fleeting" theme, then give them their due. "Baptized" is salute worthy for assembling one crisp slab of smartly executed pop/rock after another. Even after you towel off, this is one baptism you won't soon forget.

Stryper Deals Out a Devilishly Melodic Hand With "No More Hell To Pay"

Stryper's sound, (1990's baffling "Against The Law" not included), has been rooted in the unwavering tenacity of its faith. In their 80s heyday they'd emphasize said point by tossing Bibles to the crowd, a far cry from the highly uncensored debauchery of a Ratt or Motley Crue. 2013's waning moments usher in a new project "No More Hell To Pay". It's a privilege to announce that lead vocalist Michael Sweet, bassist Timothy Gaines, lead guitarist Oz Fox, and drummer Robert Sweet have lost none of the vigor that made The Yellow and Black Attack such an incomparable force to be reckoned with. On the might of Oz's guitar magic I'd say taking a listen was very much worth the effort. You can tell the esprit de corps between the Sweet brothers, when left free to rejuvenate a room, can do so in spades. Robert commands authority one pectoral flexing beat at a time. Michael's urgent yelp-embossed vocal delivery has never sounded more believable. Timothy Gaines' bass pierces defenses with spectacular abandon. Tracks like this make it easier to forget "Honestly", the band's grab for radio accessibility. As any follower of the '80s metal/hair band scene can tell you, schmaltz sold. If your band had a female audience wooing power ballad, chances were you were laughing all the way to the bank. "No More Hell To Pay" returns to the heart of what puts Stryper in a class by itself. The riffs astound. The drums captivate. The singer reaches into the core of his soul to unleash conviction with a capital "C". Let the Aqua Net fueled nostalgia trip begin. I wouldn't advise devil horns though. These guys definitely play for the other team.

This Blast of Alt Rock Marksmanship From Young the Giant Proves Timely

It can be said that when all the parts of a team are functioning as a cohesive whole the results can be, at the very least, satisfactory to complete the task at hand and, at most, potentially game changing. The Irvine, California alt rock team known as Young the Giant demonstrates with their new single "It's About Time" that they know their roles and execute them to as close to perfection as mortals get. Payam Doostzadeh imbues his bass guitar with a rumbling quality that only gets better the longer it remains in the mix. For me it's the audio equivalent of a deep, intense back massage. This applies comfort and relief to all the right pressure points. On the other side of the fret spectrum, Jacob Tilley displays a track star's agility with his lead alto guitar. You'll notice more of that as the song scampers its way to the chorus point. As a general rule the bass guitar represents the brawn while alto constitutes the brain power. With Payam and Jacob hammering away all lead vocalist Sameer Gadhia has to is deftly apply his politically charged musings over the top with the delicate but not easily cowed touch of a baker applying icing to his latest master creation. Sameer's to be praised for blowing the doors or eardrums away with his singing. Earnest would be a better adjective. He knows his mind. He doesn't lack for the conviction needed to speak it. Francois Comtois locks the sum of these enticing parts in place with a sharp kick behind drums. If you look at the history of rock music the great ones seem to have a first rate timekeeper around to, if nothing else, make sure the energy of his bandmates isn't flagging. The Stones have Charlie Watts. Metallica has Lars Ulrich. Young the Giant has Francois Comtois. Even though the band hasn't been around for more than ten years yet, give them time. Francois has the makings of a trip to the pantheon of percussion greatness. Looking under the hood of this engagingly clattering car the lyrics don't lack for tension. Today we live our nights on the wire, or so Sameer claims. If you detect more than a trace of sociopolitical danger in the air then good for you. You're obviously more than the tits and ass lyrics strain of music follower. It can't be easy to declare yourself born to be angry, Sameer. Anger's a powerful and, at the right times, justifiable emotion, but history has shown us that it has disastrous consequences when not employed judiciously. Still, Sameer lives on a tightrope. That statement likely sums up what the vast majority of people in this modern global economy see themselves having to do, like it or not. I feel their angst. We're a mighty nation at the mercy of group grieve. I'm won over by the stark shift from four way bang it out musicianship at the outset to pockets of air at the chorus where Francois is momentarily declawed in order to make way for Jacob's supposedly resistance free glide through time and space, notes raining down like mystic gifts from the heavens. Young the Giant opens the door to a mysterious labyrinth of impending danger. This brand of rock isn't uncorked from the sidewalk safe side of the avenue, that's for sure. "It's About Time" won't let you come up for air until you're glistening with the sweat of a crowd of rock devotees that knows it's been topped off with a firm swig of the good stuff.

Cher's World Is High Intensity Dance Personified

Happy birthday to Mom. Mom loves Cher. For this reason we'll chew a little of the proverbial fat about her single "A Woman's World" lifted from the "Closer To The Truth" album. This album is loaded with sweat cranking dance goodness. She learned her lesson well from 1999 when "Believe" became her biggest solo hit ever, spending a solid 4 weeks at #1 on the Billboard chart. Personally I'm not as smitten as she obviously was with the Vocoder device that makes her pipes sound technologically jazzed up. My belief is there's no breathing being on this earth with a voice like Cher's so why would she want to distort it in some way? Ah yes, but that's the question explaining why she's a multi-platinum selling artist and I'm a music fanatic who lusts after the lifestyle of a multi-platinum sellng artist. After taking a peek at the video for "A Woman's World" you'll come to be reminded Cher hasn't lost her way with being the ringmaster (ringmistress?) in her own electrifying universe. Fashion has always been a big part of Cher's mystique. The song does a fine job of putting that tendency in its most flattering light. Cher makes a beeline for the girl power aesthetic that past artists such as Helen Reddy("I Am Woman")Annie Lennox & Aretha Franklin ("Sisters Are Doin' It For Themselves") and The Spice Girls (any hit single of theirs covers it)have mined to lucrative effect. It's a little amusing to note that if Madonna is the dance diva for the newly christened AARP set then that makes Cher a charter member of the AARP elite. Good for both of them for sticking a tongue out at any tendency to box them in a corner because continuing to be alive has worked out so swimmingly for both of them. What I appreciate about "A Woman's World" in comparison to "Believe" is that the world orchestrated on the former isn't so aware of its own technological wizardry. It all sounds pleasingly organic. Although Cher does play some little voice head games on the CD ("Dressed To Kill" is unintentionally humorous in the way Cher's echoing voice paws with the word "kill") there's lots of the real persona bubbling under, percolating around, and slamming through the surface. When flashing back to her earlier work ("Half Breed" for instance) the dance stylings were, appropriately enough, the standard "let's put a classical music savvy cast of crackerjack musicians behind her and let the awesome nature of her colossus-like presence take the money to the bank from there" business model the '70s hit paraders were legendary for. From the "Believe" era on there's much more of a freewheeling curiosity of experimentation. With "Believe", as I imagine could be said for Madonna's "Ray of Light" and "Music" efforts, Cher dipped her toe in the higher beats per minute vein of dance music. Throughout "Closer To The Truth" Cher flamboyantly (as if she was even capable of being any other way) churns out dance spectacle for all it's worth. She's comfortable enough to keep this party going now that she knows how to crank the explosiveness to 10. Cher fearlessly probes the essence of her highly documented scar-laden battles in the game of love. Similar to the plot for "Believe" "A Woman's World" addresses Cher's continued ability to rise from romantic ashes, get the hell on with her life, and bask in the abiding glow of Cher-hood. As pop culture females go, only Oprah Winfrey has that same knack for being so E.F. Hutton in that when both women talk, people listen. With Cher it's been a far longer carnival ride. She still racks up record sales, and keeps the public's curiosity piqued so the biggest "Well, duh" response I can think of is she must be doing something right. She has longevity because she doesn't quit easily. There's not one part of the soundtrack to my life that she hasn't found her way into. "A Woman's World" is the latest example of how Cher owns a room when she enters it.

Jake Miller Displays Singular Focus Throughout "A Million Lives"

Jake Miller, a 21 year-old rapper hailing from Weston, Florida, doesn't bring anything earth-shattering to his genre with "A Million Lives" the second single from his debut album "Us Against Them". Unless you count a focus on matters removed from the gangsta lifestyle that reached a crest in the '90s. Kudos to him, his production crew, his wardrobe consultant, or whoever was responsible for bathing him in a sparkling pool of sunshine melody. All the man has to do is insert himself in a grouping of stamina testing real life situations and bang...defenses come down. The courage to embrace the warmth of another person comes into sharp view. In the first verse, Jake tells the story of Nikki, a girl whose cancer diagnosis jettisoned her dancer lifestyle. She tells him how much his music meant to her, right down to the very act of keeping her heart beating. The chorus consists of Jake explaining that, no, he hasn't made a million dollars, but that's not really such a sticking point when you consider the millions of lives he's touched. So many faces seen. So many hands shaken. The camaraderie of his fellow man represents the life force which propels him to highs that seem to grow higher with every passing hour. In verse 2, it's bullying that takes center stage. A 7th grader named Dillon is being mercilessly picked on. In this day and age,thanks to technology permeating pretty much every aspect of our lives, the young can't even count on that as an escape from the cruelty their peers can be capable of. Once again, Jake's rapping is the bright light which allows Dillon to reach for confidence, for the inner strength to somehow co-exist with his tormentors. Being a person who wears glasses, I sympathize with bullies who have this penchant for breaking them. Glasses can make you a really easy target. In verse 3 Sami's the name of the girl who shares her appreciation for Jake's influence. She and her brother listened to him every day until the day he passed away. The music gives her a special feeling, as if her brother was still by her side. So many quality songs stem from simplicity, from a genuine uncluttered message, from the belief that there aren't a million layers of bullshit separating the artist from the listener. Keep in mind that Jake's just getting started in his career. There's nothing wrong with a song that is the mental equivalent of a hearty hello split into three thoughtful mini-dramas. He wants to get started building that all-important fan base. We'll see if he's versed in Greek theater at some future point. For right now Jake merely wants to open his arms to the general public for a reassuring hug. Here's to Jake for having the common decency to think about giving us all a light bulb to make the darkness less of an ominous presence. He sure has laid out a smartly measured blueprint for whatever future success comes his way.

Celine Dion's "Loved Me Back To Life" Is Inhabiting The Wrong Body

That siren to top all sirens, Celine Dion is back with a new studio album. This is a special announcement for many of her most ardent supporters, not to mention people who are curious to discover what all the fuzz has been about since she burst onto the scene in 1991 with "Where Does My Heart Beat Now?" I regret to inform you that you still might not get the clearest picture of Celine's majesty as a performer if "Loved Me Back To Life" is what you base your initial knowledge on. That's because the song channels the dramatics of a younger performer such as Avril Lavigne or Christina Aguilera. When Celine sings the title words I don't get the reminder of the Celine who belted out "My Heart Will Go On" or her remake of "The Power of Love". Instead I am reminded of Christina's massive vocal range. Celine's earlier hits combined with the smooth almost classical music savvy of the musicians surrounding her made her chops a supremely one-of-a-kind MGM Grand Las Vegas worthy tour-de-force. The processed tune set forth here merely hints at a woman trying to see if the market she pretty much owned from 1991-1997 still has a passion for her. I know artists like Madonna aren't beneath teaming up with more contemporary artists like MIA to cater to the latest youth movement. After all, being a changeling has been a Madonna trademark since the innocent days of "Lucky Star". But why should Celine have to kowtow. Smart marketing maybe but it's just as much an example of attempting to fly without a net as when Madonna leaned in that direction with the "MDNA" release. I daresay Celine caters to more of a mature audience than Madonna and is less inclined to resort to modern artificial sounds as background enhancement. Celine, like Madonna, is larger than life. However, Celine hasn't quite hit the level of "getting away with" image altering that Madonna has employed as a relentless marketing technique. Besides which Celine strikes me as being too earthy a soul to do anything other than be the truest self she can be. Record buyers have responded well to this untainted portrayal. I shudder to think what they'd do if they realized Celine's sort of straining to be hip. When she sings "night after night" my ears find it a little heavy on the bravado. I still picture her in Vegas hamming it up to buffet motivated tourists who go for this kind of dinner and a show. Let me be clear. I'm not dissing Celine, the woman. It's her shocking detour from authentic expression of self that has me both scratching and shaking my head. This is one member of the adult contemporary club who doesn't, shouldn't, and flat out ought not to feel obligated to cater to the lowest demographic rungs. That's the face she usually brings to the world to this point anyway. "Loved Me Back To Life" is living out its days as an impostor. Give me a dingle when the real Celine reemerges from the fog.

Sky (Ferreira) Knows No Limit With Her Debut Set Of Dance Pop

New to the dance ranks is 21 year-old Sky Ferreira whose enchantingly energetic pop radio accessible debut "Night Time, My Time" comes at you with the boundless freedom of a young woman finding her way in the world. Granted, the action doesn't assume the four on the floor position until track three, the big city bustle of "24 Hours". "Boys" and "Ain't Your Right", tracks one and two respectively, represent more of a crooked finger overture to shuffle your tensions away. "Boys" possesses a swarming heat bolstered by a layer of inebriated mystery from the instruments that hints at a witching hour throwdown you'd be foolish to let pass you by. "Ain't Your Right" employs a cornucopia of electronic pixie dust as its ace in the hole. Returning to "24 Hours", I'm taken with the acrobatic cord change-ups. Few things about music are less appealing to me than an artist or group complacent enough to ride one chord and only one chord to million-selling glory. "24 Hours" marinates in Sky's undeniable audio presence. The chord changes give her a bubbly pedestal to stand on. There are some teeth bared amidst "Nobody Asked Me (If I Was Okay)". Punk attitude nestled at the core of a splendid pop carnival ride adds up to Ms. Ferreira demonstrating she's no one trick pony. On rare occasions the subject matter can get a little out where the buses don't run. Track six, the quizzically enigmatic "Omanko" makes reference to a Japanese Jesus. That's kind of a left field buzz deflation when examined alongside the cuts I delved into earlier. Heaviness has its place, but not necessarily in a set where the hooks flow with the legs of a vintage bottle of Dom Perignon. Another enticing example of hooks priced to move is "I Will". From this batch of dance-pop cuisine here's the beauty that nabs the prize for best chorus of them all. I could easily envision the track holding up under repeated listens. "Heavy Metal Heart" could end up in one of two camps. Either the burly beat and persistent chorus are going to drive you batty or encourage you to fist pump when nobody's watching. Either way it's a tough earwig to shake loose. "Love In Stereo" nails the whole "meet cute" dynamic. The title alone has "puppy dog eyes" written all over it. When Sky uses the dance friendly vibrancy to her advantage the result has the potential to make veteran adults yearn for age twenty one and bolster the effortless vigor stemming from those presently answering to that number. For the most part "Night Time, My Time" spells good time.

MellowHigh Hits What Could Be An All-Time Low

I'm now going to hit you with the skinny behind American hip-hip trio MellowHigh's debut self-titled album. For starters, based on what I heard, barring some major miracle, I sincerely want this tripe to also be the seedlings of their last album. I mean...do these guys get paid $1,000 each time they drop the f-bomb? If so then Hodgy, Left Brain, and Genesis Domo will be millionaires by this time next year. I'm going to label this reliance on said word as their "fallback fuck". It's the word they use to let their peeps and the uninitiated know that they're serious about their craft...if that's what anyone with the IQ of a grape would actually, without holding back giggles of incredulity, call this insult to intelligence. The ghetto menace background sounds behind them aren't even put together with anything resembling elbow grease. Whether that's the record label budget's fault or MellowHigh's resorting to laziness remains an unknown variable. Either way, unless you've lived the hard knock life they're making reference to, you're not going to cozy up to their lyrics. I'm too busy reinserting my eyeballs back into their sockets from all the profanity and par for the modern course hip hop swagger to have much reserve energy to swallow the imagery of bleeding eyeballs. What's that you ask? Is there reference made to bleeding eyeballs? Yup. A little something to make sure you have nothing but nightmares when you lay head to pillow tonight and for several tonights afterwards. I take it those out there who had a bedwetting problem as a child are pretty comfortable in the reassurance that you won't regress at this point. Think again. Domo Genesis aims to propel you into TMI land all in the service of talking about the glories of smoking weed. Let's put this slab of..well...what I'm thinking of starts with the same consonant as slab and...well...visualize a toilet in action and you'll get my drift. "I can't give a fuck 'bout what you saying, what you talking. I be sparking, nigga, I just tryna smoke my weed. Blowin' on some gas in a Swisher with some hash in the middle. Dawg, I'm choking, homie, I can't breathe. Got me screaming. Fuck them other niggas cause I'm down for my niggas. Keep on smokin' it 'til my eyes bleed." What about that doesn't scream "good old fashioned family entertainment?" Again we've got the whole social conundrum where young blacks are tossing around the word nigger as if it somehow became an acceptable word between the time I went to sleep last night and the moment I woke up this morning. As was previously pointed out the f word plays a big time role in their "artistry". Visiting the world of rappers like these is akin to blasting off in a spaceship and visiting a whole other world entirely. It's not a world I'd want to revisit but it's there to be explored by whoever's bold enough (or puerile enough as the case may be)to give it a try. "Get'n Drunk" gives me confidence about the future of our much maligned country. The whole get drunk 'til I pass out thing makes me glad I'm a childless person with no interest in trying to teach a child why it's not a great health prolonging idea to engage in such risky activity. The same priniciple applies to sniffing glue, sniffing rubber cement, or, as we local Austinites learned on the news courtesy of a sixteen year-old girl who's got issues different from the ones I'm wrestling with, launching yourself out of a moving school bus. "Roofless" is here to teach us exactly the social skills we should adhere to. Remember...if you do not give a fuck punch that nigga' in the face. One thing seems certain. There aren't going to be too many young black men on the streets of the ghetto in the future because they all will be brought up on assault charges for punching their contemporaries in the face. It's okay to tear your hair out now. I won't tattle. MellowHigh, if it's the hip hop act poised to lead some sort of modern revolution in rap makes me want to ram myself into an actual brick wall until I lose consciousness. At least sweet nothingness should be a welcome respite. I feel saddened not only for the people who dash right out to buy this album, or scramble to load it on iPod, but for the record industry that thrusts this onto the public without so much as a pang of a guilty conscience. Rap lovers, art lovers, hell...anyone who spends their days walking around on two feet deserves better than this. The public's introduction to MellowHigh constitutes a low point in hip hop culture.

Who Switchfoot Is These Days Earns Respect

San Diego's Switchfoot first got a major toe hold in the door of major league success in 2003 with the album "The Beautiful Letdown" and its two singles "Meant to Live" and "Dare You to Move". The singles moved at more of a methodical pace than "Who We Are", the first single lifted from the soon to be part of your iPod shuffle (maybe?)album "Fading West". I believe that switch to a more uptempo sound is a plus. Why you may ask? The shift into third gear gives us the chance to hear the very soul of what makes this band compelling. For starters, give Chad Butler the nod for the talents he uses on drums. The technicolor dazzle on this record is due in no small measure to the playful way Chad moves his way around the kit. Personally, the chorus and subsequent refrains have a zippy demeanor that says "Wouldn't this song sound in its element if performed by members of the cast of Glee? It's not hard at all to fathom. The cast would be singing about how there's still time enough to choose who they are. The segment involving "the fever of our youth" is tailor made to be uttered by a member of that cast. It would be a mistake to pigeonhole Switchfoot as strictly a Christian rock outfit, although that's one of the genres they've been associated with. They can wield the pop rock goods just as easily and with the same level of compelling verve as any one of the current crop of pop-rock outfits out there. Kudos goes out to the crew working the production helm for performing the neat trick of giving this band a highly affecting spit and polish job when the chorus is sung. The glittery, newly washed imagery is hard to shake. It's as if they're bathed in the most incandescent of lights and not even the darkest of hours is going to spoil that for them. Drew Shirley electrifies on guitar. It's his noteworthy presence on this record that opens the door to the unrestrained aggression of words and rhythm. At the opener his contribution sounds like it's levitating in a quadrant of outer space somewhere. When it does re-enter the earth's ozone the results are astounding. Tim Foreman's bass work is the solid ground lead vocalist Jon Foreman's voice rests on. The two meld with a seamless ease that moves the storyline embedded in the lyrics along gracefully. One section of the lyrics I find particularly poignant is that of "the child unbroken by the wheels gone by". If adulthood and the insisted upon burdens therein leave you wanting to gag (and who isn't feeling that vibe on occasion?) you'll take to these words like a duck takes to water. I'm nodding my head in approval at the reference to adults who say to their kids, quite possibly because they have no more of a clue how to escape the rising tide than their offspring, "It's complicated". Also, we hear about how it's the fight, the struggle that makes people who they are. Switchfoot is declaring victory of a sort over adversity. This band has graduated from the cautious steps of ten years ago to a sure-footed confidence that agrees with them in every phase of their interaction as a unit. "Who We Are" reveals the blissfully divine answer that...they are a dynamic fivesome churning full steam ahead. It'll be a real treat seeing what direction they go from here.

There's No Body Behind Lady Gaga and R. Kelly's Performances

Much of love has to do with chemistry. If you either are someone or are related to someone who watched daytime soaps you know the love match has to sizzle on screen for it to be convincing. On paper putting Lady Gaga together with the more chart and libido tested R. Kelly seemed like a good idea. The lamentable fact of the matter is their "Do What You Want" collaboration doesn't amount to much more than a slightly down tempo way to work off those pounds acquired after a self indulgent dinner of fast food. Don't misunderstand me. The background is plenty sweaty enough. But all that's left behind the scenes is some street tough posturing from R and the grating after several listens caterwauling of "Do what you want with my bo-dy." I doubt there are too many people who warm up to a solid dose of nagging, in the bedroom or otherwise. Repetition is what makes a song hook inviting. The more instant reaction that is attached to this hook is "Pardon me folks, I'm closing the door on this thinly veiled stab at innuendo." If it makes R more at ease in his own skin I'm not one of those haters he's motivated to rough up. Believe me I've looked in the mirror lately. There's no way I'm winning that smackdown. On to more analysis of this reverse cougar relationship duet. Anyone out there bored with hearing about the trials and tribulations of being a glam celeb for whom the glare of the spotlight has become a strain? If so, that's easy to relate to. Poor dears. All the cash and acclaim and attention and heavy breathing must result in some hideous beast of a migraine. We can do what we want with Gaga's body. Leave her heart and mind alone. At times it's a good thing Gaga knows how to sell her rather elaborate image because lyrics like aren't a convincing overture to my wanting to first undress her with my eyes and then proceed to the visual demonstration of manly aggression. You'll notice it's got just the right tempo for plugging away on the Stairmaster, albeit at the slowest or second slowest speed. If you focus hard enough you'll agree there's something about the mood of the song that calls out for a headband, a fresh towel, and a bottle of nearby Evian water. As one of the reigning pop divas I'm sure Gaga needs to constantly put out at least a small pebble of artistry to ensure her "little monsters" that their queen hasn't forgotten to nurture them properly. Too bad "Do What You Want" barely advanced past the stage of fluffy appetizer. Maybe R. Kelly was trying to inject his aura back into the public eye. After all "Sex Me" was, in music trend terms, a lifetime ago. "Do What You Want" hopefully won't take you nearly as long to forget. A fresh concept is in order. Yeah, we get that you're not bothered by what the media rags print about you. Yes, we see you writhing in anticipation for the desire to rip your clothes off. How sad it is to be a jaded music listener. Don't put on a makeshift exercise tape with your unavoidable celeb hoof prints on it and expect I'll melt like ice cream in the hot Texas sun. Not for a second is this the condemnation of a man who's set in his musical ways. I'm merely saying that the wide gulf between the slot on the Best Buy (those do still exist all you app navigating young whippersnappers!!) shelf and a slot in my music library only gets shortened when the talent involves doesn't whip up a batch of the gyrations I've had placed on my table too many times to mention. Once in a while it would be nice if substance triumphed over style. "Do What You Want" is not one of those times.

The Fray Barely Manages To Stay Off Life Support

One thing The Fray has had a grip on throughout its under ten year recording career is how to sell the drama. "Over My Head (Cable Car)" was lousy with tension that was impossible to turn away from. The line "With eight seconds left in overtime" drove the urgency home. Ditto for "How To Save a Life". There was this compelling mix of skillful ambience and enough heart dragging melodrama that, like with any good romance novel, you couldn't put it down. For its new single "Love Don't Die" these guys have managed to pull off a feat that I don't think many bands can equal. They take a life affirming concept and still make it sound like it's barely managing to breathe. For example the chorus harmonizing makes me think of ghostly spirits that have sprung from the former site of the body. I know. I know. "Love Don't Die" demands that at least some element of the song be eerie. To his credit Dave Welsh is a piston on lead guitar. Momentum builds, or gives us all hope that it might. The linchpin message is...well...see song's title if I fail to be witty enough to push the point across. The first verse teaches us that, in love (how might that be different from any other area of life might I ask?) actions speak louder than words. The Egyptian pyramids aren't as old as that truism. In other words no reason to reinvent the wheel, is there fellas? Ben Wysocki eventually adds his brand of ballsy on drums. Just when we where getting comfy with the guitar. Later on in the song, lead vocalist Isaac Slade introduces the notion of love as some kind of twisted chain letter. That's the unintentional take away I'm getting anyway. "She can break it up, shake your money down, you can box it in, bury it in the ground. You can close it off and turn away, try to keep it down, six feet in the ground, but love don't die. There first ideas in place hint at a woman who either wants to put the skids on the relationship or take her man to the cleaners. Fair enough so far. It is kind of darkly humorous that the band waxing harmonious on how to save a life would now be tossing off burial imagery. Sure that's used in the service of proving the point that you can't kill love but part of the time it's as if they foursome is telling us to think of love as a bomb that one must toss aside before it makes fertilizer out of you. Ever played the game hot potato as a kid? Welcome back to those heady (or not) times. Why not just say you can't fold, mutilate or spindle it either. That's an awful lot of emotional contortion work for something that's miraculously pure of heart and intention. There are songs I've heard during my music listening years that are just long enough to get their points across before politely conceding to the blissful (yes it does exist) sound of silence (No offense or copyright mangling intended for Simon and Garfunkel). "We're The Same" a track by Matthew Sweet from the '90s is one example. Creates all kinds of '60s retro yummy and then at a hair over 3 minutes, disappears impishly back into the music miasma. Another is "Spirits In The Material World" from The Police. Not even 3 minutes before the three of them decide they've conveyed what they meant to convey. What's creepy here(yes it's post Halloween now but bear with) is the layout of the beat isn't even clear until after the bridge. Then you realize how your brain was supposed to processing the flow the whole time. "Love Don't Die" suffers from the problem that even 3 minutes 4 seconds is too long for what's strictly a drawn out tribute to a theme that's been trampled on so much I wonder how it has the life force left to lift a pinky finger. This song can be found on the band's new "Helios" effort. I have a hard time managing to figure out why you'd want the album if the energy level remains this tepid throughout but that's one for the court of public opinion to decide. In The Ear Buzz jurisdiction I find The Fray guilty of not managing to work up a worthy enough lather for their return to the scene. I sentence them to listen to the collected works of AFI. There's a band that can remind people of how you induce the shivers in under 3 minutes. Want Exhibit A? Listen closely to "Love Like Winter". "He bit my lip and drank my war" ranks high on the yick-o-meter but revulsion counts as feeling something. In the history of recorded music "Love Don't Die" deserves a mercy killing.