Rascal Flatts Captures Choice Romantic Moments For "Rewind"

There's something undeniably gorgeous about "Rewind", the latest cut from country hitmakers Rascal Flatts. They're articulating a desire I'm pretty sure we've all had at one time or another...the wish to go back in time and relive one of those too good to be true life moments. Picture if you will a sensational moonlit night, the breeze caressing you and your sweetie with due softness. Everything about the sturm und drang world you live in has melted away. You and your beloved are the only important things going on right now. Sincerity thy name is Gary...LeVox that is. His voice is completely captivating. If he could, he'd construct the time machine necessary to relive what's been an ideal evening. This is one memory worthy of holding on to for dear life. Jay DeMarcus tosses in some appealing body. He makes what is already an inviting whirpool bath of a 3 minutes and change single into an intoxicating couple's gaze that Anthony and Cleopatra only wished they had gotten right when they had the chance. The bass progressions are a great match for Gary's request that his best girl "put her midnight hair back up so she can let it fall one more time". Some occasions are extremely worthy of the sentiment "Take a picture. It'll last longer." The next best thing is Gary's daydreaming in the pulsating rhythm of night to hit the rewind button. As an added bonus Jay contributes a perky slice of keyboard that brings out the wondrous mischievousness in the sequence of events that Gary wants desperately not to fade out from crescendo/climax mode. The drumming is highly charged yet not overblown to the point where it's the percussion yelling "Hey, look at me!! I need love too!!" I'm pleased with the rich chorus harmonies Gary, Jay and Joe Don Rooney sculpt into a masterfully angelic whole. The trio's cosmic reversal of the continuum is a neat trick to behold even if it is pulled off in the smoke and mirrors domain of country music. Red wine is the perfect beverage for enjoying this breed of embraceable tune. Country does have a solid reputation of not being stuck on some high shelf where the populace at large can't reach out and touch it. Rascal Flatts continues to wave this banner proudly. Even the most visual of rewind details pops with an unstoppable arousal. Whether it's unkissed lips or untouched skin Rascal Flatts constructs an incredibly well woven argument for why a time machine would be worth the sweat, pocket change, and possible wood chip slivers. "Rewind" passes to the head of the class when it comes to solid in the pocket modern country charisma and pizzazz. If universality makes the difference, this trio hits the bullseye, no questions asked.

Shakira and Rihanna Join Forces For an Unforgettable Dance Romp

Shakira and Rihanna prove themselves in fine form together on "Can't Remember To Forget You" which shall become available in album form on the former's self-titled new album due in March. I'm struck by the potent combination of genre styles weaving their way through the song. The chorus guns it with a guitar charisma that would appear to not be in either singer's wheelhouse so to speak. At the start there's more of a playful strum-oriented guitar moving at what would appear to be breakneck speed. Buoying the prancing pace along is a suitably Caribbean flavor. This plays up to Rihanna strengths than it does Shakira, even though the Colombian songbird makes us forget about possibly being out of her A-game creative element by laying on the high emotion sex appeal she's made her trademark. Don't let the sultry pipes make you think she's merely a pretty face without much else boosting her, as they'd say in the housing market, curb appeal. She's a brainy philanthropist for whom showing skin or, as she proved in 2006 as part of the Wyclef Jean tag team track "Hips Don't Lie", her curvaceous attributes. She's urged the guys to "keep on reading the signs of my body" sans self-conscious hyper awareness. But back we return to the single for which the blog is staking its name credibility. "Can't Remember To Forget You" puts us back in the heart of sentiments such as "Why can't I turn the page on this relationship? Why can't I do a Don Henley, "Boys of Summer" thing and don't look back, never look back?" Ah but you see it's the image of kissing in the moonlight, that crystal vision moment, that embodiment of smoldering perfection that's way better than any of us mere mortals deserve that has her trapped in lover's reminiscence games. Shakira plays the card of not trying to repeat yesterday's mistakes. That's the "before" part of the self-betterment before and after scenario setting up here. Rihanna obviously brings us the after, namely how she's back in the guy's bed, repeating the mistakes Shakira was trying to warn herself off of. Rihanna brazenly admits how she'd go to some pretty non law-conformist things to keep him around, murder and theft to name a few. She'd even give up the last nickel she had. As I have mentioned previously Shakira calls Colombia home and Rihanna hails from Barbados,therefore the several degrees of spice separation featured throughout this highly combustible number make perfect sense. These two post-millennial females have shown in the past that they know how to bring ample flavor to the party as part of duets. Shakira and Wyclef Jean brought "Hips Don't Lie" to the very top of the Billboard hit parade. Meanwhile Rihanna turned the same trick with rap's resident mad genius Eminem on "Love The Way You Lie". Together these femmes lift the flames of insanity saturated desire as high as the limitless sky can take them. It's cool to see Rihanna wind her way back to dance-friendly ditties as she had with "Pon De Replay" and 2007's ubiquitous "Umbrella". Shakira already had tongues rolling with "Whenever, Wherever" The dance purists might say "Can't Remember To Forget You" is simply tantalizing ear wallpaper. Lots of sizzle but precious little meat on the bones. I beg to differ. This song transports Rihanna's already successful career trajectory out of the slutty end of the gene pool it flirted with due to "Unapologetic" and reminds the masses Shakira didn't just fold up her tent and roll away. "Can't Remember To Forget You" is a tasty morsel best enjoyed right out of the oven.

Silversun Pickups Throw Down An Intriguing Mishmash Worth Losing Your Head Over

Silversun Pickups have definitely made a trademark out of coming to the masses with a fired up fuzzbox style of performing. Their toolkit contains the breathtaking sound of both irresistible forces and immovable objects. They enthrall with a blend of throwback and futuristic. Not to mention their lyrics are a true puzzlement. "Cannibal" springs from the jack-in the-box building steam and texture as it goes. I doubt I've heard a vocalist who revels in the gunk of her band's rock noise the way Nikki Monninger does. "Cannibal" is the lone new song off the band's forthcoming best of set "The Singles Collection". As per usual the lyrics are somewhere out in alien nation territory but don't let that stop you from inquiring within. I'd likely be venturing forth to find a language translator in order to get the gist of what Nikki's saying. It's got the quirkiness of old time poetry. The first verse sounds digestible enough, an amusing thing to say about a song called "Cannibal". So the king descends whilst his subjects howl for a feast. Perhaps a bit of the classic LSD was worked into the studio sessions on this one. Groups have carved out careers on the basis of a lasting high so it's not impossible to comprehend. Good thing Brian Aubert lays down guitar bad ass that leaves no doubt who's in charge because the second verse could only be easily made out if you're part of the Silversun Pickups inner posse. I don't say that as a bad thing. I merely advise if you don't want to spend time texting your own inner posse looking for directions on this stoned out of its gourd road map I'd divvy up my leisure time blocks elsewhere. "When they crawl onto the break, it's being gray, well away. Pull the rug howl from underneath this cannibal". (Insert sounds of nighttime crickets chirping without a single human voice to interrupt here). Uh...okay. Hail, well met, all that good stuff. Were the peasants of the peasant class as perplexed as I am right now? Track meets require solid running out of the blocks. Joe Lester, the keyboarding brains leaps off to the races which gives us precious little choice but to see if we can keep the pace. You think you're settled in for one type of listening experience until Brian's guitar, Nikki's bass, and drummer Chris Guanlo descend en masse. Now the party can really get jumping. You'll get chills at the onset of the concluding fade out. For you cinephiles out there who happen to like your leisure with a mix of both movie and music I'd let to sprinkle a scene from Morgan Freeman's Lean On Me into the pot. Remember when Crazy Joe's right hand man, played with nerves of steel by Robert Guillaume, flat out snarled to his contemporary that nobody but Joe himself knew what he was doing during the process of trying to clean up Eastside High? Joe insisted that's exactly how he likes it. The same philosophy runs deep in a Silversun Pickups record. Only the fearsome four know what they're doing and they apparently thrive on it. At no point during "Cannibal" do they get lazy, content to let the sampled beats or the featured guitar hog all the attention. You get a much more toothsome stew letting all the component parts duke it out. Silversun Pickups hand their devotees a highly rewarding nibble that's like a whacked out EKG glimpse into the pulse pounding core of their seldom drab creative process. This'll have to hold the diehards for a little while. That's fine because "Cannibal" hard to pigeonhole sense of swagger reminds us why we fell in love this band in the first place. No one can ever accuse them of not doing experimentation in the test kitchen, dropping what doesn't work, and then re-emerging to the dining hall with an aural entree worthy of the time and effort their fans exerted waiting for the triumphant crest of anticipation. "Cannibal" deserves to be devoured, crumbs and all.

Neon Trees Give Us Juicy Power Pop To Sleep On

It's fitting that Neon Trees is based in Las Vegas. The band leaves in its path the open all night energy that Sin City is best known for. You know the type. The casinos are brightly lit to convey perpetual daylight so rabid gamblers lose track of time and empty their wallets in pursuit of that big score at the slot machine or roulette wheel. From vocal to guitar to synth to drums the brand new "Sleeping With a Friend" single gives off enough heat and electricity to power a Third World Country for at least a week. Tyler Glenn wears his heart about as close to his sleeve as one could hope for. The result is preternaturally bewitching. After Christopher Allen has laid down some super radio friendly riffs and Elaine Bradley ups the fascination quotient with drums that are rapid fire relentless, "Friend" crosses that blissful line from friendly to sweat prompting swarthiness. At its tension fueled center the song explores how dangerous it is for two friends to enter lovers territory. The popular "no one wants to die alone" theme rears its "hold me, I'm so scared" head. We're dealing with star crossed pals but in fact when you take the combined mix Neon Trees has whipped up on its own merits what you have is a divine marriage of sound and use your imagination sight. As any guitarist, legend or wannabe legend should have learned by this juncture in music history is that it's not so much the value of the riff as it is what you manage to do with your skill set to make that riff leap off the fret board, thus insuring it gets a life of its own. Christopher leaps up and down his chosen means of expression's neck with the grace of that cat landing, predictably but joyfully on its feet. Branden Campbell, his bass based tag team partner in ax excellence molds a provocative link in the ongoing story. As this song rounds into form Tyler graduates from being teller of tale to embodying that very guy the younger femmes want holding them when the earth is shaking in undesirable directions. "Pop Psychology" is the to be released in April album. Naturally psychology is the front and center drawing care working behind the scenes in the lyrics. Heart stopping is the only description worthy enough to define the "All my friends" chant like refrain dropping in towards the close of the song. That's what I like to call building up anticipation for the return of the chorus. Any piece of entertainment be it a movie, TV show, or concert has to have a pretty substantial lather worked up to draw attention to how special it wants us to think it is. "Sleeping With a Friend" is tangible progress in the band's development. Where "Animal" was more cutesy than go for broke, "Friend" does what they say the best big time basketball players, the creme de la creme of football players do when the spotlight is turned squarely on them...they leave it all out on the field. The accrued elbow grease delivers payoff in spades. We know Valentine's Day hasn't slid into view as yet. Even so "Sleeping With a Friend" is right up there on the deliciousness scale of one to ten with the best of what the chocolate manufacturers can send our way. Not only is Tyler zeroing in on our vulnerable sides the synthesizer fills seal the deal, planting as many stars as you could hope to obtain on a clear, sultry, tourist saturated night in Vegas, expectations in the upright and locked position. Unlike the many who swarm Vegas seeking the big bucks, Neon Trees guarantees in this outing that music lovers will always come out money ahead. That's a wager I'm proud to accept. Neon Trees clearly shows that its buzzing with the self same light of the Vegas strip. "Sleeping With a Friend" won't leave any of you nodding off. Way too much zing for that risk to assume the menace of reality.

The Boss Plumbs Both Highs and Lows With Equal Ease

The Boss himself uncorks his pen of many colors for "High Hopes". The project is the kitchen sink version of material from past efforts. To his credit he doesn't exclusively rely on one frame of mind to carry the day. Let's suppose up tempo let's not throw in the towel yet sentiments get your mojo blowing and going. "Heaven's Wall" is the track designed to get you over whatever hump is giving you trouble at present. Tom Morello of Rage Against The Machine fame, himself no stranger to electrifyingly executed rock transforms a goodly number of these classics into set pieces with their own special identity. When he cuts loose a song that could have easily sounded phoned in becomes supercharged. I'd say it's a touch new school dressing up and emboldening the old school master. Bruce Springsteen is really a storyteller's storyteller. Music aficionados have grasped that for years. With any luck some of you out there recall Jim Croce's handiwork, specifically "Bad, Bad, Leroy Brown". Jim put together the picture of a man who, if a child accidentally tossed his football into his backyard, he'd likely keep it for himself out of spite. That's certainly what we'd call "meaner than a junkyard dog". Bruce's "Harry's Place" plays out in a very similar vein. You don't mess with Harry's money, women, and all points north, south, east, and west. So in addition to not messing around with Jim, you shouldn't exactly mess around with Harry either. Compelling flavorings of both rock and jazz are at work. Try not to get a sax high. The one we're given here is so silky you'd swear to yourself, "What am I doing even listening to this? I know I sure as hell can't afford finery this exclusive. The title track gets placed in pole position, which is very wise. I say this because each contributing musician is on the top of his games. These individuals aren't mere performers, they're gourmet chefs contributing to a soup that's such a blast to make that prep time, however long that may have been, is hardly a sore point with anybody. The drumming explodes and, by the time you've come back down to Earth, a full on royal jam session is coalescing. That's some sinister bass line guiding this aircraft higher and higher. I bet "High Hopes" the collection wouldn't have been so hotly anticipated if "Harry's Place" kicked it off. Way too rough and tumble to drop defenses. "Just Like Fire Would", which was released as a single earlier this week, like "High Hopes" approaches audiences with a winning payload of spirit. Guitar and drums gel to make the track an inviting pair of skis for Bruce to spin his yarn over. "Frankie Fell In Love" stakes its claim to uniqueness on gorgeous fiddle playing, one of the more refined instruments you're ever bound to hear. "This Is Your Sword" is Bruce's call to shelter when the rains of this life come crashing down way too much for our liking. You'd have though The Boss was consulting with Flogging Molly whose Irish sensible harmonies are the catalyst for their abiding reputation as an incomparable act. "American Skin (41 Shots)" is by far the creepiest of the batch. To pair it in the same bunch as a spit and polished re-do of "The Ghost of Tom Joad" was ecstasy with a capital "E". "Down In The Hole" plays up Bruce's kinship with the common man by yielding the spotlight to banjo and church organ, both of which hint at the desire for a roof raising soul revival. One of course rooted in country spunk, the other in the undaunted power of the gospel tradition. "High Hopes" possesses the octane to give anyone hope that, in an ever morphing unpredictable world, Bruce Springsteen's ability to remind us how he's one of rock's great poets and troubadours is reliable money in the bank.

You Can Feel The Luxury In Flo Rida's Lap

Cue the lights of the bustling metropolis. Flo Rida's pulling up in his limo flashing the megawatt smile of a man whose lifestyle is the envy of many of us mere mortals. If you'd like to have yourself a taste of what the brother's advertising then get thyself to "How I Feel". As has become the norm with these rap productions there's a larger than life cosmic presence. Those are snazzy horns you're hearing. Yup, ditto on the violin accents. Hold onto your seats, kiddos. Flo's gonna take us on smooth ride detailing just how ghetto fabulous he is. Who among us is surprise that Flo drops a Miami Vice reference into the mix. Back in the day Crockett and Tubbs were two of the most style conscious of any TV cops out there. In this case Flo has a few Miami Vices that I'm ascertaining relate to his credit card and how loathe he is to be a cost conscious Wal-Mart shopper. Lonesome for the brawny thump of programmed percussion? That's in Flo's bag of tricks. Of particular fascination to me is how large a departure "How I Feel" is from "Low" the not even close to being classic yet because it hasn't been ten years since it dropped so let's not go there shall we jam. "Low" wore its hood grit (as hyped up by synths as it was) proudly on its sleeve. "How I Feel" prefers to do the swinging thing with the hep cats. Toto, we're not in 2014 anymore. We're touching down in the heart of social scene making your grandpa would've killed to confess he was a part of. You'll be challenged by the highbrow intimations. "Low" was easier to touch and damned near impossible to shake from your cranium. "How I Feel" could prove to be an acquired taste like French cinema or chocolate covered bacon. Part of the beautiful people crowd for sure. Though the vid echoes scenes from a magical night, the lyrics center squarely on birds flying, new day rising, the clean slate charisma of the morning light. As magic tricks go, Flo's given us a nice split screen bit of happy place distraction. The party ain't over 'til he says so. He does know how to throw a class bash, that's for sure. The song cashes in its chips at the 2:58 mark. Don't see that as a liability. Flo states his case surrounded by swirling, time of our lives sparkle, reaffirms who's in charge, then lets the needle go silent. In short order you can pick up Mr. Rida's new album, boastfully titled, "The Perfect 10". I wouldn't say "How I Feel" is a perfect jolt of hip-hop happiness but it's certainly a snappy way to keep those severe cases of the blues locked in a Debbie Dowmer proof booth for a little while. Sometimes entertainment that doesn't demand too much of its audience fills the bill quite nicely. You'll be glad you stopped in for a spin in Flo's flow zone.

Randy Houser Plants a Nourishing "Goodnight Kiss"

There's something admirable about a country performer who can shift his delivery from sensitive crooner to aggressive man boy in the blink of an eye. Feel free to place 38 year-old Randy Houser on that list. Why put off the aforementioned "goodnight kiss"? No better time than the present, and imagine the rewards implied therein. Randy's contribution to the country genre extends beyond his what you see is you get technique. His backing musicians, specifically the drummer boy and piano player dude ramp up the not so dangerous liaisons quotient by leaps and bounds. Insert "steamy" where "dangerous" once resided and you've got the appeal of this number nailed. I'm impressed by how there's more than one contour winding its way through this well told tale of man, woman, and the lips that are destined to come together. Randy cranks up his engine, as do his backup musicians when the chorus begins. Whatever desperation Randy's conveying, give him props for not going overboard. He's a soul lost in the captivating moment of a goodnight kiss and why on earth would he want to leave those comfy confines when the weather is so ideal right then and there. When we get to the lyric swing in the road which starts with: "I don't wanna wait", we've left mighty river of love territory and traded that for the steady, bubbly streams of a top of the line jacuzzi. The piano player lights a candle without having to reach for wax. The drummer takes it nice and easy, a tribute to the infinite worth of indulging in an unrushed moment. Randy softens his heightened gaze at this point, too. What I'm detecting is this individual can be both Mr. Sensitive and Mr. Rough and Tumble. Certainly keeps any pillow talk lively. "How Country Feels" is the album "Goodnight Kiss" comes from. Tenderness isn't a big concern if this single's any indication. Three albums into his career he is a promising talent on the new country scene. Although I wouldn't recommend his variety of social skills in the third stanza. In the name of romance all is easily forgiven I suspect but still, calling up the friends your woman had just communicated with to say there's not going to be a group rendezvous is a fine way to lose friends and alienate people. That ultimately is Mr. Houser's disclaimer to issue. The band meets my key requirement of not choosing to hang your hat on one lick. The letters A through G are all part of the musical landscape. A more deeply realized painting is created when the cast and crew fill out the canvas entirely. To boot every set of chords employed enhances the desirability of Randy and his lady, makes them a pair you want to experience plenty more goodnight kisses along the way. "Goodnight Kiss" easily demonstrates why Randy Houser's career should by no means by given the royal kiss off.

Pharrell Williams Easily Accentuates the Positive With "Happy"

You know the saying "Life isn't about waiting for the storms to pass. It's about learning how to dance in the rain?" Use Pharrell Williams as your go-to umbrella and there's not a storm Nature can whip up that can nudge you out of being in a good mood. The chorus is a supremely amusing throwback launch to the '60s. Their joined voice is divinely airbrushed to where there's not a rough edge to be had. As this video shows positive vibrations bust out all over the place. There's a church choir scene which represents astute visual placement because the call to be joyous echoes on a level the folks who take up regular residence in the pews would easily appreciate. The percussive groove line has a special kick in its step. The gliding motions of the song are nothing short of effortless. You'd actually belief happiness is one of Life's great, noble truths if you listened in long enough. The track is now taking up acreage on The Despicable Me 2 movie soundtrack. There's much sweat equity involved in acquiring the knowledge of how to be comfortable in one's own skin. "Happy" passes the test with flying colors. In all phases the moving parts are all on the same page. How long has it been since you've been exposed to a song that's tailor made to be clapped along to? Pharrell has a superbly ingratiating personality that wraps itself around your world weary arms and assures you whatever's bugging you, take both heart and courage. Everything will in fact, despite your misgivings, turn out okay. Another element which makes "Happy" a pressure assuaging twinkling bolt out of the blue is that it's a fine antidote in any kind of weather. Makes sunny days even brighter. Deflates the blahs from that way overextended winter chill. Gives you your fighting spirit in the middle of a torrential rainstorm. Who says pop music needs to channel anything approaching Einstein smarts to be effective? Jim James from My Morning Jacket agrees great music doesn't have to stem from a dark place exclusively. From the sounds of things Pharrell Williams was taking detailed notes. "Happy" is a delightful presence on the chart scene. Add it to your iPod and you'll be channeling your inner Bob Fosse in no time.

Airborne Toxic Event's Hell Is Too Tepid

I'm the type of guy who gets very excited by blistering chord changes. For me that demonstrates a recording artist notices the full possibilities of what music can do for mind, body, and soul. There isn't a whole lot of gusto lurking within LA outfit Airborne Toxic Event's contribution to Matthew McConaughey's star vehicle Dallas Buyers Club, "Hell and Back". Given that we're not so far into the new year that it's already time to start full on grousing and grouching about things I'd like to start this post with what's admirable about the song. The brotherhood affirming "Sha na na" chorus is right friendly. You'd value the opportunity to swap tales with a chum of this caliber. Also, Noah Harmon's upright bass is spellbinding. I can't knock "Hell and Back" for getting into a rhythm and opting to stay the course in order to keep listeners ears firmly on the prize. What my sticking point is regards how much mileage you have to drain from what's a pretty monotonous C chord harmony. Really dazzling songs tend to go all over the place like a runaway firecracker. "Hell and Back" is a straight, rigid arrow destined for only one direction. That'll put you, the listeners, in good stead if marching, undemanding, yet faintly purposeful songcraft is to your liking. Otherwise you might need an anti-snooze medicine to stay afloat. Mikel Jollett, the head tonsil flasher for the tribe conveys Matthew's on screen sex appeal which has brought him a long way from the days Austin locals remember, the days of hammering out tribal notes on the bongos. Daren Taylor is in large part a drummer motioned into background service. There's no need to insist he get all Alex Van Halen but his is an understated touch. Anna Bulbrook is part of the previously mentioned chorus. A woman's touch is certainly a bonus here. She and Noah blend in all the right places. The lyrics spotlight the value of the human touch, of connectedness. That's reasonable enough. It's the love of a good woman blueprint all over again. Boy tries to walk away from girl. Girl somehow gets boy to come crawling back. Let's play the drinking game. Anytime future tunes attempt to re-preach this message, let's take a sip of whatever spirit is close at hand. Drunken merriment is bound to ensue. Nothing particularly merry or sprinting away from the pack different about "Hell and Back" To put it bluntly the band's NAME is more exciting than the song they're promoting. There's nothing desirable about that conclusion. Dallas Buyers Club made the list of nominees for the 2014 Oscars. "Hell and Back" isn't going to come anywhere near my end of year list, still light years away from conception, of the five best songs of 2014. Don't misunderstand me, "hate" is not the verb I'm going for here. It's simply not hellfire spicy enough to warrant much more than slight shrug league attention. One of the lines in the choral refrain is: "My mind's like a one way track and every one is taking me back to you." Fitting, isn't it? One track mind...one track sound. Not a winning recipe.

Foster the People Have Aged Nicely

I'm going to go out on a very short limb here and say that Foster The People's "Coming of Age" single has the goods to be the band's latest worldwide smash. This trio has lost none of the punch that's been associated with its prior hit "Pumped Up Kicks". You'll have "Coming of Age's" chorus bouncing around the walls of your brain for days to come. Please let it have its way with you. The sensation is a good thing. Mark Foster confidently takes the mike and we're touched by the sensitive guy card he's punching in. As we've been told time and again never looking back is the key to keeping one's sanity. Rabid dogs everywhere rejoice. Your pop culture moment has arrived. In this case Mr. Foster is incorporating the canine in comparison to a wounded lover with those familiar crying eyes, possibly bloodshot from the anguish. Nobody takes a down off as they say in the gridiron universe. Mark Pontius is on fire on the drums. He pours every drop of sweat into making this song the most captivating it can be. It's truly the instrument equivalent to a well-choreographed riveting jackhammer. Only here you're not likely to walk away from the experience with a splitting migraine. Meanwhile on bass, Cubbie Fink slips a contemporary nightlife mentality over this passion play. We begin with Mark dropping in a keyboard audio tease that makes you think the heavenly angels are hovering over the three as they work their magic. Don't blink because the green light is quickly enforced. The idea of using a time lapse video to accompany the song was a mild stroke of genius because the uncontrollable energy of Foster The People is most easily appreciated if there are moving pictures moving at this fast a clip to set the scene. Rather than rely on one instrument to take the lead, to put "Coming of Age" over the top in the pick hit department, the entire smorgasboard is dropped into the stew pot. As we round the turn and head for home Mark shifts focus from synths to piano. Sincerely put, they already had my attention with this quilt of beautiful cacophony. As any music merchandiser worth his salt will tell you, the key to selling a song is mining it for the hook, that part of the song which makes the earwig possible, that musical star quality that stays embedded in your head, lodged in your bloodstream long after the song itself has reached a conclusion. "Coming of Age" comes armed for bear. That's ironic given Mark sings about being bored with lover's games, with the fight of lovers involvements in general. No matter though, "Coming of Age" is going only one direction...right to the top of the charts of any nation that keeps up with musical popularity. I doubt it will take as much time for the song to catch on as it did "Pumped Up Kicks". My fingers are crossed anyway. If other songs on "Supermodel", presently slated for a March release are even half as good as "Coming of Age" the band is going to be a top draw on tour, sweet music to record retailers, and not short on the moolah needed to finance other links on their creative chain. Their brand of firepower is welcomed during a point in history where the strength to continue is in short supply for a dishearteningly large number of people across the globe. There's no weakness to be found in the song...unless of course rich melodies and a tempo to sink your teeth into are pet peeves.

Lea Michele's Voice Packs the Power of a Cannonball

Unless you've been living in a cave, hiding out on Mars, or been way too busy to follow current TV trends you know that "Glee" broke out of the 2000s pack to become the little show that could. It became cool to appreciate glee club again. The stunning pipes of Lea Michele have much to do with the show's appeal among its core constituents. A girl's gotta step out on her own, right? Lea easily proves she doesn't need her supporting cast to boost her launch into the spotlight. Her first solo single, "Cannonball" is a tremendous showcase for her talent. If you love the high stakes drama Lea brings to her on screen character, Rachel Berry, you're going to soar over the moon upon downloading "Cannonball". Such muscle coming from such a Venus De Milo type beauty. Thanks to the pulse pounding drumming and piano/organs behind her Lea doesn't have to work all that hard to find her place in that world. As the song runs its addictive course, Lea's inner strength only grows more attractive. The realm of new beginnings is the canvas she uses to paint her vocal masterpiece. For a good many of us letting the light back in after a harsh setback can be one of the biggest, growth inducing decisions we will ever make. Lea makes the journey sound like payoff isn't merely possible, it's highly inevitable. Finding our personal truths is part of that journey. Lea underscores hers with the familiar light at the end of the tunnel scenario. She's ready to face the world instead of allowing it to crush the tour-de-force of nature that she is. In this very early stage of 2014 this song's choral refrain is one of the most compelling you're going to hear. As the accompanying video demonstrates, the camera simply adores Lea. No matter what pose she's striking her effortless grace jumps right off the small screen. Facing fear and opting to let go of it isn't an easy request to make of ourselves either. Again, with Lea there to plant the seed in our minds it doesn't seem like a peak we can't scale. Try not to get swept up in the heft that the rhythms contribute. Lea's voice and said rhythms march stride for stride in the swagger department. Lea's debut effort may be called "Louder" but her exquisite ability on "Cannonball" is easily appreciated at whatever level the volume lever's at. Wherever the late Corey Monteith is right now, I bet you he's got an ear to ear grin as wide as the Grand Canyon on his face.

Pitbull and Ke$sha Get All Harmonica Hoedown For "Timber"

Today it's hopefully going to be me giving you a thoughtful analyasis of "Timber", a song that's currently Billboard's Numero Uno. It combines the talents of Miami's own Pitbull and the ubiquitous Ke$sha of "Tik Tok" fame. I can tell you right off that you can get a party started with this jam. That's due in no small measure to the adorable harmonica that's a firm fixture in the background. Who knew Ke$sha could get, as Marie Osmond might have summed it up, a little bit country. She already has the rap bad girl (or suburbs stab at it) act down cold. This time she's being transported to hoedown land. None of the peak hour drunken debauchery that here catalog to this point has been based on. You music maniacs may recall in Pink's "U and Ur Hand" she sang, "I can tell that's it goin' down...tonight." "Timber" has got to be the first time any artist of any persuasion ever followed up "It's going down" with "I'm yelling timber". I'm not sure whose going to be depositing more royalty checks on the basis of trees making a star appearance. Smokey The Bear must not be feeling too chipper right about now. Again, timing is everything. The guy who posed for the Brawny paper towel brand shouldn't be left out of the financial windfall. Never before have we learned exactly what is "going down". Often it's implied in music that a party or an ass-whooping can be expected on the immediate horizon. But we haven't gotten certain visible proof of the circumstance. Miley Cyrus doesn't know it yet but she says thank you Pitbull for injecting her already overexposed puss into another contemporary music project. The hombre does need to be careful in pushing the reverse cougar angle. He's 32 and she only recently became street legal 21. Twerking, the slutty dance Miley has brought into the modern vernacular, is part of Pitbull's rap landscape. He had to have pulled those lyrics straight out of the quasi-legendary MTV Video Music Awards where Miley twerked, writhed, and essentially made an entire order of nuns expire of fatal heart attacks at the sight of her yellng bullhorn style through her choice of expression, "Look at me!! I'm not Hannah Montana anymore!" "Would somebody please have their way with me?" Why does "timber" pop up at the tail end of each line of Pitbull's lyrics during his first salvo of scintillating speaking? Moreover I'm not quite clear if "timber" is supposed to be an interjection or a casually tossed off title word that loses all vigor each time we hear it. I guess it boils down to a lightly titillating track that gives America's forestry industry its day in the sun. As you might have known the bass booms yet again. Got to have something for the impromptu hand claps to feed off of. "Twerking in their bras and thongs, eh Pitbull?" How thoughtful it is of you to seize the short attention span audience that missed Miley's video show infamy (or brilliance if your BVD's swing that way). Seriously Alan Thicke's Jason Seaver would have analyzed the bejeebers out of son Robin's participation in this Sodom and Gomorrah stage demonstration. "One more shot, another round. End of the night, it's going down." So "Timber" is what we're all supposed to yell out when one of our drunken homies slides off his barstool in a drunken lump. Trees? Intoxication? Would you guys make up your mind already? I'm the last person to insist a song must mean something but I would appreciate knowing how to categorize the title. "Swing your partner round and round" summons up the whole hoedown in the hood concept. And we're right back to "End of the night, it's going down". Both Pitbull and Ke$sha picked the "If you can't convince 'em, confuse 'em." tack for their lyrics. "Timber" is like a decent morally sound acquaintance. You don't mind exchanging hellos to each other and possibly sharing a brief coffee together, but you wouldn't want the guy wearing out his welcome with a super-sized visit. Your relatives have no doubt heard of 3-Minute Brand Oats. "Timber" slides right into the rote 3-Minute Brand pop formula. Are you going to be rendered speechless long after the song ends? No. But you'll be hard pressed not to think of it as a jocular little boost to your day-to-day batch of to-dos. By the way...do you have any idea how frustrating it is to have a blog where your most recent "compliments" are diluted in a no-fat milk way because the artists, the record companies, the booking agents, etc...aren't giving you solid wood to chop at? "Timber" at best rates a polite smile because the body of this tree is matchstick thin.

Jason Derulo and 2 Chainz "Dirty" Deed Is a Raunchy Riot

We're at the juncture in my rap-based blog posts where I already know the musical content isn't exactly going to set the world on fire so it's come down to me discerning what the lesser of the two immediate evils happens to be. You'll recall Lil' Jon didn't score so high which, by default, leaves Jason Derulo and 2 Chainz as the victors with "Talk Dirty". To their credit they're having naughty fun over another set of exotic sounding instruments. The self same Egyptian mystery DJ Snake employed for "Turn Down For What" hovers over this air but I say if you're going to give the record downloading public another in the seemingly never ending parade of audio porn rappers serve up it would behoove you to do so with some joir de vive. As the accompanying video shows arousing dance moves are part of the deal. Nothing here comes close to a pronounced strain of two hip-hoppers taking themselves and their art way too seriously. That's a relief. For a minute there I thought every rapper's persona had to drop down on us like a ton of hood-hardened bricks. The bass fill lines are scrumptious. The horn add-ins are also unafraid to drop the intensity level. Jason elects to do the Sean Paul route for a short bit with his Jamaican tinged delivery. He keeps his verbal undressing clean for the most part. The praising of black booty isn't new to the hip-hop realm. The most risque TMI he leaves us with is: "I got lipstick stamps for my passport. I think I need a new one." 2 Chainz blasts into the throwdown and proceeds to give the arena filling public an indecent proposal they'd more than likely want to leave on the table. What I'm referring to is: "Dos Cadenas, clothes are genius. Sold out arenas you can suck my penis." Ought to bring this dude over to my crib if I ever need some sort of an appetite suppresant. No thanks, Mr. Chainz sir, but if I'm going to suck on anything I'd rather it be either a Flavor Ice or a Fudgsicle. I won't play stern den mommy with this basically because all of this swagger is presented in an easily dismissable, too over the top to grant any boy returned to the hood street snarl. Let me compare and contrast Lil Jon's "Turn Down For What" and "Talk Dirty" for a second. The former barely leaves the perimeter of the three and a half minute mark yet hardly does more than bark out the title track and leave synthesized snake hissings. The latter does have a funny little thing called actual words being uttered that fill the majority of the barely shy of three minutes and ten seconds song. Sure, I don't want Chainz cock corrupting my air space but I appreciate being given lyrics to get grossed out to. Make sense to you in an oddball way? Glad to hear it. I'd rather have three minutes of debatable content over time killer any day. Tongue planted in cheek Jason and Chainz ham it up like Hormel was declaring ham soon to be out of style. Turn to "Tattoos", Jason's album if you want a take home souvenir of a rap track that, while no one would confuse it for brilliant art, is a nice goofy alternative to the probably not likely to end anytime soon barrage of rap about how I got more bling (paper, dead Presidents, et al...) than you got. To some of you I may come off like I'm begrudingly spreading kindness Jason and Chainz' way, but that's not the case. All I'm doing is telling you what the best of the current rap table scraps happen to be. To show you how much I respect Chainz' way of slicing through bullshit with a putty knife let's take a quick peak at some more lyrics: "Gilbert Arenas, guns on deck. Chest to chest, tongue on neck, international oral sex. That I guess makes him the James Bond of bone jumping. International? Wow. Ambitious little pervert, huh? Gotta like his strut factor. "Talk Dirty" isn't merely talk. It wallows around in its scandalous mud with the pride free air of a pig who's savoring the body textures of USDA grade A slop. I am glad it's a short track. As is true with servings of alcohol, it's often advisable to know when to say when. Let the wine breathe, pour it out, slam it down, and then get on with the remainder of your business. Jason and 2 Chainz followed directions well. Therefore what we're getting is a song that makes filthiness a trait that's not too abhorrent.

"Neon Lights" Is Only a Ten Watt Source of Energy

Had enough of those party in a box, sounds like a organ grinder machine getting ready to bite your face off with the sheer power of its glory types of pop hits? I'm sorry, then. This post will have you saying all of those wash your mouth out with soap words both your mom and grandma don't want you uttering in their wizened presence. The perpetrator? Demi Lovato. The song? "Neon Lights". A neon light by its nature can be quite rough on the eye sockets. It's associated with tackiness. What I'm struck by, not flatteringly I might add, is the way Demi's voice kind of stays languishing in this husky range that's meant to be femme fatale but is more like an uncomfortable attempt on her part, the AutoTune's part, or bad timing's part, to settle into a workable groove. Maybe the party in a box bombast I referred to earlier is only a way to distract us from the fact that her Disney followers are going to be the sole source of wind beneath her wings keeping the song on the charts for an appreciable length of time. What is it about the record industry that makes it practically obsessed with those processed drums on speed? Should I listen or avert my gaze in case the menacing adrenaline buzz becomes so lethal that something in the room blows up at the sonic crescendo? Label heads everywhere must think, "I know. Let's try a number with one of those irresistible drums that intensifies with every elapsing second, one of those percussion doohickeys that makes you feel like an earthquake is going to uncork any second now. Frankly, I'm not doing cartwheels over the "falling through time and space" sound effects preceding the last round of the chorus. Been there. Heard that. Am beyond any believable parameters of bored already. Did I forget to tell you that both Demi's vocal intensity and the oomph behind party in a box ratchet up a bit? I may now cross that off the to-do list. For all I know (which, in this case, you could likely fit inside the keratin fiber of my thumb)Demi's a perfectly charming young woman. She'd better be. Her net worth is 15 million dollars. I don't suppose she could fit a few filet mignon dinners with a certain blogger/music journalist wannabe into her next barnstorming tour, hmm? But back to this very formulaic drawing board. The audience isn't told to expect much, ergo Demi's under no pressure to deliver it. As they say, you get what you pay for. Decide for yourself whether you've been gouged or not. Many's the teen who's going to dance her little tush off. I'm not as easily smitten. The lyrics are PG-rated affirmation of self. There's nothing objectionable about that. Didn't Katy Perry trumpet individuality with "Firework" though? Demi's world also has shooting stars. The innocuous "can't wait to get you back to my bedroom" come hither intimations are there. "We'll be burning up like neon lights"? The promise attached to that imagery would certainly have me stripping down to my BVDs. All I wanna do is glow like some ostentatious tube of light I caught a giant eyeful of blazing off of the greasy spoon sign on the corner. I realize this song, like pretty much any song in Demi's bag of tricks has not been recorded with me in mind. I'm but an insignificant piece of dust. Much the same can be said about "Neon Lights". You can work up a baby sweat to it, but that's as far as the potential ecstasy goes. After that guilt could set in about having wasted cosmic energy for no really satisfying reason. Regrettably "Neon Lights" burns its wattage out too quickly.

Dan + Shay Unveil a Great Way to Beat The Winter Chill

Need some pleasant distraction to keep you from going apeshit over the many times you've had to shovel the snow off your driveway in recent months? If you're tuned to calm oasis in the epicenter of your mind you'd be wise to check out country duo Dan + Shay's introduction to the musical hemisphere, "19 You + Me." Yes, it is possible for visions of alluring sandy beaches to give your skull a friendly massage. We're not talking brain surgery level concept, but therein lies its brilliance. The song works on every level that matters, no matter what age you are. As I've grown to discover more and more in recent years, nostalgia has a powerful pull on many people's hearts. Why do you think The Eagles were a big concert draw not too many years ago? In more recent times why do you think Bill Cosby can still generate laughs as if he was in the infancy phase of his career? Why is Aerosmith reliable to this day? In all three cases, the audience knows it's going to be rewarded for expending time, money, and energy with an amazing group experience. If you were ever a child (not biologically possible) and if you ever had a special place you dreaded having to distance yourself from either for a little while or for good, "19 You + Me" is going to have you crying tears of joy with a little bittersweet throat lumpiness tossed in for good measure. Try taking this song with you to the beach when Old Man Winter isn't unleashing his wrath on the global population. Sunglasses could also boost the overall effect. Don't worry about not being to fit into the bathing suit you prized so much in college. "19 You + Me" is too touching for you to become obsessed with such trivialities. Who are Dan + Shay. Any rewarding conversation starts with a resounding hello so let's take a peek at the twosome's background, what there is of it at this point. Simply put Dan Smyers and Shay Mooney come from Nashville, Tennessee, one of the major see and be seen outlets for country music. They are currently signed to Warner Brothers Nashville, a state of being that only got started in 2012. Oddly enough Shay has a business affiliation with T-Pain. There have certainly been times when artists of differing persuasions have hooked up together to create seminal songs. Run DMC and Aerosmith both got a career jolt when they re-worked the latter's classic "Walk This Way". Johnny Cash was highly praised for doing a reboot of Nine Inch Nails' "Hurt" late in his storied career. Kudos to Shay for thinking of burnishing some street credentials into his burgeoning reputation. Back to the melody at hand. Gentle is the prevailing adjective. The bass guitar licks are inviting. The drum beats are shoreline friendly. The piano transports you to the satisfied zone in your head that can't be rubbed raw by any of the outside world's craziness. Surely someone in my audience has gotten a close enough look at swinging blonde hair that the recollection prompts ear to ear grins at the least, knowing chortles of pleasure at the most. Cascading blond hair swinging in time to the enchanting music. It's pretty brash to pen lyrics like "It was everything we wanted it to be" at a time in American history like this where it doesn't seem like anyone's life is anything like what they wanted or expected it to be. Nothing wrong with exuberant fantasy. Keeps the boredom blahs from consuming you down to the last toenail fiber. Textbook excellent use of simile with waves crashing compared to tears falling. We as listeners don't have to try to hard to slip into a easygoing mood. Dan + Shay have done an incredible job of setting the script up for us. We only need head for the beach, close our eyes, and let in the positive radiance of Dan, Shay, and their time capsule thrill factory. Welcome to the big leagues, you two.

Lil Jon's Turn Down Service Not Worth The Effort

It takes a lot to render me speechless. The world demands you respond to something that you see or else risk becoming a non-factor altogether. Lil Jon has managed to unleash a curiosity (If you're a cartoon fan think Cheese from Foster's Home For Imaginary Friends or, for you classic cartoon lovers, Taz from the Bugs Bunny Road Runner Show). The song's handle is "Turn Down For What". It's already left a crunk rap scar along my easily agitated heart because that title is misleading. If you were to mention the words "turn down" to me, I'd be thinking fancy hotel, satin sheets, your basic Westin grand prize package. What we get here is Jon rapping not much else besides "turn down for what". What's the token novelty verbiage in this crock pot of quizzical? "Ball and out. Let the body shots". Huh? What...in the name of anyone familiar with the English language...does that even mean? As this blog space has already hinted at, I'm not a huge fan of the "direction" rap has taken in the 2010s. So we're going with the backup strategy of minimalist entertainment, less bounce to the ounce (Sorry, Roger Troutman, I'm not trying to desecrate your memory. You might even find the comparison funny). The assisting artiste here is one DJ Snake. I clearly recall Jon's "Snap Ya Fingers" bubbling up with these intriguing, cute little organ harmonies. As for this snake...is it on crack? Should the people behind Slumdog Millionaire think they just got a collective slap to their national face? Late in this game the snake gets "scratch factored". This is perfectly fine if you're a scratch DJ, which one supposes Snake is. The starting point is all "building....building...building to a big climactic wellspring of artistic genius...only it doesn't. You bought the musical meal, unwrapped it, were fully expecting to dine heartily on raw meat but someone in the kitchen forgot to cook it for long enough. Yikes!!! Thank you Mr. Lil and Mr. Snake for not dragging this "bold statement" out for longer than three and a half minutes. Am I to believe my standards for quality entertainment have gotten way too high or have the nation's standards gone lower than a pair of Hanes Her Way after a night of particularly strenuous sex? BEEP BEE-BEEP-BEEP..INTENSE DRUM LEAD-IN..."Turn down for what!" To be followed by the three degrees of Snake oil salesmanship. I'm nostalgic for "Snap Ya' Fingers". At least there Jon had more lines to say. Here he's making an appearance in cameo form only. I'm scared this has made it to the Billboard Top 40. I'm even more afraid of the lowest common denominator audience that's cleaving this close to its bosom. Yes, the snake effects are attention grabbers but only because Jon's attempts at vulgar displays of power have been rendered muzzled for the most part. "Turn Down For What" is rap's new reason for asking "This song is meant to amuse who?" If and when you find an answer please let me know. I'm itching for the enlightenment.

Idina Menzel Warms Hearts With Her Contribution To "Frozen"

This past Thanksgiving I had the privilege of watching "Frozen", one of the most captivating Disney movies in recent memory. What a step up from 2012's "Brave". Idina Menzel factors prominently into the movie as she plays Elsa, the Snow Queen. As befits a royal figure, she has a unique talent. Hers happens to be an icy touch known to cause perpetual winter. Because of this she shuns a great many people out but it's an example of doing wrong for the right reason. She doesn't want to wreak havoc on the kingdom by locking them in a chill habitat. Idina's portrayal is at its most sympathetic when she lets loose with "Let It Go". Naturally Disney injects all the larger than life orchestration the brand is famous for. The imaginative brain trust behind this piece enables Elsa to share with viewers the honest to goodness psychological log jam she finds herself in. Elsa's willing herself to do what your run of the mill shrink would likely shout out a big fat "No friggin' way" to, namely push her real feelings down. Don't tell everyone why her title of Snow Queen more closely resembles the unflattering label "ice queen". Elsa puts up about as brave a front as you could ask for, especially since her adorable joined at the hip sister is one of the individuals she's trying to protect. Like or not the cold never bothered her anyway. Elsa stubbornly hitches herself to the part of the good girl, the one who vows to go along, get along, and all around don't make the waves she has earned the right to touch off. Idina Menzel capably fires off a rocket from the most uninhibited section of her vocal range. Nothing stands between Idina, the vocalist, and Elsa the lead character who, oddly enough draws a strange strength from her ability to stoically forge ahead rather than make the load she's carrying even one percent easier on herself. I'd be tempted to call that martyrdom but, you know what they say about rocks and glass houses, don't you? The arousingly tumultuous mindset adopted by "Let It Go" mirrors the chaos milling around in Elsa's anguished bean very nicely. You'd have to be Scrooge not to want a little peace of mind for her. Idina stunningly shows off her theatre past and, as a result, makes "Let It Go" a standout portion of a movie that already didn't have a problem luring moviegoers into its complex storyline. Idina melts the heart here. As turns in the career road go, Idina made a turn at the right fork.

Hold On...Is That Really Colbie Caillat?

Is there no artist that processed music can't pull into its insidious grasp? The latest victim would appear to be Colbie Caillat, that sunny starlet from Malibu, California who burst into the music business consciousness with her warm fuzzy hit "Bubbly" (Get it? Bubble? Burst? Yes, I know. Music analysis Greg, not stand-up). What was charming about "Bubbly" was you could hear the sincere, organic, easy, breezy, weight of the world not on my shoulders, sun dappled splendor. It was profound enough to lighten the mood of an avowed suicide risk. In the opening stanza of 2014, from first note to last of "Hold On" I hear nothing even resembling that young woman. Instead I hear a cut rate choral refrain which barely slides by thanks to Colbie's vivacious presence. Swanson's dinners aren't as pre-packaged and drained of their bounce quite the way this song is. In order for a song to hold any merit with me I have to be able to discern some sort of characteristic that would make it unforgettable. 'Fraid I have come up dissatisfyngly empty. Colbie's very likely a lovely person in body and spirit but you wouldn't know it from this track. Compounding the problem is what is Colbie even doing accepting this strain of material? The chords applied here resemble Kelly Clarkson's massive hit "What Doesn't Kill You (Stronger)". Why hasn't Katy Perry already snatched this kind of tune up for her own career advancement. I bet when Miley Cyrus gets done twerking, gyrating, and comporting herself like a slut in training she'd probably have the horse sense to get into the studio and save face with a paint by numbers concoction like this. And what a lousy optimism retardant way to begin a new year. We're going around the fading romantic connections mulberry bush I see. Nothing but a love heading for the rocks, destined to sink like a stone, Titanic-style. Where's the spark, Colbie wonders. Their survival as a dynamic duo depends on it. With so many accountings of dried up love over the years it's a miracle anyone wants to try cohabitation, but I guess that's your triumph of the human spirit over being cold cocked by misery, folks. Apparently, one look at Mr. Right, and Colbie opts to hold on. Aah, so that's where the ray of hope lies. Too bad it couldn't resuscitate the song enough to make it sound like honest to goodness human beings were playing instruments on it. Blessedly the song clocks in at a mere 3 minutes and 23 seconds. That's not nearly long enough to make me believe this is step 1 in the process of Colbie putting bullet holes into her career potential. Uncle Greg has a tidbit of advice for her. Please revisit the not too distant past of "Bubbly" and "Lucky". There was security blanket warmth to that. "Hold On" is the victim of a bit too much plastic wrap. Colbie is likable enough. All I ask is that she justify the intimation that she's a shining dynamo of creative good will. The title says "Hold On", but the finished product makes me want to put any serious investigation of her feminine wiles on hold.