Sixx: A.M.'s "Gotta Get It Right" Suffers From Multiple Personality Disorder

Nikki Sixx sure has been around the block a few times. Whether it's nearly checking out on stage with Motley Crue or confiding to VH1 Behind The Music that he and the boys craved a hornier, louder, overdosed lifestyle he always came across as honesty regardless of the cost. If you've seen his puss in a mirror lately you likely can tell in his fifties that those costs are coming back to bite him on the ass but...I digress. One of his healthier outlets at this date happens to be Sixx: A.M. October '14 shall bring with it the release of "Modern Vintage", the side project's third studio album. Trust me when I tell you Nikki's the last person I'd want to have on my enemies list. Still, as a blogger making every effort to be worth his salt, I have to confess that the new "Gotta Get It Right" single doesn't combine modern with vintage in a fashion others won't immediately chuck into the discard pile. Meatloaf could have pasted together the song at the same time he got offered "I Would Do Anything For Love (But I Won't Do That). My Chemical Romance leaps out as a possible newer generation candidate for this material too. How about Panic At The Disco? They'd easily be guilty of an attempt to show off their grown-up skin. Flatly put, There's no trace of Motley Crue grade menace. If Nikki meant to show he's older and wiser then fine, he's succeeded beyond hope. That doesn't mean he had to go wuss on everyone. Lead vocalist James Michael has that lounge act charisma working for him. It should be asked, "Does it work for anybody else?" The song stresses the importance of getting social exchange right while the time is at hand. The drum programmer echoes the newly won (we surmise) maturity barreling through this composition. Nikki's always been a fundamentally strong side man. The chops haven't failed him yet, nor do I expect they ever will. "Gotta Get It Right" is a pinch high on the melodrama scale. It's the type of song you'd expect from a gang of schmoes packed off to fantasy band camp trying to recapture lost glory that was never theirs to begin with. The instruments want you to think Sixx: A.M. has emerged from the cauldrons smarter and improved versions of themselves. Surge upon surge of nattily polished structures. The boys want you attending their service even if you're not sure which sect you favor. Obviously we couldn't expect "Shout At The Devil" or "Dr. Feelgood" indefinitely but as a package "Gotta Get It Right" isn't any more convincing than David Lee Roth's solo interpretations of well worn chestnuts like "That's Life" and "Tobacco Road". The actual potential audience for "Gotta Get It Right" likely lays its head at the same Holiday Inn piano bar circuit. You'd like to tell the lummoxes they've turned straw into gold, reinvented the wheel, etc...but this song smacks of inspirational self help pablum complete with the over emoted utterance of the song title. Enthusiasm's not the damning constraint. Nikki has unfortunately forgot the Sixx brand carries at least a shade of accountability. His fans don't deserved Nikki Lite. "Gotta Get It Right" has it all wrong. Long devoted fans aren't going to cotton to the PG rated mature audience version. Migraine inducing nostalgia for a relentless era on the other hand could reach epidemic proportions.

Nickelback Rediscovers Its Edge

Is it possible to accuse Nickelback of going steadily soft since they broke onto the scene in 2001 with "How You Remind Me"? Although the Canadians rock purists love to hate did leave us with "Photograph", a wistful effort surprisingly lodged in that vein for an act not exactly pushing over the hill gang status. Sounds like the time Chad Kroeger has been putting in as Mr. Avril Lavigne has rubbed off on him appreciably. He and his band sprouted a pair. Let me clarify that I'm not a dyed in the wool Nickelback hater. "Photograph" was too precious for my liking but "Savin' Me" carried with it enough of an intriguing sound to leave me hungry for what territory they wanted to mine around the next bend. "Edge of a Revolution" could easily have spouted from lovely Lavigne's lips. The lyrics carry the impatience of a young person, which Avril definitely is, the hunger to steer things in the right direction. Change needs to be in the air, the mutually beneficial kind, the kind where all boats in this country rise as opposed to the rich get richer, poor stay poor, and the middle class paddle like mad to avoid being part of the poor. The fist raising "What do we want?" repeat battle cries would not be out of place in Avril's mouth. You'd only need to toss in some teen scream brashness and provide a feminine perspective and you'd get Avril leading the Occupy Wall Street era protest multitudes. Don't forget she is the one who raised a toast to never growing up. It bears noting that Chad's a Canadian and I've held the notion, misguided or not that Canadian daily lives aren't as harrowing as those unfolding over here. Nice of Chad and friends to step outside of the neighbors to the North box to touch a common stateside nerve. Chad's guitar execution at the bridge is something divine to behold. You can hear him throw his back into this aspect of the recording 100 percent. Daniel Adair has seldom sounded as rough edged on drums as is revealed here. Chad's sib Mike lays down bass harmonies that succeed in upping the socio-political urgency that crackles repeatedly. Before 2014 is out "No Fixed Address" will be available for mouth watering mass consumption. Even the title carries this air of desperation straddling most portions of the American landscape. Ferocity is the unbending tool of the trade on display. You would be hard pressed to find a single note where they decide it's time to take their feet off the gas, that they have already succeeded in making their presence felt. As a music fanatic it's gratifying to see a band throw themselves into a project. That by necessity calls for focus beyond what most mortals can fathom in an age of shrinking attention spans. "Edge of a Revolution" is worthy of going down in the music annals as a Nickelback team effort instead of Chad doing his catnip for the ladies thing which would drown out the other members' contributions. It takes one steadfast voice to kick off a revolution. Thanks to these Canadian craftsmen who, of their own admittance, are veering into departure territory with a political song, we've got four. The edge Nickelback is walking in this case is well-honed, sharp, and capable of raising your dander to fever pitch.

The Griswolds Appear To Be On Cruise Control

Chevy Chase would approve. Sydney, Australia can now boast it's home to a party pop band called The Griswolds. After hearing "Beware The Dog" I think it's the perfect song to be piped across every stem and stern of a Carnival Cruise ship. According to Wikipedia the band says its music is tequila-inspired party pop so visions of satisfied travelers clutching frilly drinks with umbrellas sticking out of them makes total sense. In true Aussie fashion the band's way with words and aesthetic is on the quirky side. They know how to make you pay attention in any case. For openers the guitar suckles you into its hedonistic slant on life and refuses to let you go until you're entertaining the notion of how great being somewhat blitzed will be. The Griswolds share the limelight from first note to last and that's very refreshing in this era of hugely outsized personalities that shoot out hype waves like a Texas thunderstorm spawns tornadoes. No big wind surrounding The Griswolds. On the surface they appear to be an all-inclusive outfit. Christopher Whitehall keeps the flow steadily streaming with jauntily paced whimsy. As one might expect from a band Down Under (Men at Work we remember you when) quirky is the name of the game. For example, how can a ghost be old enough to know better than it knows. Don't ghosts have it easier that we flesh and blood types in that age no longer throws up obstacles for them anymore. It's Aussie logic I'm telling ya'. "Beware The Dog" spins an unfortunate yarn about two people who had a very affable friendship connection but, thanks to her being crazy and a prick among other things, those sunny days have disappeared faster that any week you can name in Seattle. The use of "Wooh!" at the end of each choral refrain is definitely the stuff of exotic port of calls and the on again off again Mai-Tai thrown in for good measure. In this space I've played up the merits of recordings where the artists involved don't act petulant, like the only things they care about are cutting a royalty check and moving on to the next tour stop/bar/sexual conquests. Personally I give them big ups for taking a family name synonymous with screwball over the top comedy and affixing it to their ongoing music venture. The National Lampoon's Xmas Vacation movie pops into the Jumbotron space in my head immediately. Very good times. Lachlan West is relentless behind the kit. Fill in goofy conga line here. Yes, it's possible to Aussie a traditionally Latino dance move. Daniel Duque-Perez strums his guitar at the pitch perfect moments. No need to oversell this wingding. The Griswolds merely want to captivate you then make it hard for you to vacate after you've settled into the sea worthy silliness. Tim John's bass is the keel upon which the ship improves its odds of hitting upon safe harbor. For the second time in recent pop chart memory cool kids, or the notion of what makes a cool kid so cool is brought to the forefront. Echosmith admired them because "they get it" "they seem to fit in". The Griswolds by comparison fill the shoes of a curious cast of motleys who used hang out in the same precious air space as cool kids but then the girl got too lazy for the guy and ergo, that little blip in their history came to a halt. The Griswolds merit being thought of as not merely a blip in the history of music's shape shifting landscape. Their playful goofiness mirrors another Aussie tribe called Mental As Anything which, back in the excellent '80s, foisted what I believe to be one of the all time singles titles Man has ever had the good fortune to be witnessing. The title? "If You Leave Me...Can I Come Too?" Those koala loving lunks sure know how to give us ugly Americans a magical dose of chuckles. This dog needs to be petted, fed, taken for a walk around the iPod Shuffle, and allowed to grow zingier with age. Do remember to pack your bathing suit. You'd hate to miss out on that peak season tan you know you've been secretly craving.

Robert Plant's Rainbow a Mellow Chord On The Artistic Color Wheel

Robert Plant. Would there even be a history of heavy metal to be reminiscing about without him? Methinks not bloody likely. At this stage in his career he no longer has to prove his viability in the musical orbit. Could be that's why his new single "Rainbow" is about the most tumbleweed blowing in the breeze effort I've ever heard from him. To discuss anything comparable you'd have to go back to 1983's "The Principle Of Moments" album which contained the classic twang of "Big Log" and the caressing lilt of "In The Mood". "Rainbow is heavy on atmosphere. Here's Robert exhibiting his tender side which teaming up with Allison Krauss could only have helped. Gone are the Led Zeppelin jugular vein chord sequences, in comes a lamb like spirit of gentleness. His lyrics reflect as much. Young Robert probably wouldn't have given two glances at such polite adult contemporary fare. Older wiser Robert doesn't bother to question what you may think about him. He's got the classic discography and you have a faulty reverse mortgage hanging over your head. Who got the better of that deal? There's plenty of Hello Kitty backpack worthy sentiments on the lyric end. How adorable. Here's a lucky charm dressed up with love. He wants to bring you the female half of the crowd the beauty from the stars above. Though the storms of discontent may rage in your heart he's got the rainbow following on its heels. I think the last time he showed off his masculine side might have been 1988's "Tall Cool One". That ditty was equal parts swagger and theatrical review. "Rainbow" is content to go in which ever direction the wind is blowing at the time. I gather it's rewarding to be inching over towards a career benchmark where it's less about the royalty check and more about music for the sake of music. The textures are very light footed in keeping with the gentle demeanor the song projects. Notes drift in and out from the varying instruments like osmosis through a permeable membrane. There's Robert at the center, the mild serenity keeping your thoughts out of the abyss. You may despise me for copping to this notion but "Rainbow" is a touch too lightweight to take up much shelf space in my cranium. He's part of the pantheon of great rock vocalists. Nobody's ever going to successfully dispute that. If "Rainbow" is his de-fanged stab at soft rock so be it. He can get away with the same way Aerosmith could get away with "I Don't Want To Miss a Thing. My contention is although he can get away with it, "should" is an entirely different matter. Lovestruck? It's possible. Weak as water? Maybe. Seems his higher artistic statement came from the album title, "lullaby and...The Ceaseless Roar". The emphasis in "Rainbow" is on the lullaby portion. Lulling us to sleep may not be the impression he wants to leave us with. "Rainbow" paints a soft watercolor picture but like the prismatic charmer itself, this song too quickly fades in the ozone.

Are Counting Crows Trying To Channel "Odelay" Era Beck?

1990's era music fans perk up. This tall cool one's for you. Counting Crows, that band of laid back bards who brought "Mr. Jones" into our memory banks is back in the thick of things with a September album "Somewhere Under Wonderland". Leading the charge from said set is "Scarecrow" which demonstrates the coffeehouse cuddle bunny days of "Mr. Jones" are clearly in the rear view mirror. The arrangements are vast. The harmonies remain fiddle string tight. Yup, vocalist Adam Duritz still lounges around on the mike like he was cooing sweet nothings into its ear. What grates on me is that the word volume plied on "Scarecrow" is so erudite that the people who make Tylenol are highly likely to want to send Adam thank you notes since he's tripling their sales. Migraine headache city that doesn't seem to have a cure. Anyone who bought Beck's "Odelay" CD probably remembers "Devil's Haircut". One part of the lyrical equation is basically Senor Hansen firing off nouns that don't appear to have much purpose other than to fill air. I refer to "Mouthwash, jukebox, gasoline". From Beck that's forgiven because that song was a stunningly cool retro trip to the decade of bell bottoms, afros, and white boys with stringy, greasy hair comprising arena level rock bands. Counting Crows doesn't belong in that quirky ballpark. Like "Devil's Haircut" "Scarecrow does succeed in confining its alien to plain English translation zone to one very specific place. For Counting Crows that would be the chorus. Adam sings "I am the scarecrow, snowman sideshow. Uh.....what's that? So what we're dealing with is a twitchy schizophrenic's uncontrolled inner turmoil. Thinking the policemen in your area don't get paid nearly enough? From Beck we get "Pistols pointing at a poor man's pockets" and "Hitching a ride with the bleeding noses". Not to be outdone the Crows stuff their lyric sheet with a super sized dollop of literary artsy fartsy references. If this was a meal I'd have enough leftovers to last for two weeks running. Who has that kind of free air space anymore? Everything from aliens to undercover Russians cruising around in a pink Rolls Royce to a woman married alive in a Moscow surgery. Don't laugh single ladies and gents. The nuptial set clearly gets why the rhyme has you snickering. I've heard of stream of consciousness writing. For some it's a potent way to show others the soul of a poet beats within. For me I think of little kids having snowball fights with each other. You dig me? I'm imagining those sequences where one group of kids is unrelentingly bombarding the other with snow bomb after snow bomb until the resulting chaos is unintentionally comical. Let the rugby scrum pile off so I can catch my breath please. There's way too much brainpower on display for me to feel anything other than inadequate. Counting Crows brought an entire arsenal. I possess merely a pop gun. There's nothing wrong with allowing the creative juice to wash freely over the page. The downside is it distracts from the commendable competency of the band's playing. Adam is biting off way more than he should be asked to chew. Meanwhile we can't draw a clear bead on Jim Bogios' quality drumming or the momentum supposedly promised us by David Bryson's Lynyrd Skynyrd reminiscent guitar licks. We end up far too busy hiding behind a rock shielding our puny brains from Adam's newest cultural bombardment. The moving parts should operate as a slick, well oiled unit. In this instance Adam is the lead sled dog and neither the mushers nor his fellow dogs can keep up with his overflowing train of thought. If you promptly got amnesia after one listen, consider yourselves fortunate. That's your brain's way of protecting you from more than any of us can reasonably handle. Too much salt on this entree, fellas. If I'm only aware of sodium how can I fully appreciate the rest of the meal? This is one scarecrow that could've benefited from staying reliably inert here and there. There's a happy medium between songs that beat the chorus to death and those that have an audience reeling from the awkwardly huge lyrical content base. Counting Crows fail to find that here and their artistry suffers for it.

Jack and Jack Embrace The Wildlife With Speed Crazy Hip Hop

Add this to the category of things that I never thought I'd hear in my lifetime. Goes to show you that right when life apparently stops being any of that or so much as one Dorito in the bag of chips someone emerges to deliver a pleasant surprise. Rappers Jack & Jack, even if their careers crashed and burned next week, could exit the music industry happy they could be forever connected with a hip hop snack that somehow, thanks to their sure to be oversaturated in the space it takes to go through the drive through at Taco Bell single "Wild Life", with the help of technical wizardry I'm willing to bet, manages to capture the trumpet sound of an elephant. Please tell me that sort of thing doesn't happen every day for you guys. Took me a few seconds to drink in what I was hearing but yes, that's Dumbo's long lost brother captured in hip hop form. On to the rappers themselves. Jack Johnson and Jack Gilinsky both fall into the instant social media sensation category. Jack raps as if he's running away from the bank robbery he himself initiated, that is to say lightning fast. About what you ask? That's why I'm here...clarity. As has been historically proven with a number of rap acts past partying until you're docked at Inebriation Station plays a key role. To hear the delivery Jack and Jack need downer pills...stat!! We'll soon see if Cee-Lo Green appreciates his name being inserted into this back to the primeval broth. It's up to you to decide whether "I'm sweating like the Amazon" is TMI or not. The gentlemen would probably benefit from treatment for that or possibly a bit more effective deodorant. Parents across the continent have a chance to smile knowingly at "We got lions, tigers, bears, oh my." The percussion beat threatens to rip itself straight out of the floor. It's making a valiant attempt to keep up with the partners in Jackness. The programmed animal noises actually give us a welcome chance to exhale. It's Jack's party so why do we feel like it's our gland system that's been pushed to its limits? As has been consistent lately, you get that deep toned voice modulation special effect. In my humble opinion many times it's a bit moronic but for "Wild Life" there's it's fun in a campy way. In truth I'd prefer to zoom straight to the elephant and forget about the 2 AM hanky panky. Instance number two of a concept I never figured I'd be around long enough to be present for...the line "Everywhere I turn seeing iced out wrists. She might be German, she might be Swiss, damn and I'm feeling pretty hectic. It's true that Germans and Swiss folk do have pretty paltry amounts of pigment in their skin thus, it comes out looking icy white. I've heard of lyrical science but here we get a full on biology lesson. Not that that's too surprising in this alternate dimension of lions, tigers, bears, and elephants. Do you like a classy novelty song? "Wild Life" has that end of the market dead to rights. Such a lush jungle populated with beat the clock virtuosity. Please don't be distracted by the idea that nothing revolutionary dropped. Going on a jungle safari is about the thrills in this pimped out ride. I do have to take exception to one lyrical strand of seaweed, namely "Lights all around, good thing I'm not epileptic." He's speed rapping. We're past the point of light induced sensory overload. I would not be surprised if his head exploded. Of course that would put a big damper on Jack and Jack future recording prospects. Luckily all the moving parts remain intact. "Wildlife" escorts you into a hip hop jungle that's one captivating zoo to visit. Mild wordplay but wild use of adrenaline and nicely placed snippets from the reigning kings of the animal kingdom. Whether you listen as a distracting side trip or want to take this safari as far as it can go, you'll have enchanting memories as your reward.

Crobot Puts Muscle Behind Every Note For "Nowhere To Hide"

Everybody in Pottsville Pennsylvania powerhouse Crobot got their heads into the game. Unplugged mentality got resoundingly kicked to the curb with "Nowhere To Hide", a single that snarls its way into your craw, lays eggs, and vows never to leave until you've taken leave of your sanity. Brandon Yeagley has been receiving high praise for his extremely strong vocals. I get that right away. Nothing phoned in whatsoever. He reaches for and hits the sweet spot notes consistently. Helps if your posse is equally entrenched in going for the throat mode. Chris Bishop knows where to touch the most stinging, stunning pressure points on guitar. That's lightning in a bottle that needs to be unleashed again and again. Brandon's singing about a refrain too many in this country know too well. Your ducats go towards survival, survival and yes...continued survival. You get the whole buried under piles of debt aesthetic don't you? The money isn't keeping up with even the basics. On the front line it's hard to survive. Trying to dig your way out of it only puts you in deeper. Now about the video. That's rudimentary ape man backdrop. Beards are a thing with the boys I see. Must keep your Sasquatch out there where everybody can potentially see it. Paul Figueroa doesn't hold back bashing the skins. First impressions are often the most important. Lucky are you who are hearing Crobot for the first time through "Nowhere To Hide". You get a keen appreciation for how their live shows already kick serious butt, take serious names, etc... Crobot sounds like they're fully engaged in what they're doing. They get off on what they're doing. Audiences pick up on that sort of genuine enthusiasm. It sends fingers to the iPods, frantically adding Crobot to the playlist for a much appreciated cosmic boost. Impressive too is how the instruments mesh to form a tightly wrapped package that at times looks too pretty to unwrap. Not to worry. Crobot will blow the roof off the wrapping for you. Jake Figueroa understands that a bass guitar needs to extend its reach into the nastiest of crawl spaces. Does he ever score big points in that area. Brandon's singing sounds even more menacing with Jake's bass to ratchet up the octane bar a few notches. Paul proves he can play timekeeper and drum virtuoso who's not one to shy away from a vulgar demonstration of his fortitude. Look at Brandon's eyes when he sings. He's not all there upstairs which is a metal maven's biggest piece of good news. I am taken aback by his octave range. It's measured like a boxer who knows exactly where to fire the next blow. His band follows him up to those vertigo inducing heights. The view is quite impressive. "Nowhere To Hide" gives hard rock fans everything they crave in the genre fused with a steelworker's torch. Let's cross our collective finger that other tight riff roaring goodies like this will be headed down the pike in short order. Let us be spoiled in the short term so we have the basis for an excellent remember when chat a few years hence.

Rita Ora's Energy Level No Letdown

Ready made for the pop world's bright lights is Rita Ora, a British temptress who is neither tough on the eyes or the ears. The nice draw for "I Will Never Let You Down" is a summer breeze drenched guitar that complements her modulates in the right places voice box. Lest you think she leans exclusively on eye candy to get her message across, she also proves highly handy in the framework of dance. True, she doesn't meander in that direction until late in the proceedings but, when she gets there the pastel rainbow brilliance you notice in the video comes through in her individuality. Returning to the guitar the lure behind it is how you'd following its radiant nature anywhere it would take you. It's wheedling in the delightful, singsong way of a really young child. "Watch the sunlight coming through" is likely the one lyric you need to crystallize in your mind above all else. Plenty of super harmonious rays punching through to elevate spirits and leave listeners craving as much as they can get their hands on. How about "When you're feeling low on love I'll be what you're dreaming of. Nothing wrong with having Rita enter into one of your none too veiled fantasies. Here's to Rita for making in socially okay to lose control. Too often our culture insists we go the stiff upper lip route when dealing with overload. Who doesn't envision scream therapy as a useful solution to the short term blahs. She proceeds to remind us that a little fun every once in a while goes a long way towards bringing you back from the brink. Rita's a winning match for anyone programming for the teen format, standard pop radio, or any station with a slight urban sensibility. Never's pretty definite as points on the timeline go, but at stage one in her career Rita has me believing it's possible she won't ever let listeners down.

Maroon 5 Keys Its Way Into a Smoldering New Direction

It's enough to get a music blogger verklempt with nostalgia. The Maroon 5 from "Songs About Jane" is nothing like the outfit which puts before our ears its first selection from "V", "It Was Always You". From the very start Adam Levine has been unfailingly in his ability to sway crowds to his corner with his pitch perfect soul harmonizing. No letup on the latest. Maroon 5 doesn't allow its supporters to get too cozy with its chosen style slant of the month. "Songs About Jane" contained "This Love" and "She Will Be Loved", pop radio programmers' dream cuts. "It Won't Be Soon Before Long" rang up big sales with "Makes Me Wonder", a Billboard chart-topper pulling off the balancing act between guitar dynamic and keyboard slinky. The gamble paid off. "Wake Up Call" didn't chart as high but what it lacked in marketable punch it made up for in the novelty factor. "Hands All Over", showing the Mutt Lange producer Midas touch, didn't have a lame-ass cut in the bunch. "Overexposed" helped a new generation to ask the question "Who in the hell is Mick Jagger and why does Adam want to have his moves?" "V" is on deck next. "It Was Always You" goes to the synthesizer well with pronounced aplomb. In the early going Jesse Carmichael and PJ Morton float in thin air. I'm taking it to mean we're sampling the keyboardist's version of going unplugged. Regardless of intent both men make their spotlight encounter worth the maximum. Matt Flynn enters the picture on drums a bit later on. There doesn't appear to as much influence coming from the guitar sphere but that doesn't mean you can't make out Mickey Madden's bass or James Valentine's lead guitar if you lean in close enough. So what's my verdict on "It Was Always You"? No punches pulled I declare it's a nifty step up from "Maps" which I found to be too dopey for my liking. It did make my own personal Top 10 list for a few weeks but, compared to the entire catalog's worth of Maroon ditties that got in there, you'd need a map to make out any crowds of people who'd put too much emotional investment in the song. No, you won't get the tingling sensations brought on by the aggressive rocker "Harder To Breathe". You won't be rollicking along the way you could have on "Misery". Live by the keys and try not to die by the keys is Maroon's mantra for this trip to the dance. The keyboard chords do manage an attention grabbing shift from 80s St. Elmo's Fire zone soundtrack adrenaline to darkening everything in the room except for a lone candlelight, allowing us to lose nary a drop of focus on Adam's turn at the mike. He has come to the realization post sweat drenched dream that his woman was never merely a friend. She was (turn on neon light here) "The One". As you could maintain with a vintage wine bottle there's lots of room for the song's cosmic puzzle pieces to bounce around. If you're used to experiencing a total team effort behind a Maroon 5 song you may be scratching your head as to why keyboards occupy most of the air in the room. Past songs appeared to command a greater sense of balance. Fortunately when he's good and stoked enough, Adam Levine could sing the words on a Chinese takeout menu and make them sound like something innovative that no other band gives you ready wrapped. Being the stalwart Maroon 5 fan that I am I'm willing to indulge them their want to move the chess pieces around a bit. "It Was Always You" won't be bumping any of my previous Top 5 Maroon 5 hits from their perches any time soon, but it should be saluted as an agreeable addition to its overall body of work. So long as you hold on to Adam's love-crazed heart for dear life, you won't be steered wrong. "It Was Always You" demonstrates there's always a spot at pop radio for a band savvy enough to understand business parameters yet visionary enough not to allow itself to be trapped inside a suffocating box.

Canada's Kiesza Unleashes Prime Dance Decadence

For anyone out there familiar with dance flavored music from the early '80s the name Yaz must ring a bell. Alison Moyet was the vocal inspiration behind the act and birthed hits like "Situation" and "Don't Go" the latter of which I've listened to until the last grain of spark has been squeezed out. It was heavy on keyboards and said keyboards with a little synth drums poured liberally over top made for a song that demanded you air keyboard, shake the stresses of the era away, or flat out get as nuts as the cheesy acting in the video was. The hook's the thing. 2014 has brought with it an awesome Canadian force named Kiesza whose syncopated charms send me right back to Yaz, back to wickedly well placed grooves that are going to be next to impossible to flush from my eardrums anytime soon. The video proved she'll do some foot shuffling with any agreeable assemblage that crosses her path. GUILTY PLEASURE ALERT!!! From the angel food cake lightness of her pipes to the relentlessly hooky bass end of the keyboards, "Hideaway" successfully drills away at the comfort zone of her intended audience which can be narrowed down to, oh, I dunno, anybody for whom dance is the timely release that pulls any and all stress related toxins out of the danger category. "Ooh, aah, aah, ooh" isn't unmitigated genius from the lyrical front porch but it's that very ground level case of the cutes which makes "Hideaway" parallel to a bubble jet whirlpool bath experience. First you dip one toe in the water. Then, as the jets pulsate across your body, you begin stepping down into the tub itself. There's variety to the key keyboard note pattern, therefore you won't be pulling your hair out over the perceived monotony. Believe me...perceived is as far as it goes. As far as I'm concerned "Hideaway" is value-oriented in that it's an admirable starter kit for anyone wanting a reasonably uncomplicated way to shake those two left foot back into coordinated mode. Kieza does have a touch of sultry vamp inside her. The third stanza of "Hideaway" demonstrates the language of love is a discipline she's well versed in. When she's smitten with a guy he's the chance she takes to keep on dreaming. Moreover he's just another day that keeps her breathing. No that's not exactly red wine and imported chocolate but her poetic bent is both sharply executed and is uttered with Cupid's quiver in mind. The vid is a playful romp around town enabling Kieza to mingle with groupings of equally rhythmic partners in movement. Kieza quite plainly throws herself into the deceptively impromptu choreography sequences. Plenty of rainbow colors to match the single's driven peppiness. "Hideaway" has come out of hiding. The supporters of the dance music scene are the better for it. The rest of us can only hope to keep up with the unceasing party atmosphere it brings to a swirling peak.

Korn Casts Out The Haters On Their New Release

Stepping back from the brink. Commendable undertaking any way you slice it. Korn's new single "Hater" plays up the strength behind doing so. Each new stanza expounds further. As usual Korn isn't going to go for the quick, easy rip the Band Aid off the wound method. Slow and calculating works so much better. Reginald "Fieldy" Arvizu plants his bass in crannies where mortals can't reach. Much of the chum churning around upstairs in the skull originates from the steady stir of his instrument. Not that either one of the double barrel attack guitarists James "Munky" Shaffer or Brian "Head" Welch gets left out of the white hot character examination. At the bridge you sense steam rises from the overheated brain pan. Haters get up on you like that. They're pissed off and miserable therefore they wish for others to endure that same slow, withering agony. Over behind the drum kit Ray Luzier directs the mindset towards uncompromising focus on how the haters are not going to detract from the glimmer of determination resonating through Jonathan Davis' voice. For the most part the lyrics won't let the haters off the hook. However "Your trauma is lame" is a bit of a dated proclamation. Did I jet back to the late '70s early '80s for a brief moment? This is the band with a video featuring the slo-mo path of a fired bullet! Lame is well...lame. We're talking Korn, a gang of dudes I wouldn't want to be on the wrong side of a back alley brawl with. Small quibble but when a hair's out of place you forget the rest of the scalp was stylishly coiffed. It takes moxie to move on with any degree of steadiness when your life has been turned upside down. Jonathan Davis claims he's reached a few rungs higher than that. He flies. He fights. He convinces himself his life's divine. Even though the message pulsates with unhesitating forward march. The unsettling key progressions have you wondering if Jon's really that sure footed. He could be in a funhouse full of mirrors of his own making trying to pick out which version resembles him most closely. In the final analysis creepy wears well on Korn's shoulders. "The Paradigm Shift" is where this defiant creature can be found. The haters have been warned. Korn's not going down without a fight.

Spoon Merits A Place On Your To-Do List

Get your ears open Austin local licks fans. Spoon walks amongst we music mavens with a treat that manages to showcase the numerous hats this homegrown bunch wears. Britt Daniel's in excellent rasp heightened form on "Do You" which comes as part of "They Want My Soul" the new album due tomorrow. They pay equal attention to people who dig pop and people who want a strong straight up the middle rock effort. Key to giving this effort the respect it deserves is bassist Rob Pope who has only been part of Spoon since 2007. You'd think he and Britt had been on the same music wavelength since the band's inception in the early '90s. As summer ditties go "Do You" is definitely on track to linger in the itch I can't scratch portion of your brain because the lyrical imagery puts the many sticky, humid, borderline inhumane Austin summers we all know and, at least in some instances, detest on front burner status. You'd imagine Britt would know better than to employ popsicles as an instant cooling off example since A-Town is home to both Amy's Ice Cream and Sweet Caroline's Snow Shack but the low resolution palate pleaser is bound to enable the song to hold up to repeated listenings because everything from the back beat, to the guitar playing, to the vocals isn't so complicated that we need a Mensa scholar to discern the meaning of everything. If you're at your breaking point with both Austin's construction and bottleneck traffic, and who actually can profess they aren't, shots of melting tar getting ickier by the minute under Austin's late afternoon sun fit nicely with Britt's razor blunted chorus. What gives a romance the added naughtiness makes its cameo appearance late in the song. Belts are unbuckling. Need I draw you a diagram? Black and blue have, in may cases, been the only honest colors on the relationship color wheel that there are. That depends on how abusive the spouse is I'm sure. Love at the crossroads is the primary topic at the chorus juncture. Britt, heart dangling precariously on his sleeve os daring enough to ask, "Do you run when it's just getting good?" Many's the star-crossed lover who would nod affirmatively while checking to see if his roll-on deodorant was holding up under the strain. Do you run or do you... In that sentence and a half you notice the female half of this possibly soon to be aborted chemistry lesson looking back at her fella, questioning whether or not she's making a mistake by being so maddeningly hasty. Besides Britt Daniel the only other constant since 1993 has been drummer Jim Eno. He's comfortable in his own skin as his astutely paced contribution demonstrates. The argument could be made that the regular repetition of "do" at the beginning misleads us into thinking the song is about as welcome to the eardrums as the title "Ga Ga Ga Ga Ga" was on store shelves. Good to know they've left kindergarten and rejoined those of us seated at the grown-up language table. I find that argument not firmly rooted in fact. Playing with our heads in this fashion encourages us to be open minded before the fancy free foursome that's been stoking the coolness factors of Austin clubgoers for quite a spell now. Long story short do I think Spoon's new single represents a classy use of a brief block of your precious time. There's "yes" and then there's "hell, yes". Put me down for the latter.

Weezer Sounds Solid From Their Place In The Shack

Weezer's next album is called "Everything Will Be Alright In The End". If the entire set sounds anything like the leadoff single "Back To The Shack" I'm inclined to agree with that assessment. A bowl of your favorite cereal doesn't have nearly as much crunch as "Shack" Please, let's not limit that sliver of praise to drumming and drumming alone. When Patrick Wilson is in full on focus mode on guitar you can tell that immediately. For "Shack" he embraces his instrument like he hasn't been anywhere near spitting distance of it for eons. Sounds like fresh Weezer, 1992 style. Rivers Cuomo would appear to be in a settled place if the lyrics give away any jumbo-sized hints. He's on good terms with papa again. He's settled down with his girl. More power to him for uttering the suggestion that we turn off those stupid singing shows, you know the ones, fizzy bottles of "Come get your chance at fifteen minutes of fame right here". Speak of bottle can we please bottle the opening riffs of Pat's guitar. That's the recipe for instant harmoniousness. His drumming is to the point as well. Each smack solid, each beat measured for maximum mind-blowing. Weezer and I both adhere to the value behind making your rock statements short and sweet. "Hash Pipe" to this day still stands as one of my all time favorite jams. To put it simply it's a endearingly stupid riff-based marvel of rock nature that only gets better the longer the song goes. "Back To The Shack" is deliberate in its quest to rock your proverbial socks off. It wants you to know it's had some time to get its head together. It's mature a hair although, to my delight, and what will likely be to the delight of the hardcore Weezer boosters not too grown up that you can't try and succeed wholeheartedly at having the time of your adrenaline saturated lives. Rivers is happy to get back to the shack, back behind the mike alongside the bandmates he knows are the best, truest version of a family he knows or likely ever will. 1994 brings up pleasurable memories for the dudes and so of course it gets its little shout out. Weezer excels at making nerds come across as the hippest badasses you could ever hope to meet. Take a flashback look at their past album covers and you'll be reminded that image conscious isn't exactly the description that hurtles forth when you see this foursome armed for bear. Rivers is totally sure that the rock world is where his feet need to remain firmly planted. He was born to rock out. That's his priceless sentiment. Nothing else really matters in the face of that ironclad, non-negotiable truth. Patrick remembered how to put the kick into kick drum. He nudges the track along slowly but surely until it reaches the irresistible finish line. Although not a swag noticeable solo in any way, shape, and form, Rivers nonetheless gives us something admirably tasty to chew on from the world in which he's freshly proclaimed he's comfortable. "Back To The Shack" is the polar opposite of a composition like "Island In The Sun" which was blissed out and floating away in its own little private happy place. With "Shack" you've got declaration of purpose writ large. You won't become a Mensa scholar after a listen but you'll smile at the machinations of four guys putting their best collective foot forward. This shack is well insulated by the intelligently filtered punch of a man, his band, and the quick and dirty lengths they'll go to remind us what a indelible force they make as a unit.