The Root of the Problem Is Imagine Dragons Milk The Chorus

Noodling around in the studio surely equates to necessary evil. For Imagine Dragons I can tell there are various elements fighting to create an enjoyable unit. Piano works well. Chorus feels harmonious to a point. Vocals ring solid. However, where's the wow that leads to a song that lingers, that people will talk about for some time to come? That folks is a mystery lacking a clear resolution. Dan Reynolds has a nice voice but between the tripping over the amp plug in percussion and the thick texture radiating from said voice "Roots" fails to give Dan the showcase his voice needs. The song isn't long enough to justify the sheer number of times the chorus gets squashed in. I think the piano takes uneven center stage at the expense of a well rounded sound. The lyrics aren't very captivating simply because, again, not a long enough song to get very comfortable with them. Dan sums up day to day fine but we've heard it so many times we could recite it in our collective sleep. "Another high, another low." Yes, it sounds like something familiar, achingly familiar. It's hard to work up much lather when the guys themselves appear lost in improvisation mode, unable to pick a foundation and stick with it. At under three minutes, how can you bring "Roots" over to the couch and invite it in for a cocktail or three? Answer? You really can't. Imagine Dragons is capable of exerting far more enthusiasm than this song would indicate. These guys are based in Las Vegas, gambling mecca of the universe. You'd hope that daylight 24/7 excitement would lead to better writing but, as I've heard it said in my own family, "If wishes were horses then beggars would ride. The horse I speak of clearly is staying put in the stable. It's a tad disheartening that Daniel Wayne Sermon, Ben McKee, and Daniel Platzman are barely heard from outside of the chorus. It might have been nice had they been given license to ramp up the focus on guitar somewhat. You don't get much chance to let the piano drip into your conscious mind. Talk about being thrown into the deep end of the water without so much of a howdy doo. I know lots of what gets tossed into the public eye amounts to heaping globs of disposable popular culture. "Roots" may proudly (?) take its place. "Roots" has not demonstrated why it should take root in your eardrums. Light breeze, nothing more.

Foo Fighters Knock Out a Sinfully Good Track

Dave Grohl could just phone it in at this juncture of his career...but no, that's not the Foo Fighters way as demonstrated on the new "Saint Cecilia". Everything that makes Dave Grohl a top drawer vocalist and his band an unbelievably prolific juggernaut is on full display. Dave storms out of the gate, guns blazing. Chris Shiflett uncorks amazing guitar riffs wherever you turn. Taylor Hawkins continues to demonstrate why he's one of the contemporary rock scenes greatest drum beaters. This chorus gives you your buck's worth with change to spare. What the Foo Fighters excel at spans the gamut from their clever videos ("Learning To Fly" anyone?) to the knack for giving the masses a little body to lean into instead of a mere snack long on empty calories. I was taken in by the late game chord switcheroo which was planted at a time when most band would be content to glide into home on the strength of the time honored fade out. Dave loves you. He wants you to leave his concerts satisfied. To do that you'd have to come to represent with a killer discography. The search for the smoking gun ends here. If there is any sign of slowdown in the band I haven't seen cracks in the firmament show as yet. The advantage some rock bands have like, say, Aerosmith, is their fans know what kind of album to expect. The Foos don't come anywhere near playing that exploitative game. All you know is whatever package the outfit brings to your doorstep it's going to be all in, or not in at all. Dave eases up on his fork tines shoved in the eye sockets screeching he's brought on some cuts. Nice of you to do so Dave. Leave the Cookie Monster slanted vocals for the dudes in metalcore. Dave isn't a pompous showman begging you to like him. When he wants to he can come off like a seasoned conversationalist who's singing rather than engaging you in one of the issues of the day. You know when certain all-star groups hit their stride and then settle into that comfortable niche. Sports fans, specifically those of the NBA stripe recognize that the chemistry the San Antonio Spurs was whipped into fever hysteria through years of learning how to mesh. In his late 30s, Social Security check age in this field, Tim Duncan still commands respect. 21 years after Dave emerged from Nirvana's ashes to form this little 'ol side project, The Foo Fighters have gotten stronger, as if that's possible. To this day I'm floored by "Wasting Light". "Saint Cecilia" adds one more heavenly link to Foo Fighters deeply entrenched musical legacy. They're on my short list of bands that get me stoked just thinking about what they'll cook up next.

The 1975 Wins Style Points In 2015

The 1975 has decided to shimmy its way into our hearts with "Ugh", a sophisticated easy flowing R&B jam lifted from its amusingly titled album, "I Like It When You Sleep, for You Are So Beautiful, Yet So Unaware of It". Nothing wrong with a light romp to grease the wheels of a choice after hours party. Best of all, there's nothing about the song that makes me want to exclaim "Ugh!" Oddly that interjection never shows up in the lyrics. Talk about a false selling point. Suave doesn't even begin to cover what The 1975 has to offer. Lyrically these guys know their way around a clever visual. For example...can you possibly beat "I know your lungs need filling since your gums have lost their feeling". Approved by the American Dental Association and its Lung Association counterpart. Matthew Healy's voice doesn't aim to bowl you over, merely look you in the eyes and dare you to turn away from the bon vivant overtones engulfing the room. It wouldn't be a British bash were there no Adam Hann strumming his heart out from the guitar end of the creative spectrum. George Daniel aces drum backdrop school. He's not there to scream "Look at me! Look at me!" If you can settle into celebration mode more readily thanks to him then his work is done. Matt's a brave boy for admitting in song "I don't have the capacity for fucking." See if any of our red-blooded American males could ever pull that off. You'll even get a full admitting of the song's limitations in the form of "Oh the kick won't last for long but the song only lasts 3 minutes." If you're looking for him to apologize for having a vain, shallow side then don't bother. Quite clearly he said "When I said I liked it better without my money, I lied. It took a little while to recognize that I, I'm not giving it up again." Some forms of honesty might be misconstrued as a turnoff but somehow The 1975 makes overt flaunting sound almost noble. Technically "Ugh" lasts 3 minutes and 12 seconds but Matt embellishes the truth in good faith and for an admirable reason. Admit it, you'll be swiveling your hips in time to this martini soaked crowd pleaser. It takes so much effort these days to put a song out in the world that's going to be kissed with staying power. Give us the right hook and anything's possible. The 1975 formed in Manchester, birthplace to much quality tune terrain. In our social media era lots of what we hear strikes as being overtly disposable. "Ugh" does slide off the ear at select moments but, if you merely want affable notes to go with the cocktail you're imbibing or the bite size snacks the barkeep places before you you'll not be disappointed. Matt's been knocked silly twice by the woman in his life and doesn't mind bragging to her in much the same way countless rappers have about his bling, in this instance his things, his car, his living as a total package. Obviously his on camera presence shows how the camera smiles on him. You and I both know the beautiful people don't always get top billing. Why The 1975 chose to title this song "Ugh!" escapes my rational mind. Sure you wouldn't confuse it with the highest art but it's a friend you'd want to chat with for at least a half hour or so. "Ugh" merits a clinking of glasses for giving casual soirees everywhere proper British zest, applied with a dash instead of a drench.

Panic! At The Disco Scribbles a Pretty Love Letter To LA

Billy Crystal's Saturday Night Live character Fernando once said "It's better to look good than to feel good. Panic! At The Disco passed that test with flying colors by virtue of "LA Devotee". All the glamour you'd expect from such a breathtaking city comes on full display. Brendon Urie, who has entrusted himself with the entire gamut of instruments since Spencer Smith has fallen out of the picture demonstrates how the added responsibilities are not spiking his blood pressure. Solid drumming right up front only leads to greater smile moments from then. Energy and vibrancy in short bursts add up to a single you'd want to listen to with the top rolled down and the night breezes whipping your hair around. We already figured the video budget for the band had to impressive or else the epic dramas they've shown us would not have come to pass. "LA Devotee" exudes excitement. The photos shot around town only add to the now legendary mystique. No lack of imagery reminding you that LA invented beautiful people. Verse 1 succeeds in mixing black eyes, a black car and a zodiac sign, in this case Pisces into the froth In fact black takes its place as the dominant color on the color wheel as we're visited by it again via the black magic leading off stanza 2 and the black tar lurking in stanza three. Aries joins Pisces as a zodiac element. The imagination was meant to expand and Panic! At The Disco never forgets. "The Emperor's New Clothes" proved my point. It's not an easy video to watch but the song itself goes beyond the call of regular rock entertainment. Whether motoring along innocuously or blazing at top speed, no matter how many members are sitting in to jam, Panic! throws itself into the creative process. If there's any sign that they'e not fully immersed in the sick head games they transfer to art I confess I haven't seen them yet. Looking at the video makes me envious for those who call LA home. One long roller coaster ride of spectacular highs, either land produced or chemically enhanced. That's what a little white wine at the fringed will do for you. Brendon alternates between laser sharp belting out of lyrics and fooling around with the chorus. LA's bustles explodes all over "LA Devotee" The revered landmarks alone pay tribute to a city for which hard livings comes to be a birthright. The cinematographer surely deserved some extra ducats for his avant garde camera angles. "LA Devotee" can tamp down boredom spasms in its own special way. Voyeurism has its privileges. "LA Devotee" has me seeing stars both astral and screen legend variety. That's how you unload wallop in three and a half minutes or less.

Here's To Nothing More Ladling Out Delicious, Swerving Rock

I can't say enough positive things about Nothing More weaving in and out of tantalizing sound progressions throughout "Here's To The Heartache". This effort falls squarely under the umbrella of rock as effective therapy. Not that the subject matter breaks new ground. However, what it does the retreaded material bears sizable notice. The San Antonio outfit clicks in every facet where one can click. Jonny Hawkins cuts a mean figure behind the mic. He's exceedingly crisp to the ear. He's singing from an unobstructed place not fogged up by jaded world weariness. His voice spells out the clear and present dangers of life on our shared rotating orb. Ben Anderson bashes skins with unbridled aplomb. His beats are the lip smacking dressing to this mouth watering salad of dimension, timbres, and pitch. Daniel Oliver knows his way around the bass, and it shows no end. Mark Vollelunga's oomph behind the lead guitar strap cannot be underestimated. The opening harmonies sound nothing like the chorus. You get two separate, unique flavors for the price of one. Lick your lips and your appetite for rock that forges its own trail gets to be satisfied. Jonny reminds us of life's fragility and that getting complacent flat out isn't an option. He makes lost dreams and mistakes made appear noble even if for us all it translates to a losing effort, some much later than others. Personally, I can easily visualize Jonny raising a glass to the bruises, scars, and heartache accumulated along his personal trail. Because his voice rings out so plainly, it makes it easy for him to be followed, respected, maybe even feared a bit. He reminds us Fate cannot and will not be staved off indefinitely, that no matter how much he holds someone dear, a fade out is going to make itself known. Not exactly a valley of uplift but there's the plain truth. I appreciate Nothing More conveying an attitude not of depressed staring at the navel but one of steeled, accepting resolve. The future may look bleak but hope is not without glimmers. Jonny is all about the life in review posture. "Here's To The Heartache" gets ample room to breathe, a tempo befitting a song wrapped up in universal recognition of theme. The journey leads to an inevitable conclusion but we hear him engage in such a way that we know the journey isn't hurried by any stretch of the imagination. It's as if he's being brave enough to smell the roses while he's around to give them a sniff. "Here's To The Heartache" places high premium on ear grabbing melody and that really works well for all concerned. Nothing More uses its collective imagination to remarkable effect. The sound resonates off the walls your own imagination can paint in at its leisure. The rock landscape would be nothing without heroes willing to fall on their swords for what matters most to them. "Here's To The Heartache" proves it's worth raising a glass to in the name of cautious optimism.

Boy and Bear Fall Off The Wire Due To Mumbled Singing

Australia and quality music have a long reputation. AC/DC springs to mind. For the adult contemporary minded among us there was Little River Band and, don't shoot me for liking them, Air Supply. Olivia Newton-John has decades long credibility as does Sir Elton John. Let's not forget INXS, the Aussie juggernaut of the '80s and its luscious lead singer the dearly departed Michael Hutchence. I can honestly say Boy and Bear don't follow in that tradition, nor does it have a chance at doing so if its lead singer doesn't stop mumbling. David Hosking needs to open his mouth a little wider so that syllables can come out and play. I have a lyrics sheet to cheat off of so apparently human language is part of the equation in "Walk the Wire". Jonathan Hart reminds us that keyboards play a starring role in the act. In fact that's the lone redeeming quality of the song. I could have used these three minutes noodling on a store bought keyboard and the experience would have been more rewarding. David Symes fiddles around on bass somewhere but, for the life of me, I can't make it out. Timothy Hart's drum beats are faintly palpable, if they're there at all. Killian Gavin's guitar gets pushed to the background too. The narrow focus stays on David, keyboards, and unshakable mumbling. Boy meets girl. Boy tumbles into scene he's uncomfortable with. Boy encourages girl to take his hand and humor the faded advice he's bestowing upon her, a woman who's earned the right to be brave in his opinion. Two souls teetering along the high wire, trying not to fall into the briny deep below. I could have had a heightened emotional connection but no, David's not talking clearly enough to make me want to give him the time of day much less sympathize with him. Dave begs with Fate to be saved from himself. Maybe that's why his vocal delivery is so meek. He's trying to answer his own prayer and do his own saving. He claims "There's no heaven in a folk song". So to that John Denver lovers out there, prepare to be richly disappointed. "Walk the Wire" is disappointment personified. There's potential for a warm fire but, the band forgot to bring along enough kindling and/or matches. One dimensional artistry isn't conducive to brand name loyalty. If only Boy and Bear sounded like a five person unit. Not even close to reality. "Walk the Wire" runs out of steam too fast. If you're a wise music consumer, you'll politely smile at this song and move on to something bouncier.

Lorde Adds Shimmer To The Shake With Disclosure's Help

To those waiting with bated breath for Lorde's next musical move take heart. She's brought electronica act Disclosure to help her titillate the audience. This jam goes on like a glitter suit topped with Lorde's woman on the edge presence. Disclosure consists of brothers Howard and Guy Lawrence who are careful to toss their pixie dust of aural enchantment around Lorde instead of suffocating her airspace. If you caught a glimpse of the video for "Magnets" I bet you weren't counting on the maniacal ending. Lorde has her issues to work through apparently. That swimming pool's going to need a refurbishing job. But, on with the review. The textures of "Magnets" match Lorde's panache perfectly. The arousal quotient goes high, higher, and highest. How does one "drink deep from a lie"? Only Lorde could give you a ready answer to that question. The woman's got that poetic license working in fifth gear. The brainchild behind "Royals" has this way of getting in your face without any quarter being given. That Disclosure's been called in to back light her romping in sensual shades of chartreuse only helps Lorde assume an even greater woman of mystery position. The percussion opening things up makes a banana daiquiri sound like the most natural thing in the world. Then come the synthesizers and we're off to the races. Lorde doesn't have to do anything other than project her passions for the camera to get tongues wagging. There's plenty of beautiful people interaction in the video as well. Perfect pearly white smiles, drama up one leg and down the other. What Lorde does well is invite you into an alternate universe you're apt to like better than the vanilla ice cream land you may or may not be making your peace with. She was made for the mini-movie experience videos have come to represent. What tension she gives off, what fervor she brings to her overall show. "Magnets" turns the flair up a notch once Disclosure throws body on the synthesizers rather than allowing the percussion to be the sole source of staggered imagination. As she plays rough with her video boy toy, Disclosure gives her the right dimensions of ambient noise. Lorde's choral refrain "Let's embrace the point of no return" sounds very palatable after you put Disclosure's melodies beneath. Past the 1:20 mark the synths take a hike and we return to flat out percussion in full majesty. Cue parade rolling down the street if that's what you desire. There's not much to this party besides synth and Lorde vamping it up. Does that make "Magnets" a song you'll want to refer to time and again when the situation demands it? The virtuosity both in Disclosure's instrument and Lorde's deliberately provocative one are fine but, that said, the overall product isn't built to last. "Magnets" isn't going to prompt much long term attachment.

Pop Evil Shows Us a High Old Time

Are you missing '80s style metal guitar solos? You have a friend in Pop Evil. The Michigan tribe returns front and center with "Up" the album and "Ways To Get High". In movies, the trailer allows you to visualize the jumping off juncture of a movie. At times that works to a filmmaker's disservice because if the trailer constitutes the bet part of the film then not too many will bother with the remainder for obvious reasons. If you were under the impression that the bass which opens "Ways To Get High" pretty much represents the song's creative zenith then I'm pleased to report you're greatly mistaken. While Matt DeRito's bass playing nudges a sexy frame of reference to our ears that's a mere appetizer for the scrumptious soup you're going to slurp down wholesale. The bridge captivates richly. Note after note sends me back to the Sunset Strip, to '80s metal glory. The longer Nick Fueling's guitar gets the chance to roam wild and free, the better it begins to sound. Joshua Marunde (AKA Chachi Riot) drums his demented little heart out. What righteous fun. As you venture out into the deeper waters this song gains added complexities. The harmonies can be raw one minute, starry-eyed the next. In New Orleans they might refer to this chef talent as jambalaya. These cooks don't fool around by any stretch. They're head long into jangling chords before you've had a chance to let the bass simmer a spell and take root in your well-worn memory banks. What Joshua does behind the kit conveniently gives "Ways To Get High" a sturdy backbone. It's a small pinch of rock heaven but then again who said a pinch was nowhere near good enough to suffice. Leigh Kakaty avoid frills at the mike stand. Basic attention grabbing voice technique specifically designed to hold your interest which, in this highly short attention span era is definitely a positive thing. Merging Leigh and Nick with rhythm guitarist Dave Grahs for the chief vocal harmonies demonstrates what can happen if you give relentless focus a chance to flower. So is there a time of day when "Ways To Get High" sounds best? Personally I'd shoot for right as the day turns to night, little dash of residual sunset to savor. Throw some party libations and you've got the backdrop for one dandy evening of classy entertainment. The choice of chords stays pretty constant but what Pop Evil gets from its handiwork proves value-oriented song craft has its place in contemporary music. Nobody's trying to knock your perspective on its ear. Pop Evil wants only to get you to watch its electric waves come in and out of the shore. Late in the proceedings some '60s era beachfront bliss assumes its place at the table. Bellying up to this bar won't leave you pocket foolish. The thing to watch carefully in listening to Nick at the chorus is how he asserts himself between Nick and Dave. You know who's flashing the alpha dog tonsils here. "Ways To Get High" makes detox appear to be one of the dumbest concepts ever. There's no hangover to suffer from here. Simply hard rock knocking you on your petard.

Alabama Shakes Color Outside The Lines

Alabama Shakes ratchet down the speed for the title track "Sound & Color". This leaves we the listeners the chance to let the fine granules of meaning pulse through our collective vein. This effort begins innocuously enough, with soft sensual keyboards assuming the foundation. Frankly, I was wondering when Brittany Howard was going to let her supercharged lungs kick into high gear. You can rest easy knowing she doesn't take too long to allow her presence to be supremely felt. Hers is a voice drenched in class, soul, and undeniable vitality. She's handy picking guitar too. Zac Cockrell isn't as noticeable a presence on bass but, if you linger long enough you can make out what makes him a life affirming presence in the band. Steve Johnson's percussion is not overwhelming in its delivery but, again, lean in close and you'll hear traces of what he brings to the party. I was thirty seconds into "Sound & Color", knowing full well that the song was a taut three minutes at best. I'm glad the words kicked in before it appeared all might be sacrificed on the altar of cutesy instrumentation. You'll appreciate it best going down slow and deliberate. Brittany fancies herself a modern day Aesop with her own universally noticeable fable. I bet we've all mused upon Life's strangeness. The longer you live the more apparent that becomes. In between numerous repetitions of the title Brittany steps up to the plate for her impressions of what's unfolding around her. She correctly gleans that "This life ain't like a book". I beg to differ, at least lately. What with the latest round of mass shootings, Life feels like a grim fairy tale. But I leave the world affair pondering to talking heads bearing the proper qualifications. Brittany states "I wanna touch a human being". Digital dependency appears to have eroded this vital connective tissue so Brittany's to be praised for optimism, if in fact that's what her words convey. In the video outer space takes center stage. Wonder what visiting space aliens would think of our kind based on recent behaviors. I appreciate Alabama Shakes shifting to an easygoing frame of mind as opposed to the rich gumbo bubbling up from "Don't Wanna Fight". That shows us the band isn't some one trick pony milking ghosts of soulful fret picking past. Brittany, if you got the chance to see her sing on venerable Saturday Night Live, lights up when the spotlight lands on her. The others know full well to follow her lead and, don't get caught up in asking too many burdensome questions. The video imagery glides along in a similar fashions to the overall beat. The group's steadily garnering a richly deserved reputation. "Sound & Color" sounds like the ideal morsel to put additional cement on that rep.

It's Trivium's World And We Just Rock In It

Absolutely pulse pounding stuff. Trivium can stretch out the menace. All hands are on deck for this Orlando foursome. Cylinders not only fire they haunt the darkest corners of your worst nightmares. Trivium maximizes its eerie landscape and passes the squeamishness onto us. "Until The World Goes Cold" raises you up, slaps you across the face and, with no further dilly dally, dares you to do anything to stop it. The chord the band has chosen has the darkness of a graveyard seance splashed everywhere. No pussies allowed in this neck of the woods. Matt Heafy lets it be known that the cheap seats better pay real close attention because his evil eyes are not to be denied. Meanwhile Paolo Gregoletto employs his bass as a military unir would a battering ram...relentless, uncompromising, total venom. Matt Madiro puts his drum beats in all the right places which makes "Until The World Goes Cold" and even bigger threat to the tranquility of your overnight hours. Corey Beaulieu attacks your senses with his lead guitar. Taking the total package in one gulp this song dares you to look away. The mastery of domain on display isn't for some weekend warrior who's slumming in metal territory when much of the rest of the time he or she's unabashed country or pop. Those pesky vultures don't know when to leave body well enough alone. You can smell the mud, visualize the trees we feed post land of the living. Nothing wrong with going down with the ship, no matter what form the craft comes in. Matt won't go away from his earthbound throne quietly. The way he settles on a note, then allows the note to stretch as far as his throat's proficiency lets him falls into nothing short of awe-inspiring jaw dropping parameters. If the lyrics don't already make your teeth chatter you need to make a point of pairing it with the so macabre it's sanity robbing video. You don't have to be a rocket scientist to make out the story. You won't have to run after this song. Its pace doesn't crawl but isn't working your cosmic nerves a mile a minute either. You won't uncover any letup in the intensity. However, this brand of intensity doesn't beat you over the head repeatedly until you've got a quasi-permanent migraine. Sometimes you don't have to go over the top to make your presence felt. One theme that comes up in this corpse chat, and it's not the first time I've gotten this vibe from a band, is "I turned my back on what's really important and now I'm paying a severe cost for it." Much has Matt sacrificed but, in his final analysis we return to the day late and a dollar short turf. Give him credit for owning up to his mortal sins. Better that than tap dance around what the real problems are. You don't come close to solving them that way. Trivium gives the Orlando scene a depth far exceeding Walt Disney World brand loyalty. To put it succinctly, the chills on Trivium's ride likely are going to stay with you much longer. "Until The World Goes Cold" benefits from the icicles inhabiting its veins. The outcome terrorizes and exhilarates simultaneously.

Many Thanks From The Boy Behind The Buzz

Happy Thanksgiving to all my blog followers and any who harbor wishes of becoming followers. In honor of the day devoted to being appreciative for everything from life to food to safety I'd like to step out from behind the curtain and share with you just how deep passion for what I do runs. For me music appreciation class in the school of life started when I got my mitts on the original London soundtrack to Jesus Christ Superstar. I was drawn into it by the raw anger, the hard rock fury. As proof of my accumulated respect I can tell you one of the original vinyl LPs has been played so much part of the vinyl has been worn to powder. From "What's The Buzz?" to "I Don't Know How To Love Him" to the various instrumental interludes this soundtrack was and to my mind still is jaw-dropping. It exemplifies what hard rock at its finest should sound like. Much of my 1970s music tastes ran to TV theme songs, not exactly a surprise considering I dined on TV watching with quite a bit of regularity. I'm a huge fan of Rhythm Heritage's version of the theme from S.W.A.T. You listen to that and impression No. 1 is usually "Hey, I want to go there and separate some sexual deviant's head from his neck" You're flat out pumped up!! Props go out to "Suicide Is Painless" better known as the theme from M*A*S*H. I also liked The Rockford Files theme quite a bit as well. During the '70s I didn't really have a musical taste preference per se. Then, in 1979, Blondie entered my orbit. I know "Heart of Glass" was the monster hit but its B-side, "11:59" was viciously satisfying in its own right. Debbie Harry supplied with my first crack at having cool taste in music rather than just gliding by on whatever usual kiddie fare was available. I am forever in your debt, Ms. Harry. Thanks to you my love affair with rock began in earnest. MTV cranked up in 1981. Most pop culture hordes know this chapter and verse. But what you don't know is, while others wanted their MTV and subsequently got their MTV August 1st, 1981. I didn't get mine until November, 1982. First video my peepers were exposed to? Michael Jackson's "Billie Jean". The game, as they say, was on. I very much got into the tunes of 1983. Everything that year had a special zing that I likely won't hear again in my lifetime. Everything from Kajagoogoo, to Taco, to Spandau Ballet, to Bow Wow Wow, to Peter Schilling seemed programmed from another planet, and I wanted the first rocket ship ride taking me there. By the late '80s hard rock snagged my cojones in a vise like grip. I don't apologize for owning a few Winger 45s. I don't have to apologize for owning anything from Warrant's catalog simply because I don't own anything from said catalog. Enter the 1990s. I respect everyone who thinks Kurt Cobain's suicide was a tragedy of epic proportions but I never thought of grunge as too terribly motivating a force in my life. This guy's supposed to be the voice of Gen Xers like me who those before me see as slackers with no real direction? If I wanted to stare at my navel and sing along to the "Life sucks" mantra I'd turn on the news. That said I do confess "Smells Like Teen Spirit" is a true American original. There's no song in the known universe that's so jarring, so discordant, so up in your grills. The late '90s were a breath of fresh air for me because both the teen pop and Latin invasions brought fun back onto the charts. Nice break from flannel grunge and honky despising gangsta rap. If you can't at least crack a smile at "Livin' La Vida Loca" then you're in fact not human but a repressed cyborg bent on destruction. After we stopped pissing our pants over Y2K the 2000s burst into view. J-Lo's career continued its upward trajectory. Destiny's Child romped along. Do like me some "Bug A Boo". That's effective on so many levels. Beyonce runs the show but as a quartet then trio then Beyonce gets bit by the solo player bug act, they were riotous to watch. The 2000s brought Muse to my attention. Many years later I still lick my plate clean whenever the trio pops back onto the scene. I did admire everyone from Puddle Of Mudd to Staind, to Texas grown Blue October during the aughts but Muse turned out to be the towering skyscraper dwarfing many thoughtfully erected but much less ambitious walk-up apartments. I'll admit to dropping Katy Perry's "I Kissed a Girl" into guilty pleasure status. I admire Lady Gaga's brass but Katy Perry's music captivates my attention. The 2010s appear poised to heighten Halestorm's lead vixen Lzzy Hale's potential as a major player on the hard rock scene. Thanks for allowing me the vanity of giving you my music loving history in encapsulated form. If you'd prefer I spare you excessive word barf and stick to reviewing the art form I'm so crazy about, message received. You can expect future tune talk in the not too distant future. Rockin' Robert out. Be sure to save room for pumpkin pie!!

Nothing Really Adventurous About Coldplay's Latest Effort

I admire Coldplay very much. In the 21st century they've put out some compelling singles. "Clocks" never ceased to be riveting. "Speed of Sound" delivered on the stadium sized harmonies only the likes of U2 are especially known for. Chris Martin has vocal gifts that shy away from overwhelming the listener but take care to add everything from melancholy to grandiose passages to haunting chill worthy classic backdrop sounds. Nothing but praise going on here as you can tell. That's why it puts heaviness in my heart to inform you that "Adventure Of A Lifetime" is far from adventurous. In fact you'd be forgiven if you took one listen and presumed the song was better equipped for the Muzak file at your friendly neighborhood dentist's office or piped into the grocery store as a means of getting you to hurry up with your shopping because the longer you dilly dally the more of this saccharine enhanced treacle you'll be forced to listen to. "Adventure Of A Lifetime" has to be the most wide audience pandering cut Coldplay has ever foisted upon us. There are bells and whistles galore, not a positive statement for a band with Coldplay's long history of excellence. Jonny Buckland and Guy Berryman mix in their alto and bass guitars to form a light, gooey froth not unlike what angel food cake tastes like. If you listen close enough you might discern voice tricks appropriate to an '80s era Peter Gabriel track than a Coldplay number. Something about the special effect makes me think of stirrings in the jungle. But, getting on to brass tacks, "Speed of Sound" wore the coat of an outfit primed for adventure. "Clocks" couldn't help but make you feel cognizant of the time warp we all must endure as price of participation in the human race. "Adventure Of A Lifetime" sets the bar unusually low. Possibly Coldplay was under the impression that, at this stage of its career it could assemble a song with "phoned in" written all over it. I suppose even the most accurate basketball player is bound to have a few clang off the rim. I'm merely saying I don't respect a song that doesn't deliver what it promises to deliver. I prefer not to think "Walgreens pharmacy department" when I hear a Coldplay song but, that's the unfortunate conclusion I come to. "Head Full Of Dreams" hits the street next month. We're in trouble if "Adventure Of A Lifetime" represents the best track of the bunch. Will Champion's drumming here makes him look like (embrace the corny joke if you dare) an also-ran rather than a champion (I'm here, maybe not all week, but nice lean chunks of it). Have we entered a period in modern music where A-list bands can get away with so much less than what they're capable of? If Coldplay's fronting that non-revolution what a shame that outcome would be. This band has fully demonstrated its versatility often in the past. It's that versatility which brought them to the head of the musical chow line. "Adventure Of A Lifetime" is about as exciting as a trip to the dry cleaners.

Highly Suspect Brings Fresh Blood To The Rock Rumble

Although you wouldn't confuse "Bloodfeather" with the oh so excellent "Lydia", Highly Suspect is to be commended for mixing up the chords they use to paint with. "Bloodfeather" has a faster gait working in its favor. "Lydia" proved itself calculating, each beat drawn out for maximum uneasiness. "Bloodfeather" has as its function service as a sleek guitar driven jangler which goes great with your favorite margarita or wine spritzer. Johnny Stevens demonstrates a real talent for eye-opening poetry. "A Georgia rain just kissed my lips" leaves little to the imagination. Sultry old school plantation vistas grip you fully. Not only that, he uses a homonym in the third line, specifically "Steady the rein, girl." At the chorus he gets a simile coaxed out of his verdant imagination. Note "You fit me like a glove when I'm inside of you." Kind of invites you to the Sodom and Gomorrah bacchanalia without your physical presence being requested. What a rich picture of the lady who is, was, and always will be his everything. Ladies, it's up to you to decide whether or not you'd consider sentiments like, "Your eyes, they could cut through diamonds and steel. For real, they're sharper than the blade in your hand" flattering or hideously offensive. Turning to the sound itself, the lube job greasing these wheels stuns beyond measure. Keeping the flow going keeps this Cape Cod trio in good stead. Much of the magic belongs credited to bass player Rich Meyer whose infectious vibrations leave an incredible trail extending for days. Does this outfit come complete with enough swagger to drive a pro football team wild? Not really. The guys are too self-assured in what they're selling to require macho posturing. Technically Highly Suspect prove with both "Lydia" and "Bloodfeather" that versatility is a trait it knows well. You can respect a group that doesn't milk a marketable formula until it's bone dry. If significant chord changes can grab an audience's attention Highly Suspect is equal to the task. Moreover you're not going to make out the "Look at me, I'm a genius" instrumental parlor games one often gets at the bridge of a song. In the final analysis does "Bloodfeather" hold up if you crank it up many, many times? Not exactly but, if vicarious thrills in the short term excite you, then "Bloodfeather" surely has the stones to get you pumped as long as possible.

New Zealand's Like a Storm Invades Enemy Territory With Gusto

Batten down the hatches my friends. New Zealand's Like a Storm threatens to rip your roof clean off. That's okay should the straight line winds of hard rocking menace make their way to my general vicinity. This band's "Become the Enemy" knocks flower pots off the front porch, gets your teeth rattling and, on any other level imaginable, flat out gives you a swift punch in the mouth. Three cheers to its accompanying video. You really get into the cult like feel provided by the audience. Chris Brooks has a fine way about him in front of the mike. His conviction cannot be denied. Nor could the nut sack shaking bravado of lead guitarist Matt Brooks. I was, and for that matter still am floored by the agility he displays when he careen up and down the fret, devil may care attitude on display for everyone to gaze in awe at. It's a safe addiction worth getting swept up in, time and again. Looking for a bass to slap your face? Kent Brooks has you covered coming and going. What a juggernaut with extra verve to spare. There's nothing overly brilliant in the lyrics but, then again, when you're rocking this hard, who's paying attention to words anyway. However, I pride myself on being a blogger who covers each base imaginable so, that in the forefront of your mind, why don't we examine Like a Storm's indescribable poetry. In essence Chris refuses to be some backstabber's lifeline when, as it so happens, this guy will be the death of him. He flat out refuses to play savior for this guy. The horrifying imagery of the dude's inner chemistry tells the story vividly, repulsively, and makes a clean break necessary for sanity's sake. If the reference to his being dead before he was even born doesn't push your heebie jeebies button into high gear then the image of Jesus Christ with devil horns ought to give you pause to reflect. This person sounds like a bottomless need cauldron too, as is evidenced by "Drowning in a sea of self annihilation". In other words his self esteem score likely stands in the negative number range.So, like I said, you're not going to get the weightiest revelation from the lyrical end, but, if it's crunchy rock brought to your doorstep with authority you want then boy are you officially playing out the luckiest day of your life. Haven't forgotten you Zach Woods. Do you ever know your way around skin bashing territory. To say I'm open mouth impressed doesn't begin to do your work justice. Like a Storm has been around since 2005. This latest song gives sizable reason to believe another 10 could be in the offing. The guys move at a fantastic clip. You don't have to concern yourselves with their going so fast you can't drink in the venom until you keel over. "You've become the enemy" does great things as a rallying cry each participant can fully embrace. If anybody needed a song to work off excess nervous energy to, look no further. As of this day only 12 people have given "Become the Enemy" a thumbs down. Makes me wonder the IDs of those mouth breathers. "Become the Enemy" doesn't necessarily ask much of its audience but who says that's a limiting factor. Snipping off the dead wood in one's personal orbit is the name of this highly compelling game. "Become the Enemy" merits a user friendly slot in any rock aficionado's iPod shuffle.

In This Moment Is Bad In a Bad Way

Well kids, if ever there was a soundtrack song to the worst nightmare you'll ever have it's "Big Bad Wolf" the insomnia prompting wonder from LA's In This Moment. In this moment you'd better sleep with the lights on. Why is that you ask? Turn off the lights for a split second, then close your eyes and maybe, just maybe this horror show will infiltrate your dream world. The accompanying video looks like it was snatched straight out of the apocalypse. What...the...f--k!! I doubt Marilyn Manson would go quite this far. This here's a line that's been crossed, defecated on, and, for good measure, urinated upon. Maria Brink succeeds in grabbing all the attention she can scrounge. I don't quite know what to label her chips, dips, chains, whips fest but she could use the same Thorazine Dr. Venkman gave Dana in Ghostbusters. Not that "Big Bad Wolf" lacks musical sensibilities. What galls me is said sensibilities slap across the canvas fingerpaint style. It's gritty within an inch of its chainsaw subtle life. Maria's in eight levels of agony, none of them reassuring in the least, Whether screaming, writhing, or being led around by chains, Maria looks to be holding on by the thinnest of threads. Chris Howorth's abrasive lead guitar does nothing to settle the churn within. Here we have a metallic beauty that goes heavy into shock but comes up short on well-defined technical chops. In This Moment is 10 years into its career. You'd think overwrought sexually supercharged theatrics like this would be something of a rookie angle to get people's attention. Guys, hate to break it to you but any band that can sustain a career of a decade plus should consider itself lucky to even be employed in the medium. There'd be greater respect if the band didn't play the dominatrix card so shamelessly, It's true that sex sells. Always has, always will. But I don't think the intent behind "Big Bad Wolf" was to frighten people out of the moat remote urge to copulate. Too much face time with Maria in the video getup could do that to a person unintentionally. Couldn't even understand the lyrics so, thank you various lyric Cribb notes for helping to keep me too far away from blind leading the blind territory. The Three Little Pigs story factors in somehow but not before Maria, defying any lucid logic, screams four times, "Even in these chains you can't stop. Can't tell if the pig's protesting being the wolf's next meal or if Maria's trying to wake us all up as jarring;y as possible. Anyway she unfolds the classic nursery rhyme in such a fashion that Marge Simpson would likely utter, "I'll never look at that story the same way again. Nothing's sacred apparently. Book open to the uncensored version she said, "Once upon a time there was a nasty little piggy filled with pride and greed (insert Donald Trump campaign joke here). Once upon a time there was an evil little piggy typical disease. You see this little pig is slowly becoming my own worst enemy. You see this evil pig she's a blood, blood sucking part of me." How appealingly innocent...or would that be appallingly innocent. Travis Johnson uses his bass playing to crank up the goosebump factor as does Tom Hane on drums. Maria's mind-blowingly versatile. She do writhing, controlled rage, and overt hostility in one fell swoop. Lots of huff and puff but, for all that hyper dramatization, "Big Bad Wolf" doesn't blow my door down or knock my whiter than white socks off. Hope the minions in the video got paid greater than scale wages or else pig in a blanket could be all they're consuming for a little while. In This Moment's moment in the rock sun could be going, going, gone. Heightened heft for the next single would be welcomed. Wouldn't want "Black Widow", the album from whence "Big Bad Wolf" came to prove a prophetic image as it pertains to the outfit's future prospects.

Don't Cry. The Neighbourhood's Coming To You With a Steamy Song

Let us enjoy a song that's ideal for taking in the downtown sights on a cool Friday night. If you take away nothing else from The Neighbourhood's new "Cry Baby" this band has done its job admirably. The cogs in this machine purr handsomely as if they could serve your cruising needs forever and a day. Peeking at the engine I salute the sleek design, specifically Jesse Rutherford's synthesizers and keyboards. He's got commendable vocals too, the sort that makes inhibitions waft away in the night air. You couldn't get to cruising altitude or speed without a firm hand on the throttle and that's where bass player Mikey Margott excels. You can hear the thump loud and proud beneath Jesse's none too thinly veiled seductive voice. Ah yes, there's more to the story than these two players. Even though you can detect Brandon Fried's drums they aren't sprawling over "Cry Baby" and therefore leaving scant room for any of the other talent on display to shine through. Zach Abels lends muscle to the sex appeal cause through well seasoned lead guitar licks that swim about in the brain until they've come to a likable resting place where everybody can fully admire them. Jeremy Freedman's bolsters this song's marketable prospects by dropping rhythm guitar in the most neatly timed places. Don't misunderstand the journey. This isn't meant to be a long, five-course meal. If snacking's your game then "Cry Baby" is one sport you want to get into as soon as possible. This chorus was meant to be appreciated windows rolled down, wind in the hair. The beat's blue jean tight with enough chord variation to keep your ears from wandering too far away from the intended trajectory. I can't make out any minor chords that would drop gloom down in steady doses. That serves the song well. There isn't some Hindenburg heavy dirge mentality applied to leave you emotionally spent. This is high praise indeed for a song called "Cry Baby" that espouses the virtues of crying as a means of venting. That sentiment between boy and girl doesn't come until the tail end but it is very much in evidence. Up front Jesse plays the introspective bravery card. I relate on many levels. He's a bit hard on himself and, at my worst, I can be too. I particularly take to "I spend too much time explainin' myself." If I had a dollar bill for each time I put explanation above inspiration in my daily life I'd have enough money to eat veal and/or steak multiple times a week. And so the psychological bloodletting continues. Jesse also damns himself with "I think I talk too much." "I think I try too hard." Makes you want to prop up Jesse's exhausted soul doesn't it. He does get points for laying it on the line. He needs to be rewarded with a gold medal for gravitas. "Cry Baby" makes good on the vow to spike your core adrenaline until it's running on all cylinders. "Cry Baby" isn't a cry for help. I liken it to a man's quest to seek comfort in his own skin. Not an easy task by any means but admirable in its effort. If this is a neophyte's welcome to The Neighbourhood he's picked the perfect treat to nosh on from the start.

Shinedown's Latest Not A Very Inspired Head Trip

I hate to spit on Shinedown. The Floridian outfit has given me much pleasure on occasions past. "If You Only Knew" had an inspired rhythm running from stem to stern. There wasn't a weak link in that chain. Lead vocalist Brent Smith got huge punch from his reassuringly masculine presence. He doesn't belong to the school of "Let me blow you over with my impressive technique. He was perfectly at home letting his band mates offer up a wave for him to surf to masterful heights on. Not to be pigeonholed as a generic rock band Shinedown contributed to the soundtrack for the Sly Stallone vehicle The Expendables. The track, "Diamond Eyes (Boom-Lay Boom-Lay Boom)" killed. You wanted dramatics to the highest order? This song gave you exactly what you craved. "State of My Head" hardly registers on the Richter scale. To be blunt, frank, and anything else that a weighty adult conversation to do with music has up its sleeve, "Threat To Survival", the name of the album the track comes from, has intrigue in spades. "State of My Head" doesn't merit anything other than a raised eyebrow because it's too cutesy in comparison to the other singles I mentioned. Everybody's instrument is in fine working order. That includes Brent's pipes. Western fantasy much guys? Your lyrics hint that you wouldn't be out of place binge watching vintage John Wayne flicks. The following words border on cliche. "Oh, my eyes are seein' red. Double vision from the blood we've shed. The only way I'm leaving is dead. That's the state of my, state of my, state of my head. Poetry or balderdash? You be the judge. It's not destined to make me lust after additional listens. The song's not even 3 minutes and 30 seconds. Wise move. The less traceable proof of this song's existence the better. No artist goes through a career without a misstep but Shinedown's overall body of work had managed to sidestep land mines...until now. I'll hold off on overall opinion of "State of My Head" since one track does not a stinker make but I have my fingers crossed for their sake that "State of My Head" doesn't assume the image of one of those movie trailers where, if you've watched it, you've also seen the lone high point of the movie. We can pray "State of My Head" is a mere aberration rather than the damning indictment that the entire project should have been left on the cutting room floor. Brent's voice proves serviceable despite the corny material. Zach Myers comes through nicely on lead guitar. Eric Bass applies the right sublime touches with his bass. Barry Kerch admirably stays within his parameters behind the drum kit. So, I repeat what's wrong with "State of My Head" isn't the performing act. It's the maddeningly plucky, ten-gallon hat sensibility the song's been graced with. How icky can you get with "concrete street skin". Sounds like someone stayed out in the sun too long. I'd like to think Shinedown was trying to be tongue in cheek but this is far too cologne drenched to allow much room for humor. "State of My Head" suffers from not enough cranial focus on the process of constructing something even remotely inspired. '

Thank God Weezer Has Lost None Of Its Humor

Good to hear from you again Weezer. Nice to be reminded of the wicked funny sense of humor you possessed since back in the day. Your latest single cements that legacy. "Thank God For Girls" delights from first note to last. And as for the accompanying video, bonus points for ratcheting up the cuteness. Many cooks are stirring this broth and the stew they come up with tastes simply divine. Nobody would accuse them of taking themselves too seriously. Lead vocalist Rivers Cuomo floors it with winning facial expression after facial expression. His delivery on record exhilarates. I'm smitten with the chorus through and through because it serves as a rousing celebration of feminine wiles in all their wondrous glory. The shades of melody abound throughout "Thank God For Girls". We open with Brian Bell letting it rip on keyboards. Kind of a catchy precursor to the unabashed silliness the song delves into. Patrick Wilson bangs drums in fine glee. He too appears to be so smitten with the subject matter that he isn't overly eager to hog the spotlight. If you're taken aback with the opening words of the song then you really need to get your funny bone examined. The eye candy alone is worth coming back for seconds and maybe even thirds. "The girl in the pastry shop with the net in her hair is making a cannoli for you to take on your hiking trip in the woods with your bros that you've known since second grade." What on earth is there not to love about that? If you said, "Why nothing, Ear Buzz dude, then give yourself a gold star, a pat on the back, or any other symbolic gesture of victory you desire. Can't hurt that I have cherished and greatly loved cannolis in my day. Tip your server, if you catch my drift. But wait, it does get even better. Did you know you may encounter dragons or ruffians and be called upon to employ your testosterone? Sounds like all the fun I can stand and then some. That same pastry girl will be waiting to shove a big fat cannoli in your mouth after your sojourn. Weezer reminds us that not every legendary tune has to be dark and unrelenting reality-based in tone. A little humor goes a long way. Weezer's brand gets maximum mileage out of a basic premise. I think I always will favor "Hash Pipe" over the overwhelming majority of the band's catalog. However, "Thank God For Girls" displays much of the lovable lunkhead persona that the boys have a practical patent on. Scott Shriner plucks away on bass with a highly commendable aplomb. The combined meal goes down beautifully. If "Thank God For Girls" were a part of a five course meal I'd venture to say here's a dessert you'll be hard pressed to shy away from. Clarity of purpose holds the key to its inherent greatness. The sales pitch isn't some blatant choke hold. All Weezer deigns to do is send your palate to tantalizing heights. The video doesn't seek out slapstick turf. I believe goofy for goofy's sake makes up "Thank God For Girls" at its finest. The hiking imagery brings me back to visions of s'mores shared around a campfire. Thank God for Weezer and its commitment to being willing to take a few cannolis in the face in the name of our personal amusement. The tip on the table is the easiest money I ever had to part with.

CHRVCHES Leaves Little Trace Of A Long Remembered Single

This is the 2010s right? Then why does CHRVCHES new "Leave a Trace" land straight in the 1980s wheelhouse courtesy of keyboard fills and a haunting ice cold air? Lead singer Lauren Mayberry has an agreeable girlish quality to her pipes. It makes the lyrics she utters that much more enticing. She goes for depth over substance and the results are quite quaint. That's about as far as I can extend the praise. Too true such keyboard ruminations wouldn't be out of place on an '80s iPod shuffle including The Cure and Depeche Mode. Both those bands have a mope British flavor to them. CHRVCHES hails from that home turf for haggis, Scotland. Iain Cook lays on synthesizers really thick. Been there, heard that. For added effect Martin Doherty blends in a new layer of synths to give it that baked in taste '80s connoisseurs know well and take to their heart. There's only so much you can do with wave upon wave of synths. CHRVCHES single isn't hard to follow. That's kind of a curse. You can clearly hear Lauren's voice as she waxes philosophic on giving up on time, etc...references to the grand design and so forth. Does the whimsical beat do a disservice to the song's message? If there's one positive takeaway I'd say it makes the medicine easier to swallow. You can deal with weightier content a little piece at a time. Lauren's determined to find relief anywhere she can get it, if her words are telling the story accurately. The most striking part of the lyrics happen to be "Take care to bury all that you can. Take care to leave a trace of a man." Powerful but, again, when you only have a synth beat coming to represent in the musicianship department you can quote as many memorable lyric tomes as you want but the results don't buoy the music to greater heights. If you need a sense of how winningly defiant Lauren is, the video tells the entire story. Not the entire package doesn't hold up in the GQ area. Lauren isn't about emoting to within an inch of a song's life. Being understated helps "Leave a Trace" in terms of it not being a royal turnoff. Note how for lack of any other viable lightning rod I keep coming back to Lauren. Plain and simple she's the only magnetic trait that lingers after "Leave a Trace" finishes. No drums to pep up the mood. Although Iain does gift us with a bass. So how does "Leave a Trace" rank if you were to compare it to a snack treat? How does rice cake grab you? You don't get much taste bang for your listening buck. I'm not asking for everything to be a cosmic face melt but, like stones skipping across a lake, the ripples take form and then disappear into the ozone. "Leave a Trace" doesn't leave much trace at all. That's not a healthy sign.

Seether Cooks Up a Vulnerable Gem Worth Saving

Often when bearing bad news you want to ease in slowly, let the weight fall in as digestible a manner as one could allow. Seether, an excellent unafraid to emote South African band isn't bearing bad news in the slightest. What's on display opens stripped of its electricity and the rewards extend as far as the imagination can fathom. Seether pulls back the curtain to expose the very mortal but very convincing rock workmanship that earns respect gig after gig. Seether won me over with the turbo charged "Words as Weapons". Slammed down on your eardrums like an industrial strength jackhammer. The vocals cooked to a fabulous crackle. The new "Save Today" ought to score massive points with both genders. Men who crave rock credibility get to go home happy while the ladies who like their dudes in touch with their feminine side will lap this up bones and all. Don't sleep on that acoustic opening though. Soon enough the plugging in works out to full effect. Doesn't cost the song punch in the slightest. The intensity level inches upwards degree by scintillating degree. If I may indulge in a highlight reel moment the chorus for "Save Today" scales the heights of beautiful and plants a flag at the very top. "So save the secrets that you prayed for", especially at the "for" part tugs on the heartstrings magnificently. Sprawling landscapes stagger the imagination with their unabashed grandeur. "Save Today" strikes a similar pose on its cruise for acoustic to electric. The dots connect slowly, steadily, impressively. Much doubt colors the opening stanza. Lead vocalist Shaun Morgan tingles with doubt. He's convinced the young aren't in line for good fortune. The "right?" question at the end of lines two and four illustrate he's unsure of his just agreed upon conclusion. He doubts he has what it takes to succeed. He rues the time lost that can't be reclaimed. John Humphrey knows not to overreach here. His is a conductor's assignment, simply keeping the train rolling along the track. Bassist Dale Stewart's contribution to this track cannot be underestimated. The bittersweet texture shoots straight from his instrument. You let it sink in, allow the raw weight to hit your shoulders, sigh heavily, and then retrace your steps until you've located your waylaid optimism. It's not too heavy on minor keys, but still manages to pack a heavy psychological punch. There's much rooting value to be gleaned from the lyrics. You want Shaun not to feel so heavy hearted but you're powerless to intervene. You keep your fingers crossed in hopes that a life raft materializes somewhere but you're not too married to his chances. If "Words As Weapons" was a jarring effective plea for a crumb of attention, "Save Today" pulls back on the rack and pinion steering in exchange for a chance to make the mileage last. "Save Today" makes good on the promise of the human touch any day of the week. It has already grown on me, and repeatedly listening stands to make this bud bloom into a dignified flower carrying itself with the utmost grace.

Pentatonix's New Effort Nothing Short of Dreamy

Few things go so well with the adjective "breezy" quite like music from Pentatonix. The Arlington five part a-capella act returns to the scene with a new self-titled album and single. Said single is called "Can't Sleep Love". Whimsy thy name is Pentatonix. You know they're playing their camp role to the hilt, smilingly at that. Kirstin Maldonado presents the cuteness quotient in spades. The rest of the gang drops in amusing lyrical styling. I am taken aback with how they can keep an audience in the palm of its collective grasp. That mission is accomplished by remembering not to take what it does too seriously. Check out the expressions on the faces of the crew in the video. Street corner romances are made of nectar like this. Imagine if you can a lamppost dimly lit, one of the four fly boys crooning in a fashion that makes the ladies go pitty pat. "Can't Sleep Love" moves at a gait made for you to slink into it like a comfortable shawl or a beguiling robe. Lots of musing going on in the romance game. "Am I going crazy" gets adorably answered in the affirmative. "Am I afraid of loving" is also answered in the affirmative. You see. The very act of being capable of love gets called into question. The routine of seeing movies grows ever tedious. In my world that sort of night would brings tingles up and down my spine but then again I don't possess Pentatonix's sense of adventure. Setting fire to the soul looms large in the Pentatonix landscape. This outfit certainly would be the one to ignite that spark. On what I hope is an amusing side note if you haven't checked out Pentatonix singing about numbers 1 through 4 as part of a Sesame Street YouTube upload I recommend it very much. It makes for a fun addition to the overall archives. But back to the single at hand. It functions as a silly living room ditty swirling, pulsing, getting to the core of what vitality is all about. This chorus makes even the most stress-addled days somehow manageable. Hearing each component bounce off others naughtily delights this blogger's eardrum. What's not to appreciate. This song's enthusiasm level doesn't flag one iota. The altos and bass harmonies flow like energizing beads in a mighty river. Don't you love a track you can play almost anywhere. It works next to the pool. You could brighten the dinnertime prep with it. Surely it has the elan to brighten up one of those oil changes either at the shop or at home on a Sunday afternoon. There are plenty of possibilities. Think how much fun it would be to get a singing telegram from this band. What cheerfulness of the ear to ear variety. Kevin Olusola's bass tones stem from a genuine place at the bottom of his heart. Scott Hoying, Mitch Grassi, and Avi Kaplan let the whip smart attitudes fly. "Can't Sleep Love" might be used in service of a easy pre snooze lullaby. Any way you cut it "Can't Sleep Love" represents Pentatonix at its dreamiest.

Say Hello To Adele's Next Smash

Give Adele a sweeping environment with which to work and she'll do your heart proud. Circle November 20th on your calendars because that's the day her new "25" album streets. Took her some time to add the finishing touches but, what a delectable confection she's brought to us. Drama comes naturally to her. What's more she has dished it out through various filters. "Skyfall" was one of the better James Bond soundtrack selections. "Rolling In The Deep" infused gospel to the drama. "Someone Like You" gave Adele room to put therapy on record. "Hello" gets about as spacious as that walk in closet you've always wanted but were turned off on due to the sticker shock. Let's get things straight from the jump. The royalties for her efforts better be top dollar because she is one of the few females worthy of her asking price. Cavernous also suits as a description of her work here. On video her hair blows around, her expressions are exquisitely in the now. You know how athletes get in the zone when they reach peak performance? Adele can bring that dimension to her game as well. The gist stems from Adele trying to reach out and touch a long ago paramour. The healing process has been turtle crawl slow for her which, apparently can't be said for him. He's moved on with his life with nary a backwards glance. She's called a thousand times but to no avail. She also utters hello from various conceivable angles (from the outside, from the other side). Adele strikes within me that kind of dog looking forward to a bone excitement that Pat Benatar did in the '80s whenever Billboard trumpeted one of her new releases. I tell you this is an event, not some mere cash grab. Her pipes are in superb fettle. The video whips up a bit of a backstory, namely our angst filled heroine having words with the gent who has her in knots. It's not long before the pathos meter goes off the charts. The beat descends into Adele's vat of torment. Very much an orchestral affair. Here the arrangement are as uncluttered as possible, unlike "Set Fire To The Rain" which had this hard driving quality that didn't leave survivors. Bonus points for not producing a "Someone Like You" clone. In fact all of her successes plumb dramatic soul using very different strategies. Point of fact...Adele hasn't gone on soulful expeditions with any copycat material. Other artists could take lessons. You'll be proud to say hello to Adele's glorious return. She's nothing short of the cornerstone the music world's based on.

The Disturbed Lights Up The Rock Scene

Who knew The Disturbed had a spacious motivational crunching cut in them. I stand utterly impressed. Being an avid fan of "Liberate" I can tell you this band knows how to induce Halloween month terrors. One nifty trick the guys pull out of their hat with "The Light" revolves around their ability to inject motivational into their space without sacrificing masculinity. The first section makes good on rewarding hard core disciples of the group with blitzing guitar work and copious doses of David Draiman's glare heavy vocals mannerisms. He's the guy who looks you dead in the face and dares you to flinch. This chorus hits note after scintillating note. Again, what's most impressive is you're still hearing one of Chicago's most preeminent metal bands but they've grown approachable, not an act you've got to clear the velvet rope to get an audience with. Reaching for the sky, arms opened to the heavens strikes me as perfectly understandable. Each player steps on the gas but never fails to allow the octane to zip along at cruising speeds that any cop worth his salt would be quick to monitor. The Disturbed knows how to make the best of their sizable talents. Dan Donegan has his guitar in such a commanding stranglehold it's a wonder any air is punching through at all. Meanwhile Mike Wengren drums along at a steady reliable pace, much the way a Timex watch ticks reliably for impressive blocks of time. Bassist John Moyer plays an important part in seeing to it that the swagger doesn't fade into the background. From a tempo standpoint "The Light" doesn't move any faster than is absolutely necessary. Much like a sunbeam taking its sweet time to reach the apex height in the sky the core groove meanders along, drinking in the sights, waving to passersby, absorbing each blessed frame in the film. "The Light" benefits from the deliberate approach. That means you can truly appreciate how complex the fluid sounds are. I never pictured The Disturbed as an act that could tug at the heartstrings but, as they say, there's a first time for everything. "The Light" possesses a chorus heavy on reassurance. Picture a father nurturing his son after a tough go on the Little League diamond. The words he might use (insert right to incorporate artistic license here) are, "When you think all is forsaken. listen to me now. You need never feel broken again. Sometimes darkness can show you the light." Changing gears in the second act we unearth less beef and an uptick of raw focus on the notes as they're being played. David demonstrates that sharing attention makes for a heightened overall musical experience. John's bass rings true, long, and loud. Mike's drumming gets to be heard above the fray. I can't make out one facet of "The Light" that doesn't merit repeated listening. Throughout "Liberate" David was mad right up to and surpassing froth level. "Light" puts David in namaste terrain. He's opening up his arms for us to fall into. "The Light" has an inviting radiance that doubles as a neat break from the usual hyper aggressive riff festivals The Disturbed likes best. "The Light" succeeds in carrying us home to masterful rock glory.

Panic! At The Disco Emerges Victorious With Both Barrels Blazing

If you were to liken Panic! At The Disco to a family member my money would be on the daffy uncle who wouldn't know how to be restrained if you put an instruction manual in front of him. This would be the dude who swears liberally, gets unabashedly drunk at the worst moments, then does that infamous lampshade dance. This Las Vegas act's new single "Victorious" puts on display all facets that you've either come to love or hate. Horn fills pop up as does a winning chorus that's brimming with verve. They put pedal to metal and the results couldn't be any grander. The guys seldom shy away from complex arrangements that proudly leave you guessing which direction they're going to direct the convertible next. They can be keyboard happy in one juncture, deeply literary in another. Looking at the engine's working parts there are many reasons why "Victorious" weighs in as one of the sharpest bolts of 2 minutes, 59 seconds vigor you're likely to hear this year. Brendon Urie needs the opportunity to take much credit for the pulse pounding, loin throbbing festivities. He follows flourish after flourish, his octave range increasing in menace whenever the spotlight returns to him. He's Johnny on the spot with keyboards too. As for partner in crime Dallon Weekes if you remove his bass contribution you deny this song its fundamental backbone. His synths are integral to how "Victorious" manages to cross the rock finish line with tailwind to burn. Spencer Smith bangs away behind the kit, a fine icebreaker if ever you could obtain one. "Victorious" gives your brain a pronounced workout. You can't top the fast and furious language skills put to mind blowing use here. Anyone long for Steve McQueen? Panic! At The Disco knows how to dish out the cultural touchstone you crave most. The visuals are cutesy in the video, dazzling in the music lexicon. If you don't manage to squeeze out vast sums of ingratiating visuals as Brendon vocalizes for the cheap seat's benefit I give you ample sympathies. Champagne revelry shines light on verse one. From there the apt Halloween's witch's coven scene making springs to mind. We are introduced to the notion that, yes, a touch can be black and poisonous. Later in the song we learn that someone can taste like magic. That's rife with imaginative possibilities. Trouble is I haven't had it explained to me what magic's flavor really is. Not that you or I shouldn't feel free to put our thinking caps on to come up with a gratifying response. Time for the second consumer comparison of this blog. If you were to liken Panic! At The Disco to a form of snack treat I'd go with a variety sampler platter of crackers, cookies, pretzels, etc... You're not limited to one taste sensation...ever. Therefore Panic! At The Disco succeeds at satiating appetites and not electing to be stingy in the process. "Victorious" wins my support and I have a hunch you'll be won over in short order as well. Bravo to the boys on using less is more to its greatest advantage.

Halsey's New Americana Far From Novel

Talk about misleading advertising. New Jersey native Halsey has a new single out called "New Americana" that hardly can be described as delivering anything new. Truth be told the overall sensibility mishmashes any adventure film macho energy burst you could ever hope to stumble upon. I do give this 21 year-old starlet the nod for name dropping a few of her musical influences in the lyrics. She was raised on Biggie and Nirvana. We shall await the royalty checks bound to come into both posthumously centered acts. Not to digress any further "New Americana" strikes me as the type of track tailor made for a WTF sort of reply. If the tune doesn't leave you with too many questions with not enough answers to go around, the video barges into your sensibilities with a eerie aftertaste sort of out place for an artist I can bet most people are only recently discovering, if they manage to do so at all. Isn't this brand of female primal savagery better suited for an act of either sex equipped with the budget to make such bold pronouncements so early in the career? Way too major motion picture slanted for someone who isn't toting around a multi-album deal as yet. By the way...how many artists see fit to insert a Balenciaga into the lyric sheet? I can count that on one hand. Halsey's too young to have intimate knowledge of Rockefeller to venture into dropping that clan into her song. I admire how she wants to leave a biting first impression. Only one shot at pulling that off. Good for her for channeling dynasties of the past. That's fascinating reading. For added head scratching or chortling at the big girl demeanor she imposes on us I suggest you look no further than "They're Monaco and Hamptons bound, but we don't feel like outsiders at all." Lots of bling spreading around. I suppose she's claiming despite the affluence of her peers, she doesn't have her nose pressed against the glass, looking forlornly at how the other half is living, laughing and, by all accounts thriving. To put it another way what we have on our hands here is march music marching off to fight a war we've witnessed many times before and in better qualified hands. From what Wikipedia informs me Halsey's both been through a lot and has had music leanings coursing through her veins from the beginning. She originally played violin, viola, and cello. In her teens she was diagnosed with bipolar disorder, no easy thing for individual, friends or family to deal with. I'm happy she's turned to music as a way out of that mad tangle. That explains the military brusque attitude on display. Like I said, she's 21 which, ideally gives her career time to blossom into something exhibiting multi-dimensional hues. At present Halsey's prospects don't appear to have legs."New Americana" sounds old as the hills, not a good handle to carry around. Halsey's really a stage name derived from the anagram name Ashley, as in her birth name Ashley Nicolette Frangipane. If she can use her wits to craft a clever on stage persona you'd think that would translate into a similarly brainy on record sound. My fingers are crossed that in time she'll prove the power of her cranium can rise to full flower. "New Americana" isn't meant for long shelf life.

Asking Alexandria Gives Its All

Out of the gates York, England's Asking Alexandria unloads a psychotic barrage of heady metalcore hooks. Luckily we don't get to the Cookie Monster vocals in "I Won't Give In" until we've hit the 3 minute mark. Denis Stoff surprises with how melodic his pipes really are. Not only that he wrenches as much life out of the drama as he can possibly muster up. Sam Bettley cooks up bass to its finest froth. It's no small reason why the opening installment of the song brings inferno sized fire. What a knockout attention grabber. James Cassells lets his presence be known also. That's not faint of heart drumming he's hinting at. There's this true sense that, if ever there was a recording session where he'd be pre-programmed to sail right off the rocky ledge then here's that example. Ben's despair proves sinking Hindenburg weighty. How could it not with opening lyrics like "With every breath you take I watch you slip away. You're slowly killing yourself. Asking Alexandria demonstrates it's adept at not letting Cookie Monster overshadow the raw emotion that doesn't need hyperactivity to make its mark. Ben's got brass in spades. He asks those uncomfortable hard to reach questions. One fine Exhibit A would be "If my soul was torn, would you help? Would you try and fix me? Would you help un-break me?" You get room to breathe during much of the song. That's a nice plus. Allows the instrumentation to shine through on multiple levels. The keyboards glisten resoundingly, like pixies sprinkling just enough magic dust to illuminate the song's core messages. Cameron Liddell comes to the action armed for bear with a rhythm guitar that's locked in on the unrelenting setting. This track gives us a video demonstrating how much the gents love tattoos, not to mention the rapid-fire pace their lives run on. Somehow allowing the ton of bricks to fall on you delivers a sick satisfaction that tamer bands would not allow to come to fruition. How best to describe Ben's conflicted head. As he wails "You're slowly killing yourself, you gather that the hurt doesn't die off easily. You'd like to be at that same bedside as he is, keeping him from letting the darkness assume a permanent posture. James yields the floor to Ben after his eye-opening salvo. If intensity serves as the true measure of a band's worth, Asking Alexandria elevates itself to priceless scale. The band can surely milk definite market value out of the chorus. It's hinted at from square one. You see the unity in video form, the band getting ready for a show, then letting it rip after the boys hit the stage. Also, they can mix high power and dialed back equally well. From what the video demonstrates Asking Alexandria has a substantial following that voices its unanimous approval at song's closure. "I Won't Give In" gives metalcore fans everything they could possibly desire, then adds a dollop extra to ensure what you taste is every bit as delicious as it sounds.

Lzzy Hale Brings Spark To Halestorm's "I Am The Fire"

The metal anthem personifies defiance. No matter how many ways you package it the intent rings loud and clear. Lzzy Hale, high priestess of modern metal can add her name to the list of practitioners who've hit the nail on the head. Plucked from "Into The Wild Life" comes "I Am The Fire" This track symbolizes Lzzy's birth as a woman who can unleash relentless notes for her art's sake. If numbers like "I Miss The Misery" haven't already convinced you that she's got fire propelling from her belly then "I Am The Fire" should do the trick. You almost forget this is Halestorm, not the Lzzy Hale Review. I'm not attempting to dis the other members. You can make out their presence for sure, but it's Lzzy Hale, rough edged A-chord tonsil flashing and all that gets this song off the ground and soaring into the stratosphere. Her venom slices your spine with giddy naughtiness. Every time she screams "I AM THE FIRE!!" you ask yourself, "Do I want to be the one to tell her she's wrong?" Recently I caught a YouTube download of her performing the Cinderella classic "Nobody's Fool" alongside that band's vocalist Tom Keifer, no stranger to belting out verses that make you want to sympathize with the guy because he sounds like his throat's going through a shredder. She did the song justice and Tom looked genuinely honored to have her there. If that was torch passing in progress the future's in capable hands. Lzzy's drum banging brother Arejay knows how to step back so his sister can shine. Josh Smith works wonders on keyboards. They elevate the bite Lzzy is delivering rabid dog style. Joe Hottinger explodes into guitar mania at the right junctures. So how addictive is Lzzy during "I Am The Fire"? Imagine the roughest sex you've ever had and cottoned to liking then multiply the rush that got you. Each reenactment of the chorus punches through like little tiny nibbles on the back. I'm floored by how her self-worth stays at that likable, high quality level. Wouldn't you like her guarding your back in a dark alley. The A chord serves as a beefy pathos builder. That formula worked when Lita Ford and Ozzy Osbourne teamed up for "Close My Eyes Forever" and lent mystery to Def Leppard's "Tonight", a cut lifted from "Adrenalize". In "I Am The Fire" the A chord showcases what a determined woman Lzzy is. At the start we sort of get the calm before the storm. The unit hasn't elevated its game to full power as yet. That's quickly cured though. Lzzy seeks to get past the fear that has her stuck in mire. Potential's in her sights. She's not about to let go. Some might accuse the song of being too narcissistic. You want to tell Lzzy to cool it? Didn't think so. I see it as daily affirmation with the decibel level pushed full blast. Maybe rebirth has its part to play. "I Am The Fire" has enough oxygen to burn bright on rock radio for the foreseeable future and possibly beyond. Lzzy Hale wearing motivational speaker garb suits the rock climate just fine.

Foals Storm The Gates With Authority

Guitar and drum produce an enticing noise in the centerpiece to Foals' current single "Mountain At My Gates". Yannis Philippakis makes incredible sounds come out. The riff gets better as the song wears on. Not to be outdone drummer Jack Bevan has the back beat thing down to a blissful science. It's the same wonderful combination as, say, a hamburger and french fries. Vocally Yannis has a masterful presence which serves the material well. He excites audiences to join the fervor with him. The video finds him bouncing off many an available wall. I like how the chords selected adopt this descending the staircase mentality rather than bounce up and down the fret wildly, intimidating anyone and everyone within a five mile radius. I know I'm usually a huge proponent of mixing up the guitar parts but in this instance staying transfixed in one slot gives "Mountain At My Gates" the punch it needs to maintain attention spans. Imagery in the key of foreboding haunts the lyric sheet. This mountain looms larger by the day. Darkness holds the keys to Yanni's fate as he knows it. The mountain is visible more and more each day. I wouldn't advise acting on the lyric "I'll drive my car without the brakes." That's wrong on so many levels. It's not one suggestion veering towards self-preservation. His desire wears a dark dress. No big surprise there. There's a giant shadow effect to these lyrics. You can't make out a ray of sunshine anywhere. The crunch refuses to be denied. Edwin Congreave lends some keyboards to the proceedings. That only helps ratchet up the ante on the goose flesh idea. Initially the thud drumming comes across as militant. Then, the rest of the band's harmonies join in with a brashness not foreign to rock music. In the second stanza Walter Gervers drops down, to go retro with an '80s adjective, bodacious bass. Hooking the crowds early gets your foot in the door with concertgoers and in our digital age gets downloads going fast and furious. The Oxford gents slip into their hefty rhythms like hand in glove. The drumming variation between thump, bang, and hairpin turn mental makes this climb up the mountain a breathless undertaking, exhausting in a nice way. Even better there isn't an act out there I can draw comparisons to, although you're certainly welcome to try. Jimmy Smith chimes in with synths that bring depth to what Yannis and friends are trying to communicate. When I tuned in for the first time Foals grabbed my ears with how it instinctively knew how to zero in on the right harmonies. That made me hungry. Consider my appetite for quality British indie rock appeased. You'll be a better person for having scaled this mountain.

Vance Joy Floods Eardrums With Heartfelt Sincerity

In this world of ours, a little compassion and authenticity can go a long way. Aussie hunk and ACL Fest schedule occupant Vance Joy delivers on both counts. His vocals usher you into their collective grasp, soothing the broken places that a doctor's pills can't reach. He packs a guitar that's bound to keep the ladies enticed long after his set's over. "Fire and the Flood" strikes me as a surefire crowd pleaser. Scanning the male heartthrob list Vance, whose birth name is James Keogh, has a niche of his own well on its way to being carved out but can also be put in league with other prominent male singers characteristics. He's got the deep smoldering feminine wiles grip of a John Mayer, Maroon 5 leader Adam Levine's playfulness, and John Legend's soft touch. It's not accurate to label "Fire and the Flood" a ballad despite the fact that the romantic longing would make it easy to be mistaken for one. First of all the tempo has the friskiness of a colt bolting out of the gate. Vance uses his guitar to remind you that he's not about to obliterate your optimism and zest for life with needless navel gazing. His nicely fragrant words keep the mood in the room at their breezy best too. You don't get much more passionate than what he's packing in the chorus. How jovial is "You're the fire and the flood and I'll always feel you in my blood." That's Romeo and Juliet fireworks sans the tragic body count. But wait, it gets pin up poster better. Try out "Everything is fine when your hand is resting next to mine." I'm an unapologetic single guy and even I can't help but be turned on by those sentiments. Later on we hear a thoughtful gesture that any wife on the globe would consider herself lucky to receive. Feast your ears on "Late at night when you can't fall asleep I'll be lying right beside you counting sheep." All together now...Awwwwww! What winsome tenderness. Maybe that exists only in the movies but I bet many women would gladly snatch up that offer. Atlantic Records signed him to a five album deal so I know they've put down no small amount of lucre in the name of promoting Vance's clean shaven magnetism. For anyone going to ACL Fest, and what music lover in A-Town isn't at least considering it, am I right, he's got the 5:30-6:30 Sunday night slot right before Hozier. That should be a great pair of evening fresh faced talent. In conclusion "Fire and the Flood" burns straight from the heart, a heart dusted by gold and star crossed, moonlit, exuberant longing.

Silversun Pickups Barely Flicker Throughout "Nightlight"

Silversun Pickups knows how to generate sexual heat. Their discography shows this writ large. "Panic Switch" electrified. "The Royal We" played to vocalist Nikki Monninger's forte, namely her mysterious, prominently suggestive retro luster stage presence. The new "Nightlight" wouldn't have any intrigue to show for it were it not for the dazzle of the accompanying video. You never enjoy fingering a band as guilty of phoning something in but Silversun Pickups rely too much on past glories and then assume newly converted and faithful alike are simply going to melt from the initial note to the climax. If the hook's not prominent your audience won't have much reason to stick around. Rest assured signs of a pulse are visible in "Nightlight" but not of a jump right out and grab you nature. I'd say "warmed over" serves as an adequate description. Nikki's chops haven't rusted. Would that she had saucier material to put it in practice. Blissfully cryptic lyrics are part of this outing's playbook. "When the wind, behind our eyes swell. Starring down all, who generalize well. A chemical change of the spirit will be the exchange for our visit". (Insert head scratching noises here) I'd say you had me and then you lost me but I'm not sure you really ever had me. Despite this the mystery's highly appreciated. Nikki's at her best when the chorus is going full tilt. This passage speaks to the anthem aficionado in all of us. "If we say that (WE WANT IT). We only want it with the lights out." I'd be more merciful if the energy level was as high amplification like this consistently throughout the song. What does any of us get out of a rock number if the participants aren't plugged in completely? You can hear Brian Auber's guitar playing but there isn't the insignia of a guy who's fully wedded to his instrument. Chris Guanlao does the best he can with what's he's been given. Again, the theatrics outweigh the technical skills. "Well Thought Out Twinkles" had the perfect dirty wind in the hair sound for a ride on a long California highway. That's what I call an easy sell. "Nighlight" goes for the blood and discomfort of modern motion picture. Videos these days are in every sense of the word the mini motion pictures MTV likely had in mind when videos first the airwaves. Joe Lester should be saluted, or cursed, depending on which side of the fence you're focused on, for giving "Nightlight" the motion picture cheesiness that begs us not to take it seriously. The key concept is "energy". When Silversun Pickups remember not to be stingy with the chemistry they can really draw you into their world. "Nightlight" blew a fuse before any of us had the chance to get acquainted. Best this foursome regroup and make sure their next cut happens to be...dare I make this awful joke...illuminating.

Ghost Scares Up Some Diabolically Genius Metal

When you think Swedish music ABBA isn't far from your head. Europe, the band which either graced or cursed us with "The Final Countdown" depending on whether or not you needed your fill of closing seconds NBA drama in your record collection. Ghost hasn't been around for a decade but if "Cirice" is any indication a fleshed out career of multiple decades may be in the offing. I can't think of too many reasons to jump on the haters bandwagon. I'd like to be able to inform you of the band's names but those apparently are under strict lock and key. Their skull mask wearing leader goes by the moniker Papa Emeritus. Much of the scare factor originates from him. This chorus lays back into classical theater influences. Not that Ghost lacks impetus to mix up really strong hard edged guitars with the slightly uneasy elements of their musicianship. The musicians are referred to merely as Nameless Ghouls. A little mystery in life suits the voyage fine. The flavor Ghost tosses into this mythological foray won't be denied a pulpit to preach from. Early on Ghost has you assuming you'll be presiding over a hard rock grind it out slice of heaven. Towards the middle sedation works to the band's advantage. After all you don't have to oversell the point to get it across convincingly. Not unexpectedly ghostly apparition language froths forth from the cauldron. On the edge of you seat are we? Not that this ghost is unfriendly but it has this knack for knowing which hairs on the back of your neck to plug away at. Verse one hints at illusions surrounding a ghost, unresolved issues galore. He is heard but is not allowed to hide in the shadows. At the chorus unsatisfying conclusions to affairs of the heart receive their reference. Inner turmoil gets its comparison to a raging storm, thunder and all. What would a ghost story be without flickering candles? Ghost understands that's one detail you wouldn't want to make the mistake of leaving out. Ghost could've phoned in its performance by relying on classic macho power chords but when you have your audience spellbound by macabre theatrical flourishes onstage and in the studio why meet the devotion halfway. Each band member comes to the stage in Halloween worthy garb. How convenient for the time. Ghost doesn't skimp on spooky whether with the slight drums giving way to a startling bang or guitars that can barely contain their monstrously wicked intentions. Papa Emeritus presides authoritatively over the beastly din he's encouraging. To me breaking away to a piano, bass, vocal tri-pronged attack makes the guitar sequence that follows even more imposing. We're not talking about some 1980s throwaway hair metal trying to resurrect itself. What's before us is doom metal that'll make the little ones shriek because they know wickedness has descended. Ghost ratchets up subtle scare factor on "Cirice" and that's sure to leave you with wonderful chills you're not itching to dismiss easily.

Sevendust Deserves A Big Thank You For This Riff Heavy Romp

"Thank You", the latest from Atlanta's own Sevendust, stares you down and dares you to be the last one to blink. Doom settles over the machine handily. Lead vocalist Lajon Witherspoon keeps his growling to a minimum. That's why we get a snack mix platter with a dash of metalcore but predominantly clearly audible words from a man confident in his own skin who bears his soul gallantly. Closure's a key factor in the opening verse, namely how pinning it down in our lives gets ultra complicated. No sooner has the song gotten cranked up then drummer Morgan Rose springs into action. He goes to the rat-a-tat form rather than trying to get explosive too fast, too hard, too soon. As guitarist Clint Lowery owns ferocious licks. To add to that Vince Hornsby's bass has a nasty look that defies reasonable explanation. This army tank of a rock joint keeps right on lumbering ahead until inaction insures your destruction. You can try running all you want but the angst here's apt not only to catch up with you but eventually overtake you. If "Thank You" were to be compared to a weather pattern ominous gray clouds would be front and center. The sky prepares to open up so you'd better patch together whatever cover you can scrounge up. As a music lover it's been my experience that minor chords have the power to evoke the sharpest response in a listener. "Thank You" delivers plenty of those top quality goods. I want to thrust attention back to Clint for a moment. When he gets his electricity going here he'll run down whatever darkened corridor suits him. You'll be hard pressed to make out any lights, fantastic or otherwise. Panning to vocal duties, as if Lajon wasn't laying down enough of an icy blueprint here comes an echoing effect you wouldn't want to bump up against in a sleazy alley. The ending ought to be backdrop for many a nightmare in the weeks to come. All working parts gel beautifully. "Thank You" lets the uneasiness seep throughout your spine slowly a la Mrs. Butterworth's syrup on flapjacks. This band isn't claiming any survivors. Where's the crescendo you might wonder? The entire tune amounts to one long, measured crescendo. Lajon's itching for his reason for being. His search doesn't stray from a feverish level. Waiting around for an explanation's not going to be very useful it would appear. Lajon's urgency, combined with his aggressive periodic teeth gnashing, sets the stage for an effort that never veers that far from impending upheaval. Lucky for Lajon, Sevendust has filled the role as outlet for his twisted genius for a few decades. It's about release folks. The faster the better. As rock enthusiasts we should be thanking Sevendust. The boys have poured out their genre's version of a hard stiff drink one can knock back repeatedly despite the fact your tolerance for the hard stuff may have been eclipsed hours ago.

Bring Me The Horizon Approaches Friendship With a Bite

Seethe much Bring Me The Horizon? There's not much calm and serene behind the brand new "True Friends". To the band's credit each note is maximized for long term effectiveness. Drums explode resoundingly. Vocals scream untamed vengeance. Guitars thrash around mercilessly. This bunch lets its impressions be felt upfront. On the lyric sheet you'd swear Oliver Sykes had never heard of turn the other cheek. Confessedly I have never heard of being stabbed in the front before. Big cheers to Bring Me The Horizon for laying claim to something nobody else has done before, at least not to my knowledge. As usual love gone terribly wrong takes its turn in the spotlight. A profound case of coulda, woulda, shoulda runs rampant over the lyric sheet, specifically "It's kind of sad cause what we had well it could have been something". Naturally you need your drummer to lose his inhibitions at the door if you expect romantically spiced wordplay to take flight to an appreciable degree. Does Matt Nicholls ever make good on his end of the business arrangement. Lee Malia's guitar playing meets and then exceeds expectations for awesomeness. Nothing about "True Friends" bides its time in the slow lane. Oliver quickly points out the object of his rage has plenty of nerve but no spine to speak of. I'd like to introduce the idea that this concept of "nerve" vs. "spine" hasn't popped in contemporary song spinning before. Ollie uses hate as gasoline to fuel his dreams. Sounds like a move lifted from Eminem's playbook. Flame has been stolen so be on the lookout. Of all band members contributing Matt serves up the loudest bang on the Richter scale. Pound for pound his banging matches then exceeds expectations. Thankfully the video runs to the straight low tech end of the spectrum. I claim thankfully because were "True Friends to embrace a stage concept video the fury might be too much to tackle. Oliver refrains from Cookie Monster vocals, the kind metalcore employs to grizzly effect but he does sniff out air space in order to screech out his discontent. Rhythmically the soup stirs to a rolling boil. You could contend it's worth a pronounced sniff. Not much room to come up for air because the vitriolic salvos come hot and heavy. No doubt about it...friendship runs low on the tonality chart here. Riding alongside "True Friends" reminds me of trying to catch up to a sled that's already rolling down the mountain at breakneck speed. The song should light the fuse of rage for all scorned romantics of both sexes. "True Friends" has that enemy's glare in its eye and that's what will keep you shivering long after the track concludes.