Joywave's "Somebody New" Is Something Else

Praise be mighty to recording acts that can straddle numerous genres with equal ease. That distinction goes to Rochester, New York's Joywave, a band tossing indie rock, pop, and electronica into their delectable stew. "Somebody New" delivers crashing rhythms for the cerebral listeners among us. Key to allowing this package to unwrap in eye-popping fashion, Paul Brenner, drum God, lets it be known at the outset that we're not being treated to some lightweight fluff that can be easily dismissed after you've switched off your iPod. Sean Donnelly, no relation to 1990s band Belly's vocalist Tanya, works his bass into a powerful fever pitch that refuses to let us turn the other way. If vocalist Daniel Armbruster represents the brains, then Sean's the spine for this operation. He's erected the back massage of bass guitarists for everyone to be inspired by. At the other end, Benjamin Bailey's keyboard playing pulls back the social veil many of us wear in the name of politeness. With vocals, bass, and keyboards fused together, "Somebody New" constitutes a unique ride across the stirrups of our ears. These lyrics speak to monogamy's allure. Plainly Daniel loves the one he's with. Stephen Stills probably would sport a complex ear to ear grin if he got wind of this. "Don't ever wanna wake up next to somebody new." Sounds like the guy found his soul mate. Big pats on the back for him. Even though he's swimming around in relationship bliss territory, he makes enough air space to address the perils of your mind being everywhere but on the immediate patch of road ahead. With admirable cantor he says: "With my eyes to the south and my brain up in space flip my nervous hips around I'm a step out of sync. Take note blog buds, yoga practitioners call on the holistic strength behind mind + body = health. Clearly Daniel has some straightening out to do before he can claim to be a fully integrated functioning adult. What devilish glee we can derive from his quest to clarify which way is up. Tossing the aural baton from bass to keyboards with chilling deliberateness was a masterstroke. The bass guitar buoys your side trip to the stars. You get in that comfort zone when, out of nowhere, BAM!!! Benjamin seeks out and pummels the small of your back that can't absorb too much of those wind chill factor notes for too long a span of time. So as not to make him feel left out I want to clarify that lead guitarist Joseph Morinelli applies lunch pail toughness to his end of his minstrel's bargain. What can be surmised about "Somebody New" as a separate piece of work. Is it an electronic love letter? Does it allow a direct link to Daniel's not very well concealed insecurities? As is true in any arts related endeavor it's up to the beholder to reach his or her own conclusions. Music's landscape, its industry consists of folks who get a giant big out of deriving attention from the wider world. That "look at me" ethos crashing into pathos blend you may recall from grade school gets supersized in this field. Joywave doesn't create the loudest noise during "Somebody New". It merely stakes out its territory in the crowd by smartly melding together a highly compelling one. In indie rock's been there heard that atmosphere Joywave has done both itself and its artistry proud. "Something New" is definitely something to crow about.

Don't Fight The Heavy Vibe Alabama Shakes Is Laying Down

"Don't Wanna Fight" sets the pace in the battle for most compelling, guitar orgy of the year. I dare you to sniff out anything at this early stage of the game that comes anywhere near it. Brittany Howard vocalizes her way to the ecstasy bar with room to spare. Heath Fogg lays it down, folks. It's moments like that leave me so vindicated in regards to why I've dedicated so much of my life to music appreciation. Yes, there's plenty of junk to hold your nose over but buried underneath you get the chance to come away with brilliance like "Don't Wanna Fight". She works her way up and down your spine. She makes you get those sweat glands exerting at top efficiency. Alabama Shakes put on a clinic in the department of how to give yourself over to the sensations that embody music transcendence. You smile each time you recall hearing guitars wrapped so tight, bass plucked to maximize the massive goodness. Steve Johnson drums with unmatched authority. Imagine the basic goodness to the whole shebang. There isn't much to comment on other than a batch of souls walked into a recording studio and made magic on a par with some of the greatest garage rock you're likely to hold close to your eardrums. Relationship turmoil occupies a front and center seat on this vehicle. How important it seems that the lines of the lives of two intertwined souls don't cross. Both people in the tango have sworn to attack, to defend until there's nothing left worth winning. Day to day struggle rears its imposing head as well. I snatch up these sentiments from "The constant dedication. Keeping the water and power on." For a huge proportion of the population therein lies the payoff. Any other nicety is gravy on the meat and potatoes world's steak. Brittany spells out that there's shouldn't be need to fight when pride vs. pride leads only to no good. No relief to be had. The fun of living took a powder eons ago. 1982 #1 hit John Cougar (not Mellencamp yet) underscored that societal cruelty as a linchpin for "Jack and Diane". All together now...the more things change the more they stay the same. Couldn't you just eat this up beside a platter of Stubb's top of the line barbecue? While Stubb's already has a reputation. "Don't Wanna Fight" ought to have a nice sizable one really soon. Maybe if you've got some free space on your docket you could try closing your eyes and breathing in the unencumbered down to the tip of your toes heaven sent passion rock. The nice thing about a book is TV isn't there to fill in the imagination for you. Same holds true for taking in "Don't Wanna Fight" without outside stimuli clogging up your creativity. You can create your own happening scene free of before the fact suggestion. If you've got sexy on the brain maybe stripping to your undies while listening works wonders for you. To each his own. This particular chorus allows the instruments to zoom around the vocals rather than interject in a combative way. Zac Cockrell, bass armed to the teeth, justifies why we music obsessives declare we are not, I repeat, not, slackers who need a haircut, a real job, and a clue. Pursuing audio gold nuggets doesn't come close to being time wasted. If all we had to listen to were the wind rustling through the trees and the gurgling of our own restless stomachs, life as we know it to be would be lacking the certain zing that makes the dead tired rise from their slumber to keep ascertaining life isn't some prison without a warden to snatch the key from. I definitely don't wanna fight the exhilaration busting out at the seams of "Don't Wanna Fight". Talk about endearing goosebumps. Alabama Shakes, congratulations on giving me Central Texas chills.

The Offspring Come Up Strong

For defiant high protein rage juiced up with a hard buzz saw edge, The Offspring achieved their magnum opus when "All I Want" dropped into the nation's eardrums in the '90s. These boys maintain their mojo, albeit using deliberate make every second count backbone to uncork "Coming For You". There's attention to detail leaving no band member out in the cold. Dexter Holland slide into revolution fomenting shoes the second his voice hits the mike. "Coming For You" wouldn't be out of place blaring from the speakers at any one of a number of sports arenas. It's that fist thrusting impressive. Not unlike the Austin landscape in 2015, there isn't a single shred of real estate untouched. You'd think The Offspring were trying desperately trying not to allow you to catch your breath lest you stop focusing on the fire they're breathing. Thumbs up to how bass and screaming mad electric guitar are given their appropriate air time. Greg K. strikes the first blow through bass notes caressing Dexter's oration on how he and the guys are itching for a scene to blend into. In case you hadn't noticed they're not bored. Suffering fools gladly? Not on their watch. As a band if you're one step ahead of your short attention span audience your odds for prolonged success get better. Greg concedes the floor space to lead guitarist Kevin "Noodles" Wasserman who proceeds to spine melt like he's the guy who first learned how, and he's paying the guitar grit forward. Is there enough hand clapping hormone on the premises to keep you stoked? The Offspring know what works for them. Macho displays nine times out of ten translate into waiting listeners. Smacking skins with a salivation worthy fervor we turn to Pete Parada. He functions as the glue holding this nitro burning ride together. Chords pop from every angle on the compass that you can name. I liken the fast lane occupying twists and turns to watching a balloon dart across the room after the helium's been let out. Hook, hook, hook domino style locks into place around chorus time. "Don't get caught" was misheard by one YouTube listener as "Donkey Kong". While that show of respect for Nintendo's legendary stand up arcade game is nice The Offspring weren't headed in that direction. I'm guilty of having bought into that lyrical misunderstanding. If Beck can randomly utter "mouthwash, jukebox, gasoline" then why can't they follow a similar stream of consciousness via "Sold out, blow out, don't get caught" True that Beck uses noun salvos whereas The Offspring kneels at the verb altar but got to give it up for the intensity in both camps. You need to get your heads examined if Kevin's see the finish line break the tape resoundingly fret flurry doesn't have you admiring what his end of the songcraft contributes to the enchanting finished work. The Offspring and Green Day are partners in pop punk enthusiasm crime. Over 20 million copies sold by the former can't be wrong (Thanks Wikipedia. Don't recordplaya hate).Both acts tone down the up yours contempt of primal bands like The Ramones, which allows those intimidated by the genre's hostility to be treated to an exceedingly accessible version. "Coming For You" shall go into the history books as a vital oxygen blast piped into the Huntington Beach outfits steadily buff discography. ROCKIN' ROBERT REGRETS: Due to technical problems I am unable to provide the corresponding audio stream you guys have come to know and appreciate. Trust me you'll like what you'll hopefully one day hear.

Annie Lennox Casts One Undeniable Spell

Annie Lennox has still got it. Truth be told she never lost it in the first place. Her cover version of Nina Simone's hallowed "I Put a Spell On You" defines breathtaking. Of course she has already demonstrated her way around torch song numbers in ages past. "Why" exemplified glamour. That cut from "Diva" showed off how Annie can be both tender and forceful without losing her edge in either department. "I Put a Spell On You" merely asks the battle tested starlet to prove why she's in a soulful class by herself. The backup band she is teamed up with knows better than to infringe on her turf. She doesn't disappoint at all. Nina would be extremely proud. Annie's respectful of the source material. Each note carries with it a special magic that cannot be contained. Annie casts one hell of a spell. Her voice peers right into the heart of her would be betrayer of trust. You'd think Annie had been paying her dues in smoky jazz clubs all her life. She does do one heck of a fine impersonation of such an arts patron. The beat comes off sultry. So does Annie. This woman has always had her own crystal clear identity whether as one half of The Eurythmics or in her solo projects "Diva", "Medusa", "Bare" and now "Nostalgia" which I and numerous other Annie Lennox lovers happily succumb to. The drum keeper isn't pushy with his contribution. Neither is the pianist who methodically lends proper spice to this amazingly seasoned dish. Mid way through the guitar works its way to your vulnerable zone. Annie wears the sex appeal hat well. Annie falls into that category of souls who sound like classic soul singers from eras past. Were any of you '80s music devotees shocked to learn that Rick Astley the "Never Gonna Give You Up" hit maker was about as white as a quarter cup of Minute Rice? Don't blame you for that oversight one whit. During that time frame Annie paired up with Aretha Franklin for "Sisters Are Doin' It For Themselves". There's your soul royalty right there. The mix of those two makes absolute perfect sense. It jibes that Annie would sidle on over to Blue Note Records to assuage any fears Nina has of her classic not getting a thoughtful overhaul. When she looks into Daddy's eyes and says, "I put a spell on you 'cause you're mine" he's been duly warned that he'd better not give her any sass. She can't stand it that he's runnin' around. That's as believable coming out of Annie's mouth as it was Nina's. Check out Annie's footwork in the video. That's called being possessed by a force greater than herself. She sells it, we buy it, the result is heavenly music that you'd have to have a coal chip heart not to appreciate. The 50 Shades of Grey soundtrack benefits from the class act Annie brings to the mike. Even if the film isn't everybody's cup of tea "I Put A Spell On You" is bound to at least get the crowds talking, get them pondering what the skinny is about. We'd be considering ourselves fortunate if this particular spell didn't wear off anytime soon.

Man, Are Florence + The Machine Ever Demonstrative

The Florence end of Florence + The Machine shares with us that she recently had a nervous breakdown, that she wasn't making herself happy. If you listen closely to her new "What Kind of Man" you can tell the woman's been riding the ragged edge for sure. To start with the general mood runs everywhere. At the outset there's this slow, uneasy build that leads to who knows what. Then, out of nowhere, Florence lunges back into the sorts of theatrics which made "Shake It Out" a tour-de-force. As has been true in previous column space I'm not in love with the repetitive chorus being pushed under my nose. After the umpteenth time Florence asks "What kind of man loves like this?" you start caring about everything except gleaning an answer to the question. Florence + The Machine know which buttons to push, which uneasy corners of psyche to zero in on. There does come the realization that there's such a thing as too close to the bone. At the beginning of the song there's dialogue between Florence and a guy I presume is her lover. She discusses with him why he'd think people going through traumatic experiences are more connected than people who are content. This is interconnected with footage of Florence placed in various traumatic situations. The slow burn build musically sounds suspiciously like building tension so as to shock and awe listeners when the "Shake It Out" Florence pops back into view. Florence doesn't let us forget how keyed up she continues to be. Mark Saunders rides in behind on bass, touching the most fragile end of the spectrum. Also showing up to the dance on backup vocals are Isabella Summers, Christopher Lloyd Hayden, and Rusty Bradshaw. Mr. Hayden employs gut punch drums to demonic effect. Over on lead guitar Robert Ackroyd grabs us by the throat refusing to let go. If you fall into the category of people who prefer a brass section there's one bubbling under during Florence's oft asked question. Meanwhile, Florence herself grows ever victimized by mad and maddening crowds as the video shows. You don't lack for voyeuristic entertainment value but knowing Florence tumbled from sanity doesn't make the listening experience any less prickly heat inducing. The guitar and drum combo stand out the most. They represent the propulsion steam engine pushing "What Kind of Man" further and further. Lucky her man with one kiss inspired a 20 year period of devotion. Some lip lock, huh. That's downright Hall of Fame worthy. This dude strikes me as being a sociopath blended in with tease. He lets her dangle at a cruel angle where her feet don't touch the floor. I wonder if the sex goes down as super rough. Anything about Florence impresses me as super rough. Her vocals bite. Her persona forces you to sit up and take notice. Performance art in the key of psychotic split never did whet my whistle. "What Kind of Man" impresses me as some excuse to put Florence's unsteady moods on technicolor display. Perhaps Florence's entire aim was to get us as uncomfortable as possible, like being on an audio Tilt-a-Whirl. To the art house types who like their art as goose pimple inducing as possible, "What Kind of Man" guarantees hairs standing on end on impact. My verdict goes down as follows. "Shake It Out" worked because there was this levitation quality to it. The opposite could and should be said for "What Kind of Man". It sinks under gallons of gloom. That there's the trace of a pulse isn't a small miracle. A huge one would be required to keep you from tiring of Florence's righteous suffering.

Foo Fighters Bring a Congregation Full Of Explosiveness

Dave Grohl makes his job look easy. Single #2 from "Sonic Highways", a little something called "Congregation", carries with it everything that makes Foo Fighters one of those staying power bands. Taylor Hawkins drums with authority. He's along for this spine tingling ride wherever that someplace might be. Nate Mendel's square in the pocket on bass. Pat Smear leans into rhythm guitar like it was literally his lifeline. 20 years on I'd say it still is. Chris Shiflett knows his way around lead guitar and picks ideal places to infuse the vitality. Three cheers for true team effort. If you wish to label Dave Grohl the spokesman for the band be my/our guest. In any case Foo Fighters uncorks yet another exercise in cohesion as a band where what the working parts come together to do flat out screams "thing of beauty". As you might expect from a song called "Congregation" there's loads of spiritual reference points to draw to. There's this two sides of the same spiritual coin angle going with blind faith and false hope slugging it out for prime real estate in your mind. The line between blind faith and false hope looks blurred. One man's blind faith is another man's false hope. Ultimately you have to take the leap, crossing your fingers the whole time that someone will be close by to catch you. In and out, up and down through masterful chord switch ups go Foo Fighters. I salute them for remembering to do so. Keeps the blahs at bay. Watching these guys demonstrate how they go through their own labyrinth and come out the other side better people never fails to captivate my imagination. Obviously that observation holds sway for listening public representatives everywhere or we wouldn't be having this discussion at present. Momentum carries the day. They're fast out of the gate. You can't slow down the propulsion machine after it has left the station. That leaves Dave free to turn his driven personality up to eleven. Along the path of his distinguished recording career he's show a knack for keeping his vocal sights set on the node below boiling over. It's wonderful to see his hard rock devils come out to play. The battle scars dating back to Nirvana show up resoundingly here. Dave's the screech owl in this bunch. You'd also be right in labeling Foo Fighters rock craftsmen. Their attention to melody, contours, and stepping out of the control freak box to let the pieces gel to form a dynamic hole sums up how they've amassed such a quality body of work. For my taste "Rope" from "Wasting Light" was jaw dropping. Really solid beat you upside your fool head workmanship. "Congregation" works from a rock stylist's batch of paintbrushes. Different tack, same remarkable flair for a composition that earns the right to stand on its own merit rather than live in the shadow of its brethren. At the bridge we receive the band's theatrical side. It's short lived but not out of place. Zac Brown lends an assist. Not that this project's credibility required Zac's hipster quotient. Returning to the transcendental slot Dave ushers in the whole step into the light mysticism. The hearts beats inside Dave, voice on the stage, heart inside a cage. Ghosts of the past stop into this revival jam. Stem to stern "Congregation" begs for you to hoop and holler. Foo Fighters provide the amplification. Add heat, stir, and that's good musical eatin' for ya'. The legacy remains strong as ever.

AWOLNATION Does The Split Personality Bit

Indie rock act AWOLNATION skirts the edge of two rock-inflected personalities on its latest single "Hollow Moon (Bad Wolf)". Vocalist Aaron Bruno measures out his words in verse block one. He searches for his right mind. How plausible. He and bandmates aren't close to cruising altitude so we get reminded that when it doesn't seem like you have anything other than a tiny match lighting the way hitting upon your right mind isn't easy as pie. Much animosity wafts up from Kenny Carkeet's keyboards. They compel you to hear this crazy Aaron guy out. He might have something either twisted or profound to say. If the best we can say for him in the end is that he was a misunderstood genius then what's objectionable about that? Pounding away we get pulled into Isaac Carpenter's point on the band dynamic compass. Cards laid out on the table he doesn't draw the lead actor card in this power play. He does lend a useful helping hand which helps Aaron transition from gliding unraveling to mile a minute demented rambler. Lyrical content isn't the thing you should keep your fixation pointed to. Aaron's in meltdown mode. You can taste a little of the screaming that dyed in the wool rockers do later on in the song. Over and over he babbles on about how he's gonna make a deal with the bad wolf so it don't bite no more. Off and on the electronic horseplay elevates him to several fries short of a Happy Meal. Does "Hollow Moon (Bad Wolf)" stand a chance of holding shrinking attention spans for an appreciably long stretch? I'd say the video matches that profile. Depending on whether entertaining the clogged gears of crazy people whets your whistle or not I reserve the right to hold off on any recommendations. Am I being non-commital? Yes. Are there ordinate number of questions being asked for one blog post? Sure, but you paid the ticket to ride, therefore you get the twists in the road. To continue now Aaron's a fascinating case study. Knowing what makes him tick comprises the majority of the fun. You think the mishmash crew surrounding him in the video isn't wary of where his noodle is heading next? They poker face nicely. I wouldn't conclude AWOLNATION has much outside of mix and match synergies in mind. First we'll slide Aaron along a keyboard ice rink. Then we'll get him on the language treadmill to loosen his lips a bit. After we've exhausted him we'll send him back to the rink so he can once again clench his teeth, thus pushing down on revealing emotions. To be the hamster running after the carrot in Aaron's worn to a nub cranium. Have any of you guys felt your cosmic role was merely placeholder. Aaron sympathizes. He also goes from cold running energy to hot. Living textbook characters can reveal a lot to us about themselves and ourselves. "Hollow Moon (Bad Wolf)" splits the difference between hiding behind a loosely constructed mask and victimizing us with diarrhea of the mouth. You be the judge which half you like best.

Death Cab For Cutie Succeeds In Flying Close To The Sun

"Black Sun" probes your gray matter in a very consistent fashion. You'd have a point in thinking that listening to Death Cab For Cutie's new single can be compared to watching a gun shy flower open up steadily, revealing bold colors as the seconds elapse. It's been four years since "Codes and Keys" dispersed alt rock's lethargy spaces. On tap for late March release we get "Kintsugi". Another one of Obama's teachable moments has surfaced. I do try to educate where I can. As much as I value entertainment, education deserves credit too. Kintsugi comes to us from The Land of The Rising Sun. It entails fixing broken pottery with lacquer. "Black Sun" contains a lot of imagery revolving around psychological scarring. You and I get to go under Death Cab For Cutie's microscope to analyze just how broken the broken places really are. The crash site we amble past proves too great a sideshow to ignore like we hallucinated such carnage. A commonality among humans rests with the fight to avoid boredom. Death Cab's choices of what band flourishes go where elevates "Black Sun" to something much greater than, say, a filler track that today's audiences, thanks to the ability to load only the tracks they want can opt out of completely. You'd be shifting quality time in the right direction by paying close attention to how the demeanor changing from one lyrical passage to the next. For starters Benjamin Gibbard's guitar sounds commendably worn down. The heavy load he's carrying has threatened to drop him to his knees for good. Jason McGerr's thumping drum beats serve to reinforce the wobbly legs Ben sings on. As Ben asks "How could something so fair be so cruel when this black sun revolves around you?" his guitar submerges itself beneath the undertow. In its place sinister keyboards hold us at somewhat terrified attention. You and I have likely had our share of moments, probably lamentable ones, where time seemed to move in slo-mo. That juncture in "Black Sun" has slow motion tragedy written all over it. No sooner has the blackness descended than we're back to the guitar drum mesh work. Be careful though. The third instance where Ben returns to his dejected worldview, the band changes up their instrumental approach. We infer blackness has stepped aside to allow clarity to peek in, thus contributing some sunshine. Death Cab For Cutie brings every Farenheit degree to full effect on "Black Sun" You should apply SPF No. You Be The Judge at your own risk. This outing doesn't gallop away before we can glean meaning from it. On the other hand, it doesn't crawl at a snail's pace. I believe we come closer to snail than thoroughbred steed but this patient has life yet in its veins. The action slows enough to allow us to size up whether or not all parties to this ongoing crash have emerged with contained scar tissue. My mother has had a long career as an ACC Psychology teacher. She agrees with me that people are an interesting character study. "Black Sun" never stops fascinating. As was the case for the video for "You Are a Tourist" the video for "Black Sun" has top-notch production values pushing wind at its back. A crash scene on steady loop goes over great in tandem with a serious song like this. "Black Sun" won't burn out or fade away. It mainly lingers in the psyche, an itch you'd better scratch before you're consumed with the urge to rip your flesh off.

Black Keys Mellow Out On "Weight of Love"

Wide open spaces with a toke or three in between about captures Black Keys "Weight of Love." From the jump your ears are held captive under spell of drums dropped in softly as if to utter "Come on in the water's fine." You can't ask for much better from the guitars on display here. The ever simmering boil allows you access to peak around any and all dark corners. Truth be told there likely isn't a chemical substance you couldn't peace out to while listening to "Black and Blue". Dan Auerbach excels here in his role as ringmaster for the drugged out circus at hand. I bow before Dan's adept display with both the stringed instrument and his voice box. Dan tells the tale of a mysterious vamp who according to him was "always up to somethin'." Payback will apparently be swift for her according to the lyrics since nobody is going to want to protect this chick. Dan pleads with the girl not to give herself away to the weight of love, swooning atmospherics allowing the central flame to rise higher. Deliberate gets you the name of this game. How does "Weight of Love" soar to the heights it eventually reaches? Guitar and drum weave well together. A definite forest wilderness environment. Toast marshmallows around the campfire to this charmer. You'll excuse me for the wealth of description I'm employing to speak about this effort. See what listening to the song while trying to conjure up content gets you? However for you, my tolerant blog audience I soldier on so the connection you and I have won't fade away in the breeze. Unlike "Fever" which gave you a hurdy gurdy whimsy slant, "Weight of Love" draws you into its web awash in seriousness. First one to blink gets one right between the eyes. I appreciate how deeply Dan characterizes the female lead. You'd likely be mystified to encounter her on the dance floor mentioned in the second stanza. She's out there with the people who dance all night because they don't want to be lonely. What do we call her in terms of a character identity. Possibly she's a ghostly apparition. She may even be the drugged out product of all the inhaled marijuana alluded to earlier. Whatever your stance on it "Weight of Love" does feel...well...weighty. Chalk that up mainly to Patrick Carney whose drums carry that level of heaviness. Then again since garage rock is one of the genre handles they go by, heavy works as well as anything in terms of description. Black Keys have strayed a far piece from the chuckle fest humor that's evident in the video for "Tighten Up". If you haven't flashed back to that 2010 diamond I suggest you take that time to take some of the world's weight off your shoulders. Returning to "Weight of Love", it tips the scales into the win column due to caveman moodiness that requires no Tarzan themed loincloth to appreciate.

Five Seconds Later Kanye, Rihanna, and that Beatles Dude Fade From Memory

It's lovely to notice how Kanye West and Rihanna have some respect for an elder. If you have to spread the love on someone you could do worse than turn in Paul McCartney's general direction. In the video for "FourFiveSeconds" he appears engaged. Nobody handed him a check and said this will make whatever statement you think y'all are making work out justifiably in the end. To be frank Paul's the color portion of a number that amounts merely to Kanye and Rihanna getting to clown around in the studio with a legend. Like it or lump it this song's likely to come across as an excuse to print their own money. That's the thing about legends. As the years pass they become like the gold or platinum used to construct the certifications for units sold...their market value becomes astronomical. Paul dutifully strums while his black brother and sister get frank about what's darkening their lives lately. Rihanna's never lacked for candor. From her duet with Eminem ("Love The Way You Lie") to her peak drinking hour rave up ("We Found Love") the girl's always had her laser hot gaze set squarely on her would-be buyers. As for Kanye, his social brashness essentially hasn't been in doubt since the golden days when he interrupted Taylor Swift's MTV award acceptance speech to get one last plug in for rival Beyonce's video. Note to Kanye. I think Queen Bey's doing fine without you putting in your notion of what a good word is. Back to the single on the dissection table. Rihanna on deck first, declaring the obvious truism that she's no different than numerous other people in regards to how alcohol is the match that lights full scale disclosure. She's been stung thanks to her kindness which others mistake for weakness. For the looks of things Rihanna's expecting jail time for a particularly physical outcome to her being labeled weak. Kids today. Such a big hurry to be so the drama while not giving much justification for the hostility. In her defense how many platinum records do any of us lesser creatures have? Goose egg city as I thought. What's "wildin'?" Possibly slang for "going wild" "busting out in party mode". You learn something odd every day. It's truly wonderful to be alive. At the second hook Kanye and Rihanna join forces as Sir Paul plays it too cool in his backup capacity. Only difference is now both of them are singing the hook refrain. Still "FourFiveSeconds from wildin'." Tuesday's inconvenient. Wednesday's hanging around being useless. Thursday's the warmup act for you guessed it...FRIDAY!! Paul works the acoustic angle to the letter. Modest shadings of tone, depth, and intensity result in what might have been, if this outing was in service to a band, you know, the classic guitar drums tonsil flasher set up a likable sprig of parsley on the mouth watering main course. There isn't a real fleshed out use for his being present except maybe to prevent Kanye and Rihanna from ending up in a capella territory. Take away the lyrics and guitar and you've got emptiness. "FourFiveSeconds" leaves little to excite the senses. Kind of like a tiny spritz of perfume at Bloomingdale's doesn't exactly leave you begging for an entire flask. Water with a tad of discernible stimulant. Outside of that I can't easily say much to endorse "FourFiveSeconds" as a piece of music that's going to leave you wide eyed and amazed. Late in the game, Paul spins this homeboy ride into a gospel flavored part of the neighborhood. Doesn't excuse words that don't speak volumes. Paul's a gracious guy. Probably got a kick out of mixing it up with the whippersnappers. Having served his function as the experienced third of a titans of radio three way tag team match he can go back to calculating his Beatles' royalties. Kanye can go back to reminding himself not to piss anybody else off. Rihanna can go back to picking out some other hip-hop bad boy to play rough with. No harm no foul. "FourFiveSeconds" exquisitely sums up the amount of time it's going to take you to forget the song ever graced ear canals everywhere.

Deep Six Marilyn Manson At Once

Excuse me Marilyn Manson. The '90s was back that way. Today you'll come across as awkward like a fan boy at ComicCon. Well, since you're hear and since the meter's running why don't we see what hell you've wrought. "Deep Six" eh? Appears the trappings of a Marilyn Manson outing are present and accounted for. Creeps inducing video. Chords that unsettle if not make you bust out in hives outright. Lyrics weighted down by slasher fiend angst. Yup. It's out there on display. "Pale" deservedly ranks as a useful adjective to describe your skin after a solid listening. Anybody wanna get inside Marilyn's mind and move all the things around? Not an assignment for the faint of heart. Do you want to know what Zeus said to Narcissus? Probably not your top priority I gather. Follow the harsh as fingers on a blackboard brand of guitar playing and you can at least say you came away from the whole experience slightly better off than when you came in. Audio visual wise the video isn't breaking new ground. Repeat close up shots of oddball things were MTV's hallmark from day one. Manson needs to do his homework before locking up a video director. He hasn't lost his menacing "appeal". He's a poet, actor, and painter as well so from that data you can tell he has a finger in multiple pots. Even so you can't ignore that Marilyn's antics are a wee outdated two decades after "The Dope Show" broke the news that smart people already knew for a long time to their exceedingly stupid brethren in turning the world around...that we're all stars in the dope show. Reality TV's longer than warranted shelf life makes that plain. If there's credit to be doled out to Manson my vote lands on the fourth bridge. He spells eros backwards and comes up with sore, an important word for the turbulent era we live in. Throw some alphabet on the tail end of "sin" and you get "sincere". Thumbs up for being close to a dictionary and a manual having any sort of connection to the origins of root words. Marilyn's attempt to cash in on shock value, a cow that had been amply milked back in the day won't wash in an age where nothing's particularly shocking. Anyone with a mike can be a star, spout whatever kind of drivel he feels is appropriate and then stumble off like nothing evil took place. On camera he's convinced what he's participating in will turn some heads. "The Pale Emperor", if "Deep Six" is any indication isn't going to ruffle anybody's morning coffee. It merely succeeds in conveying Marilyn's been reduced to a trying too hard lounge act that needed to exit with dignity long ago.

The Decemberists Bring Folk Rock Intelligence To The Lake

The wordsmith in me adores "Lake Song", the latest release from the Portland, Oregon outfit The Decemberists' album "What a Terrible World, What a Beautiful World". You can't concoct vocabulary choices such as these unless you are truly inspired. For example, who injects the word "prevaricate" into a song? Many of your best selling stars past and present could likely be eliminated from contention on the spot. To show you how I educate as well as entertain and to help you out if you don't have The Decemberists on speed dial in order to get an explanation from them, I'll let you know that "prevaricate" means "To deviate from the truth". That's not the only spot where "Lake Song" dares to be cerebral to outstanding effect. "Terminally fey" essentially says "My doom is imminent. Come here to my bedside for that last pivotal hug." Only fey I'm familiar with regularly has a book out named "Bossypants" and answers to the name Tina. In any case these gents have guts galore for putting such an obscure word into their lyrical hopper. Tell me you use "fey" in casual conversation all the time and I take it back. No? Okay then. "Lake Song" works splendidly as titles go because the instrumentation flows along gracefully like the waters of fill in the lake nearest your house here. Acoustic allows the rocker facade to come crumbling down. There isn't a jangling noise in the stew. That sets the stage for lead singer Colin Meloy to floor you with his beguiling mind. He's softly gliding along the water a tourist in passing. "Lake Song" serves its task as music for people who don't like to beaten over the head with either machismo or over the top symbolism. Starving for beauty plucked straight from an orchestra pit? Nate Query possesses a cello in his bag of tricks. Moreover, he's not even remotely afraid to use it. Predominantly the melody rolls along, passing time with no 21st century urgent task to go running after. Minimalist entertainment molded into a pleasing shape that doesn't wear out its welcome the way so many other pop hooks have before. A slight crescendo pops its head above the fray to remind us not to rest on our leisure time laurels any more than they're resting on their laurels as an erudite band of tune makers. The drum kit usually uncorks the most hectic cog in the music machine. John Moen goes against that grain. His intensity level arcs only slightly, and at those times only when called for. Coming in for a landing on the lyrical tarmac once again "sibylline" doesn't leap out and grab me as a word that two leggers sitting down to beer, coffee, or wine at their favorite watering hole. That's brilliance with a capital "B". That word means "cryptic" FYI. I haven't come across a ditty that's caused me to do this much legwork to understand how all the pieces fit. Immediately gratifying. The Decemberists treat their audience like they have actual brains in their heads. I grasp how you'd surmise "Lake Song" would serve no purpose other than the backdrop for high tea in London as the scones are being laid out before you but you'd be making a criminal mistake. "Lake Song" stirs beauty, poignancy, peacefulness, and levelheadedness into its vast mixing bowl. The resulting understatement won't knock anybody out of his seat at the concert hall. It's earthy art that makes you think and somewhere along the way in its own vital quiet whisper releases you into the world a better man. "Lake Song" calms the agitated, pumps up the ennui riddled and proves Portland has much to be proud of when surveying its musical lineage. By all means jump into this lake with both legs in full springiness mode.

Maroon 5 Goes Sweet On Us

Maroon 5 could go out on top after "V" runs its inevitable course. Adam Levine's as much as stated he's not vying to be in this gig after 40. But when you're delivering seamless pop soul like Maroon 5's doing right now why kill the momentum. "Sugar" has already broken into Billboard's Top 10 Singles chart. To these ears it's not hard to understand why. Their melodic workmanship, aiming straight for the heart of women everywhere, demonstrates Maroon 5's gift for hit singles never really disappears, merely reloads. The video that goes with it was wisely directed. Nothing sums up the mindset of Adam, Jesse, Mickey, James, Matt, and PJ like a romp through LA's wedding circuit. Here and there Maroon 5 can approach love with measured cynicism. "Misery" isn't exactly the template you'd follow in building up a sturdy relationship. At other junctures the band shows off its tender side. "Won't Go Home Without You" follows in this vein. "Sugar" comes by its breezy celebratory air honestly. Adam shows off his pipes winningly. He's grown increasingly masterful at using his generous octave range to hit ladies in the dreamboat region they like most. Mickey Madden uses his bass to cradle the happy go lucky spirit paraded before us. Matt Flynn knows how to mete out sparing drum beats but that shouldn't be mistaken for phoning this in. The cogs link together in impeccable fashion. These men feed off each other's energy like they were born to tackle the pop world. Rest easy knowing "Sugar" sounds great anywhere. I'm thinking since it has now been used in connection with a wedding themed video that it shall pop up on any one of a number of wedding playlists. I realize we're at the seasonal diametrically opposed end of the weather spectrum but "Sugar" likely stands to make beaches coast to coast even hotter. You couldn't track down too many women who wouldn't leap at the chance to pick up Adam's broken pieces and transform him into a whole soul. Line by line he's pleading for your help. Ladies, Adam lives for you and you alone. If he could get one little taste of your sugar he'd cease his shameless begging. I've become fond of the way the chord progressions stay basked in sunlight throughout. There's a steady upward trajectory followed by a nice comfy leveling off zone. Maroon 5, as a unit, merit inclusion in any conversation regarding which bands from 2000 on are the best. Maroon 5 knows how to take the most direct path to giving their fans what they want. They also have a knack for bringing newbies to the fold. Adam's courageous display of vulnerability strikes me as a welcome shift from the many cultural instances where the woman's the one desperate for forbidden fruit. He's on the short list of most charismatic front men in decade two of the twentieth century. He wears the Alpha dog collar proudly and why shouldn't he. "Sugar" radiates his undeniable magnetism. I'm not insinuating the other band mates simply coast on his lead but Adam does take the ball and run with whatever content's put in front of them. "Sugar" tastes like another Maroon 5 classic that newlyweds will be waxing nostalgic on for years to come. The aftermath cavities are certainly worth the trouble.