Royal Blood Has Created a Monster Bearing Libidinous Fangs

Gotta love a number you can bounce right into from square one. West Sussex England brings the goods via Royal Blood, a tight twosome mixing catchy blues rock and hard rock riffs throughout its "Little Monster" single. You may have to listen in really close to grasp the blues sensibilities but no two ways about it you'll taste each flavor they've got to offer. Mike Kerr leaps out of your portable device on contact through bass guitar long on snarl that follows you to the parking lot and refuses to let you out of its cross hairs. Drummer Ben Thatcher puts some air between his sticks. That wisely allows us listeners not to have to wolf it down in one overburdened gulp. You can get very inspired from the shifts from dominant bass to Mike waxing romantic. You don't have to draw a diagram to grasp Mike's apparent animal magnetism. He fancies himself a wolf in lover boy's clothing. You know the lust dripping from his tongue has to be satisfied or else somebody's going to get the business end of his venom. That he wants to rip the heart off the sleeve of his intended conquest hearkens back to old school chivalry days. That gesture sets up a two way street for most of us, friendship, family, or trip down romance memory maker lane. He's curious as to where he's running to. I imagine he'd like her to run straight into his arms but that decision in the end rests with her. "I say run little monster before you know who I am." This chorus drips with danger. That's both a good thing potentially disastrous thing depending upon which side of the fence the relationship gravitates towards. Royal Blood gets stronger as the sound slithers along. The gusto holds consistent through to the chorus point. The second half of the ballgame puts the two on an upward trajectory. They have a keen sense for positioning the product they're selling. Mike's bass works hips into a nasty dark region of the libido. As for Ben pounding home the message works wonders for the presence he's created as a budding in studio technician. Mike's urging the she beast to come out and get some since she lacks both love and lust. Permit me somewhat of a throwback moment here. Royal Blood's chord choice on this ditty reminds me of Louisville, Kentucky act Days of the New's single "Touch, Peel, and Stand" You'd be doing yourself a big favor scanning "Little Monster" and "Touch, Peel, and Stand" for comparisons. Blues accents permeate both. Also, "Little Monster" opens loudly then tones itself down to allow Mike to go on the prowl as it were. If you wanted you could declare the opening notes represent "hot" whereas the vocal delivery implies "cool". Austinites might have seen Royal Blood at last year's South by Southwest showcase. I'm willing to guess it was a show to be remembered for some time. Royal Blood has the potential to fill a void in music with their blues horse sense. Not many artists with the potential to come up roses in that area are working their magic at present. Beck's experimental. Seether rips the wound open with its hard rock. Halestorm and The Pretty Reckless prove again that women can rock out just as convincingly as men. Where's the blues rock? Royal Blood's sex soaked monster puts the twosome well on its way to answering that question. This is a captivating baby step. I await longer strides with baited breath.

Plugging Into My Morning Jacket's "Big Decisions" Is a Smart Decision

Straight from Mom's hometown of Louisville, Kentucky we have My Morning Jacket cluing us into the nettlesome nature of making big decisions, namely that your peers can't make them for you which is both intimidating and exhilarating at the same time. Jim James leads this round table discussion in his typical peering into your mind's mind to examine the complexities therein. My Morning Jacket makes an outstanding racket in this case. Everyone's tuned up to the hilt but they don't overwhelm you with their cosmic talents. This band falls under the country rock umbrella to name but one genre it answers to. "Big Decisions" spreads itself out all over the table not unlike when Ally Sheedy did so when she unloaded the contents of her purse and unloaded about her private life in The Breakfast Club. The instruments click when it's convenient which is on a regular basis here. No small haunting chorus hovers over these proceedings. An out on the home on the range prairie sizzled guitar note or three lends itself nicely to the homespun humility with which "Big Decisions" unfolds. The lead character appears as a soul dabbling in life's waters but afraid to take the plunge necessary for love, happiness, career, etc...Jim calls out who I believe to be a her. He doesn't want to fake claiming everything is okay. She still quakes on the high diving board showing little interest in making a defining move. Carl Broemel adds the country flavoring with steel guitar. Patrick Hallahan doesn't beat us over the head behind drums. His is a conductor's role of sorts. He's there to make sure the parade gets where it's supposed to be in a timely fashion. If you want to play intellectual comparison games My Morning Jacket has crafted a brain strengthener that R.E.M. wouldn't have sounded out of place performing in its heyday. Said Athens, GA dwellers contributed to the musical landscape with "What's The Frequency Kenneth?" from the "Monster" LP. "Big Decisions carries around a similar eclectic mix putting each member in an agreeable light. I tip my hat to the boys for whipping up that haunted vocal merging at the start. Doesn't give away the heavy topic awaiting us after the boulder rolls down hill. What a treat it would be to hear My Morning Jacket perform this before the Austin City Limits folks. The band held court there in both 2008 and 2011 so not hard to fathom a return trip. I'm fond of them exploring the possibilities rather than get mired down in pursuing a quick buck. The lost soul is urged not to harbor regrets because his/her true feelings never saw the light of day. Jim adamantly tells him/her he can't make the big decisions for him/her. Nobody can do that for anyone. One of adulthood's scariest realizations. I don't bear any ill will that My Morning Jacket didn't reward us with chord change-ups. It had an established theme to pursue and needed to stay firmly enmeshed in one amplified train of thought to do so. "Big Decisions" probes uneasy terrain but pulls it off without the heavy handedness that would encourage us to blow them off as being presumptuous windbags. The smart decision is to cheer loudly when "Waterfall" the album from which this single originates, hits stores in early May. If you want your cranium to get a workout My Morning Jacket serves the purpose with nothing short of a deep tissue massage.

You'll Be Glad You Checked Into Saint Motel

Let's give a round of applause for breezy pop that only seeks to entertain. distract, and give you a warm glow inside. Enter LA's Saint Motel, a four-piece outfit entrusted with said task. I'll jump in to say "No, you don't have a legitimate reason not to like "My Type". Everything sparkles resplendently. How did Dak learn to play bass in such deference to legends of Motown. I'd say his take on the instrument comprises a dreamy pop alternative to Ronson & Mars' "Uptown Funk". If you listen closely you can make out the intersection where Latin spicy and radio ready pop intersect. A/J Jackson sings as a man who knows his sole purpose for the evening is to have as grand a time as could be possible. On hand we get clanging bells that feed the already infectious fun. An approving nod goes to Greg Erwin who displays a whip smart penchant for knowing where the beats fit best and at what times to apply them. A/J certainly has the courageousness quiver in his bow and arrow collection when he openly admits his qualification for the ideal woman is appealingly simple. She needs only to have a pulse. Narrows down the field a hare doesn't it? He's a top flight analyst on sweet love. He admits it comes wearing disguises, in varying shapes and sizes. He essentially contradicts himself pointing out he's got very specific tastes then copping to the whole give me a breathing being thing. He urges we double check for double meanings. Does anybody deny he's a player? As for Aaron Sharp the way he gets maximum mileage from his guitar lends "My Type" its suave quotient. The band originally went under the moniker Turkish Rocket. Personally I find that name easier to digest than Saint Motel which comes equipped with a host of possible meanings. How about Saint Motel as a way to describe a lusty hooker. Or there's the literal interpretation of a motel filled with saints. Not one of us on this earth could out and out own sainthood so I doubt that's where this foursome was heading. You could stretch the concept further by thinking its a motel full of New Orleans Saints fans. Not likely, but fantasy and fun go hand in hand. "My Type" ought to be an ideal conversation starter at clubs, bars, possibly free flowing flash mobs. There are various instances where "My Type" urges you to let loose. The brass section begs for poured champagne. Drums too feisty to not fall in love with. Bass rife with friendly wink self-assured boastfulness. "My Type" figures to be everybody's type if everybody boils down to everybody who likes his pop heavy on unabashed celebration of woman even if we're celebrating a guy who has decided having standards is overrated.

Zac Brown and the Boys Get Heavy With Chris Cornell's Help

The Zac Brown Band's hit on a winning formula by teaming up with Soundgarden's Chris Cornell. Your result? Southern fried rock that requires multiple napkins to get the grease off your fingers. "Heavy Is The Head" lays down the lumber assuring you'll have somewhat of a knot in your head come morning. Need song storytelling to lighten up a graveyard? You've come to the right place..er...haunt. Zac's voice takes each gram of tension and whips it into a defiant froth. The way John Driskell Hopkins rips into his bass you'd think he and the great beyond's hallowed spirit world had an unbreakable connection to each other. Daniel de los Reyes drives home the dynamism behind the drum kit. Zac succeeds in making brain toasted narration sound compelling. You're not adopting the run screaming in the other direction pose. Zac's really going to town using his electric guitar as steady companion. "Heavy Is The Head" carries around the chip on the shoulder brash sneer you'd come to expect from a rowdy who's knocked back one too many brews down at the local watering hole. He inhabits a domain that doesn't lend itself well to piling out of the psychological debris accumulated over a down and dirty life. Zac has studied well at the feet of fellow Southern rock stalwarts Lynyrd Skynyrd and The Allman Brothers. Both acts were unapologetic about the warts beneath the biker dude surface. Coy Bowles lends his own commanding touch on guitar. You're not allowed to forget the agony creaking beneath the surface. Everybody involved wears it well. What's missing is that roaring campfire not to mention the toast ready marshmallows. Gathered around said flame Zac spins the yarn guaranteed to set your teeth on edge. Quality storytellers do that amazingly well. Behold the restless black dog drinking water, a cooling experience on his tongue. Rattling ghost chains loom large. Where might the cornstalk lightning be? I'm sure given time it'll make itself known somehow. The king's blood spills across the queen's royal altar. There isn't bound to be a satisfying conclusion to this regal melodrama. Smack in the middle of this battle zone we receive a reminder of the group quest all of us are taking in one form or fashion. Second guessing decisions? Plenty of those to last many lifetimes. Pages of your life fill up. Where's the epiphany meant to drive the fog away and allow our true selves to merge with the fearful one? Zac sings the title sporting full on brood to leave no one doubting the pain he's sweating out. The ground on which His Majesty stands shifts violently. At any second the soils could swallow him up, putting him on a collision course with the dead and the secrets they shant reveal. "Heavy Is The Head" gets big time love for not alienating either the rock or country side of the ledger. You can bank on it pairing well with your malt liquor beer of choice. In fact Zac occupies the shoes of a tragic figure in no way dissimilar to the shrink played by Bruce Willis in The Sixth Sense. Zac's deceptively haunting as was the shrink when we realized he himself was an apparition Haley Joel Osment was gifted (odd word) for his ability to see clear as a bell. "Heavy Is The Head" was born to be chugged down hard and yes, extremely heavy. Zac and Chris do make a blissfully compatible match. I salute them for giving it a shot.

Andy Grammer Charms And Disarms Throughout "Honey, I'm Good"

Mood slumping fast? Get yourself a taste of Californian Andy Grammer's "Honey, I'm Good" and I bet you'll be on the upward trend towards peppy vibes. His affable persona behind the mike insures the song can seek out a home somewhere in even the most jaded of hearts. How he makes potential philandering sound commendable escape logical comprehension. As Adam Sandler's movie title implores "Just Go With It". Hand clapping only adds to the conceit that getting a little leg on the side somehow has moral upshot to it. Give the boy credit that, no, he shouldn't let temptation guide him down the wrong path. You could ascertain the winning way of the song stems largely from the sun drenched chord focus. You don't hear moral dilemma. You don't get minor chords fraught with gloom. You also don't have to deal with aesthetic shifts all over the cultural map. He's locked into one frame of mind which gets more cute the longer the song goes. Verse two pays tribute to the female ass, a conceptual retread but since Andy's the messenger we won't kill him for the message. I admire the comic book slant of the video. His situation is farcical enough to warrant this type of treatment. Lots of superhero action poses to go around. But back to the song itself. Repetition thy name is this chorus. After the fourth round of "I could have another but I probably should not" his words lose their punch a tad. He protests but he's not firm about backing away from the bar. He has great percussion backing him up. That mandates toe tapping responses. You don't sense choral sensibilities are sacrificed either. "Honey, I'm Good" is very easy to follow along with. Taking the ride presents naughty little rewards that we can chortle about in the privacy of our own domiciles. Brassiness comes naturally to Andy. Pumped up to the right level his is an infidelity party to which we all gain access via peering through the lens. "Honey, I'm Good" absorbs in the system like the undeniable feast for the senses that it makes itself out to be. Andy wears a nattily attired rogue's hat like it was meant to fit on his head. Honey, this is guilty pleasure tune without the guilt.

Red Is All "Yours" On This Trembling Rock Epic

The dramatic pacing builds. The guitar work crooks a finger beckoning you ever closer. Vocally the passion lead vocalist Michael Barnes wonders if he's lost, at least in the lyrics, has not deserted him. Nashville's Red wades into the hardly murky deep of relationship dramatics with "Yours Again". This little tilt spreads across your eardrums like you'd stretch two hammock strands across a tree. The aural wallpaper spreads across your brain. Little by little "Yours Again" has your attention and refuses to let go. This searing blow to the senses works powerfully. Drummer Dan Johnson cracks whip behind the kit at the precise seconds when he has to make it count the most. This level of effort makes Michael's job that much easier. The Armstrong tag team, Anthony and Randy give you all the cranium-crashing slow cooking guitar thrills you want and then some. Played out over a close to five minute exercise in milking the dramatics right down to the last drop those guitars burn a convincing hole in mid chest and they know they have you pinned to the wall. Michael doesn't go anywhere near attempting to launch his emotive pipes outside his established vocal range. That helps him glide over top of the crush your innards to a fine paste noise his band mates are putting on full display. It's calculated serial murderer crush but crush just the same. There really isn't much of a showoff bridge chock full of chances for each band member to flex for the camera. To me the restraint works in their favor. You get a chance to exhale following the heaviness Red has laid down. You'll find the track on the "Beauty and Rage" album. "Yours Again" displays both concepts. The Reaper sends his regards in a sense via Michael's admission that he's staring into the blackness that's staring back at him. That's feel good vibe in a nutshell, yes? Sizable angst revolving around the question "Why did I try to live without you?" Regret, she can be a very cruel mistress indeed. I don't have advice for Mikey but the agony he's clearly put in front of us may make you want to give it your very best shot. Her love represents his source of light. Been there. Heard that. However since his group doesn't waffle where sincerity of intent goes I'll hold off on putting the screws to him. Colliding hearts and minds sounds highly chaotic. Kudos again to Michael for extending us emotional investment credit in the bank. Torment thy name is Michael. He mires in self doubt, a shred of clothes many of us have worn ourselves at one time or another. "Will I wake up from this moment? Will I see you slip away? "Or is this a new beginning of beauty and rage?" It's insomnia promoting questioning I tells you. Surely each of us has at least one life moment we'd like to mimeograph and save for the particularly rainy days. Michael speaks what many of us lack the eloquence to belt out. As has been true with past rock columns I point out how bass looms large and looms impressively. You haven't nearly the lasting impression on the mind without it. We're talking taffy pull impressiveness. Red avoids code blue by giving "Yours Again" the space to breathe deep, breathe emphatically, breathe convincingly. "Yours Again" puts on the open market a taut to the breaking point thriller that's lip smacking delicious for everyone.

Theory of a Deadman's "Angel" Flies Along Gracefully

Some days a warm full bodied hug gives you the lift you need to carry on when hopelessness knows where you live and constantly leaves its underwear on your door knob. In musical form Theory of a Deadman opens its hearts and arms to us with "Angel" Usually I'm the first one to slam a band for erring on the one-dimensional side where chord choice goes but here's a song where the subject matter justifies staying in one zone completely. We get greeted by a guitar that's already smart enough to ease us into the fray with patience. This isn't easy content to absorb. Tyler Connolly approaches the mike seeking to open his weaknesses to any and all bold enough to listen. He's in love with the title creature. Problem is he's got a hard time letting go, a commonality for us all particularly when our connections run deep. Impressive for certain is the chords are warm color wheel approachable. Despite the broken wing themes brought up by the song there's no need to fear inching forward to let some of the unchecked vulnerability rub off. At one juncture during the chorus Tyler's voice arcs in the perfect place merging power rock with masculine sensitivity. He's coming to grips with having to let the angel go. None of us could honestly say finality comes naturally. It's a state of being we have to learn on the fly. The pathos drips off the band's performance. In the beginning Tyler's love for angel comes through clear as mud. He follows up his declarations with the introspective under the microscope peek lots of artists have and likely will continue to engage in. Dave Brenner lights added fire through guitar played in the guise of the stalwart warrior. Joey Dandeneau quietly drums not demanding much screen time in this tear jerking drama. Dean Back rates MVP status because you strip bass from this finely tuned up chassis and the ride doesn't roll nearly as fiercely. Tyler throws in what Al Franken's Stuart Smalley would call "stinkin' thinkin'" He wonders if he's crazy, weak, or possibly blinded by what he's seen. Regardless of the profile he assumes, he isn't her soldier. Letting her fly away proves a formidable task to undertake. I give him credit for revisiting the wound instead of denying it was ever put there in the first place. Not that his angel lacks potentially unraveling quirks of her own. She's afraid of the light, not useful if angel is on your resume. Despite the broken halo, she's got fight in her eyes. What perseverance in such a fragile creature. Put in getting down to brass tacks terms the two of them likely are helping each other to leap over the hurdles keeping them from evolving. He'd like to say goodbye but bravery isn't forthcoming. She needs to soar but her halo's broken. The healing potions spring steadily from verse after verse. As therapy sessions go "Angel" excels at understanding what articulate means. By the time we get to the last chorus repetition we sense both parties have just enough inner strength to carry out one of the most difficult things a person is called on to do...say goodbye to someone we care about. Theory of a Deadman applies the jaws of life with a steady hand on the tiller. "Angel" soars without veering too far out of sight that we can't thank it for deigning to spend some of its time with us.

The Temperance Movement Erupts Into Blues Rock Frenzy

"Take It Back" introduces us to British blues rockers The Temperance Movement. They come crashing into our midst with a cocky air not unlike Australian band Jet, the lads known for "Cold Hard Bitch" the unapologetic he-man anthem AC/DC wish they'd thought up. Damon Wilson's spotlight breakout moment happens right when vocalist Phil Campbell's barking out the title. Unwise would you be to forget Paul Sayer. The dude's guitar sneaks underneath vocals and drums like it was meant to hang its hat there. Piss and vinegar abound. What exactly are the intangibles The Temperance Movement have to share. For starters when you bring high dollar energy right out of the gate you're naturally compelled to enter the adrenaline stream that prompted it. Nick Fyffe kicks posterior on bass. That right there's extraordinary beer chugging song making. The bass rumbles like a classic car tuned up for maximum rumble. There's much to be said for the short and to the point quality. A shade over 3 minutes gets the job done. These lads appear armed for bear. Luke Potashnick chimes in at his end with his own guitar work. Twin assault with fret represents an iconic tradition of the rock music world. It's wonderful to know The Temperance Movement plays and pays it forward. Picture if you will "Take It Back" blaring from a car's speakers, the top down, neighbors shaking their fists in incredulity at the racket being made. Nick's bass seldom leaves Damon's side. The results are wondrous to behold. You've got to both have the rock attitude and be able to deliver the goods. The Temperance Movement succeeds on both counts. Paul and Damon gel to enable the rapport more common with established tag teams like Tyler and Perry or Jagger and Richards or even Mercury and May. Everyone gets in that zone successful folks in any profession dream about hitting at some point in their careers. Each band member steps into his own personality. Together that personality exudes an in your face bravado that basically translates as rock's chief template. Rough edged as a dude in bad need of a shave to eradicate the five o' clock shadow stubble Damon's pipes growl in rabid dog agitation. This only seeks to make Damon an even bigger force to reckon with. The "Whoa-oh" chorus could have you on your knees as if you'd dropped into their confessional hall waiting to be either absolved or punished severely. "Take It Back" comes nowhere near being a punishment for your ears. Plenty to endorse. The guitars are cued up beautifully. The drummer hammers out some blistering beats. The bassist has a dangerous allure that could sustain a previously swagger starved man for days. Take my word for it. "Take It Back" doesn't take long to ingratiate itself into your system. You'll be addicted to the aftertaste and afterglow almost on impact.

Incubus Didn't Miss Its Calling

Hello, Incubus. Haven't been too terribly acquainted with you since the "Drive" days of the early 2000s. Listening to your new "Absolution Calling" effort makes me want to confess what a miserable mistake that judgment call was. The gents bust out in full funk metal explosiveness. During this song you go from one level on the elevator sound machine, down one floor, then back up to the primary level. Look up to the sky and you'll witness fireworks exploding in each color of the super charged rainbow. Did Incubus swipe a page from the Muse playbook? I don't believe so but the band's commitment to shifting tonalities right and left demonstrates they're in the same time zone as the arena rock titans. The accompanying video features choreography direct from the cutting room floor of "West Side Story". The actors flex their manliness muscle convincingly. Much like the chord progressions the acting chops come in waves. Doesn't leave much for vocalist Brandon Boyd to do except jump on board and enjoy the cruise. Chris Gilmore deserves to be singled out for how he prods keyboards to center stage. The remaining players feed off of his undeniable energies. Chris reaches out his hand. Guitarist Mike Einzinger demonstrates that he's equal to the overtures. Throw in some finger snap filler. Drop bassist Ben Kenney underneath the hood of this whacked out ride. Put the harmonies on the stove to let simmer. Nobody's sitting in neutral. That effort translates into stunning artistic growth. "Drive" got its tentacles into the moseying state of mind. "Absolution Calling" has smoke coming out of its nostrils in the vein of the fairy tale dragon set. If staying business is the workforce's ace in the hole then "Absolution Calling" guarantees job satisfaction. Call it lunch pail on overload mode. Then again funk delivers that audio blow to the inner cranium already so surprise isn't warranted. So what gets honor role shout outs in the lyrics portion of tonight's program? I say we hand the medal over to "The medicine smile". If you take anxiety reducing drugs you'll cop your own smile in mere seconds. "Come see the sights of sages" gets points for landing flush in the Deep Thoughts/Jack Handey pocket. Incubus stem to stern sticks to a solid rhyme scheme script (e.g. "sages" "cages" "sun" "one"). Brandon wordsmiths his way past any defense mechanism he encounters. Macho rock certainly has its place in music's orbit but hip hip hooray for material less burger and fries and more filet mignon. Discriminating tastes are apt to sink their teeth into this master chef's sumptuous selection. It would be a grievous error to assume Incubus got complacent between 2011's "If Not Now, When?" and the two EP set slated to invade eardrums during the early stages of 2015. "Absolution Calling" doesn't need to repent for jack squat. Brandon Boyd's prickly heat inspiring turn behind the mike rewards listeners who aren't overly eager to hit the iPod shuffle button. The overall sound generously serves you the best magic carpet ride possible. Because Chris gets so appetizingly engaging in the way he precision pinpoints his keyboard that you become compelled to allow ears to bounce tennis match style from one angle on the court to another. If your ears could belch their joint approval, then "Absolution Calling" would be just the mouth watering dish to get them throwing it out Homer Simpson style. "Absolution Calling" should not be declared a wrong number.

Carly Rae Jepsen Makes Herself Easy To Like

Carly Rae Jepsen's back in action. For those out there who felt like poking your eyes out with the business end of a pool cue after hearing "Call Me Maybe" for the millionth time a few years ago I'll give you a five-Mississippi head start at running to somewhere where you're not likely to hear her new "I Really Like You" played beyond anyone's caring or feigning the sentiment. She's got the cuteness factor going for her. That's how "Call Me Maybe" shot to #1. Cute chorus, cute orchestra sophisticated embellishments. She epitomized the girl next door who you'd be happy to give a cup of sugar to. She was so of the moment that no less a celebrity luminary than Sesame Street's poster muppet for questionable eating habits Cookie Monster was featured in "Share It Maybe" a tribute to sharing your cookies when asked to do so. What would Sally Field think of the "I really like you" connection played to the hilt? We should surrender the upper half of the charts to Carly now. She's one confection you'll have to gobble whole because pop radio programmers are going to be all over this like ugly on an ape, as my mother would say. Long ago we had to have learned that fluff moves units. I confess it's a nice contrast to Hozier's dirge like but artistically flooring "Take Me To Church". Not to worry if you're a shopaholic who doesn't have plans to haul ass to a twelve, fifteen, or twenty step program. "I Really Like You" promises to fit right in with the many samples of perfume, shoes, button down shirts, sporting goods, yogurt, and pretty much any other consumer item you'll come in contact with at the mall. User friendly, thy last name is Jepsen. My mom wondered earlier today what Tom Hanks had to do with anything about the song. At the surface not much. Probably the powers that be in media marketing thought how cute would it be to have Tom Hanks lip syncing Carly Rae Jepsen. Nobody's going to cry out for censorship. The ploy doesn't rise any higher than a G rating. The same could be said for the song itself. We've got cotton fluffy ear yummy on our earlobes. It's adorable (?) since Tom's old enough to be Carly's father. Hilarity ensues. To be fair Tom's about an upstanding Joe as the planet ever spawned so I don't begrudge him this bout of silliness. Pop is at its core accessible. Does it matter that "I Really Like You" boils down to big toothy grins wrapped up, tied together with a pink bow, and set into the stratosphere on the erase proof image of millions of puppy dog eyes? You better believe it doesn't. At the music world's refreshment stand "I Really Like You" stands shoulder to shoulder with other soda pop caffeine drinks that were meant to be slammed down in agreeably fast manner so you could get back to whatever your life happened to be comprised of at the time. The man she's with sounds like a tease. "You like making me wait for it," she protests. She dances around the whole love conundrum herself. She's caught in her head. She wants to get in his head. She ponders how they got to late nihht watching television dangling on passion's precarious ledge. Whenever there's decision making afoot Carly plunges right back into the saccharine heightened chorus. That's not a dig by any stretch. Theater's cornerstone happens to be building up anticipation. Carly freakin' Simon devoted a whole song to anticipation. The nubile Carly of 2015 read the textbook thoroughly and smartly figured out where to build up curiosity. Temptress yes but not a disrespectful one. "I Really Like You" ought to be tolerated if nothing else. At best it's worthy of getting a super sized hug. Mom and Dad won't balk at their darlings blasting this immaculate charm magnet at top volume.

Nate Reuss Demonstrates Why He's Nothing But a Force of Nature

Many music lovers know Nate Reuss from his role as the hipster dude in Fun., the group that made its ode to the wonders of being young, aptly titled, "We Are Young" the high flying success it turned out to be. In the present he's giving solo stardom a shot via "Nothing Without Love". Production values are impressive throughout. The accompanying video reveals how committed to his subject matter Nate is. We could easily be hearing the song during evening hours, a barrage of patriotism motivated fireworks jostling the quiet from its resting spot. Celebration fills the air. Nate's pipes are extra powerful. He's lost none of the electricity that made "We Are Young" supremely memorable. Worth noting in the video is the theme of starting out floating in the water and ending up there. Do I detect some kind of baptismal cleanliness at work. Many have sung volumes on love's recuperative properties. Nate comes on strong, a wind-up toy waiting for someone to pull his string and let him soar to uncharted heights in the universe he's part of. Nate's soon joined by a truly imposing orchestra. The drummer heaps on gravitas in generous servings. Before long keyboards and piano join up to ignite the fireworks I drew reference to. You have to understand that if Nate weren't belting his message out like his life depended on it "Nothing Without Love" wouldn't have a match beneath it to ignite any sparks whatsoever. As it stands the vapor trail this plane leaves behind could guide any and every lost soul to salvation. Can anybody bottle those top of the range notes he executes with such effortless flair? Love pops in song repeatedly so it's what each new person brings to the interpretation that counts. In Nate's case he spells out that he'd be a ship stuck in the sand. Very literature-oriented. Where's the wind to carry him home? How come his darling hasn't stepped up to give him a sign? Weighty queries for a gentleman young in mind and body. Love isn't viewed in flattering terms later in the song. Nate's at sea, three years later, on the sinking ship love put him on. He's got a love hate relationship with love at times. He's nothing without it yet here it's put him in rough waters. As Shakespearean times would contend love's course never did run smooth. I suspect that uncomplicated plan's not forthcoming either. Storm having moved on we learn Nate wants to rest in love's light. In others darkness departed, lightness took its place and Nate can't get enough of it. In the video, as streams of people get on with their day Nate's jubilant expressions are on display for anybody having time or inclination to simply shut up and listen. Think of Nate as the oxygen supply you need when your mood is flagging. The vigor of life bursts from his eyes, his mouth wide open to share the goodness love has bestowed upon him. If I'm on life support let Nate's unbridled glee inject some untapped life in me. In video presentation placement means everything. The people walk to and fro. Nate cuts through the pervasive monotony like a seasoned pro. "Nothing Without Love" isn't nothing at all. It is in fact one man's praiseworthy ability to cut through the fog to tell us love prevails as a sustaining diamond in the rough. Walking through the morphing configurations of instrument with him proves worth every drop of effort. Nate continues to have fun without the bandmates proceeding under that umbrella. His energy level makes you want to care about love, one of the biggest been there, heard that topics in all of music.

Kate Pierson's Sister Act Twinkles Its Way To Brilliance

Was there any 1980s music icon outside of Stevie Nicks who wore radiance and grace as well as The B-52's singer Kate Pierson? Methinks not. Tonight's your lucky night if you're missing that red-haired siren. "Guitars and Microphones" hit the planet air waves February 17th. Culled from said disc comes "Mister Sister" a snappy number sure to keep the transgender community whistling its praises for weeks. What you enjoyed lots about The B-52's comes through brilliantly on the single. For openers let's give it up for the guitarist who plays up Kate's sunnier traits to the hilt. SNL ex Fred Armisen pops up in the video and he's having loads of fun. Later on we notice he can lip sync Kate like he took a special class. Kate's music's strong morning joe. After the initial caffeine buzz you've reached world beater status. The package unites to make a splendid whole. You can unearth plenty of transgender subtle (not) hints from the lyric sheet. Kate sings about them with a winning smile and the adorable persona that's kept her in this industry for as long as she has been. What's a spark igniting single without persistent drums to join in for the joyride. Power pop guides the single along. In their heyday, The B-52's fused numerous finger licking genres together to produce material meant to inhaled, danced to, even worshiped if you kneel at the Casey Kasem. To the males exploring their feminine side much to Mom and Dad's chagrin "Mister Sister" although not a healing salve, spoons out sentiments that can be related to. According to Kate "Nothing hurts when you are a beautiful girl." Likewise nothing hurts when your social clique gains validation. The glow from the pop paintbrush inspires hands to go skyward, spirits to soar, moods to climb steadily upward. Kate's motherly instincts regarding which curves on her vocal range to magnify factor in largely when grading the song on a 1 to 10 scale. 6 for sure, 7 at best. Maybe some of you perceive it as coming down with a terminal case of the cutes. Point certainly taken. However, that in no way diminish Kate earnest approach to the topic. See the pearly whites? Notice the eyes lighting up? In the '80s female rock pack you had the tough girls like Pat Benatar, Joan Jett, and Lita Ford on one end and the eccentric women with pipes stretching to the heavens like Kate Bush, Cyndi Lauper, and Kate Pierson. Kate Pierson got you aflutter when she sprang into action during "Rock Lobster". Her confidence level rose to astonishing heights in "Roam". Much of that lightning in a bottle quality bursts full speed ahead in "Mister Sister" Basically the guitarist pops in long enough to set the remaining theatrical stages for the song. Note how it resets the controls after Kate's tender chorus. The loop sequence of chords stays fairly compact which conveys a dyed in the wool manly heftiness. Hefty isn't the adjective these "misters sisters wish to abide by but that's why the mixed signals are so pleasing. That guitar represents what the transgender explorers are trying to bust out of. The suggestive items Fred's playing are truer to what the transgender types are seeking to seek out. "Mister Sister" comes from Kate's heart. Whether you're a mister or a sister the motivational bent isn't hollow in any respect. Nice to hear Kate's strong pipes at work.