Not Much Fight In Rachel Platten

Self-empowerment has its merits. That said, that concept resurfaces over and over again in pop music. Kelly Clarkson has quite the rep for pulling that gun from her holster. "Since U Been Gone" shined no end. Massachusetts native Rachel Platten is no Kelly Clarkson. Maybe I've become jaded. As long as there are seemingly impossible odds to overcome there will always be songs highlighting never say die attitude. Sad when "Been there, heard that" rumbles throughout the chambers of your mind and heart. She's got some stirring sentiments to impart. The beef comes from the flavor tasting too similar. For example we've got small waves vs. big ocean, a Gilligan's Island recipe for disaster if ever there was one. "One match" sounds like a one life to live reference. The explosion pertains to the seismic impact she can make with that one life. The chorus segment gets wrapped around an assonance loop ("fight", "life", "alright"). Good for her for playing on regardless of whether anyone believes her or not. The fire within still burns. She might be losing friends and chasing sleep but to heck with that. Her fight song's armed for bear. She'll prove she's alright come hell or high water. You get engaging instrumentation here but it's a pity that's what it takes to lift "Fight Song" above generic motivational speaker terrain. You can only be yourself regardless of the baggage that entails. Rachel can't lift from Pink's rule book. She's not an Adele whose R & B sensibilities make painful break-ups look and feel like a tall glass of pink lemonade served at peak sour. She doesn't have Rihanna's sass. I'm hinting at the problem Rachel's going to have slinking her way into a densely crowded marketplace. Girl next door likability has its strong points but marching off to war for the umpteenth time isn't striking a chord that hasn't been run dry already. I've been around this block enough. Rachel isn't offering scenery that's more compelling. On the whole "Fight Song" doesn't pack much wallop.

HellYeah's Family Violence Story Hits Bone Bracingly

Hearing the lighter side guitar early on in HellYeah's "Hush" prickly heats are a foregone conclusion. They've got you pinned down in hairs on back of neck crawling territory. Then up jumps the intensity although much of this gets egged on by lead singer Chad Gray, taking time out from his gig in Mudvayne to throw discordant colors on a family violence scene. Chad gets inside what many an abused child faces. The belt beatings, the insulting names, etc...Home sweet home doesn't exist for these agonizing souls. Tom Maxwell, jumping over from Nothingface knows which chords to seize upon. That's the reason why you end up on the business end of empathy mixed with revulsion. The riffs dig deep, strike an unavoidable nerve, and fully deserve the righteous agony they provoke. The highest wattage party in this supergroup has to be Vinnie Paul who metal enthusiasts are bound to recognize from his time in Pantera or, if no bells ring there his role in DamagePlan, the act which featured the late, great, deeply missed Dimebag Darrell. "Hush" doesn't give Vinnie much room to flex his considerable muscle. Not that there should be anything to fret about anyway. The music's message is unflinching enough. As the video illustrates family violence creates schisms down to the marrow. Chad's facial expressions convey all you need to know plus a little something extra. The very first admission speaks to a child who just wants his folks to stop fighting, for the free flowing abuse to come to end. Praying for quiet may not work but the motivation never fades from the foreground. The kids with alcoholic dads likely know beer breath backwards and forwards. At the chorus end Chad spells out that for abused children Hell is where they were born and are being raised. Eventually the kids can't trust affection so they push it away. How could you not give way to outrage at the lyric: "Whipped so bad I pissed myself." That's nothing to sneeze at. HellYeah doesn't go speed metal which serves this song's cautionary sentiments well. Many kids are not treated with the tenderness warranted to them. As a result they risk becoming callous cruel adults. The speed level falls into steady, not glacial but no less effective for along the words like bile to bubble up to the tip of your tongue as well as the band's. Even if action on their behalf can't be taken there's always that wellspring of compassion one can draw from. HellYeah does Dallas the city and Texas the state proud by not shying away from a topic high on the list of uncomfortable topics. That HellYeah succeeds at jimmying no small level of melody into their handiwork signals an added, much appreciated bonus. Dimebag's smiling from heaven because these men keep their edge wherever their artistic leanings take them. Bass player Kyle Sanders gives off any leftover electricity "Hush" the single hasn't. "Hush" doesn't apply a silencer to the contemptible family violence realm. That's socially commendable and undeniably metal.

Spoon Tells a Compelling "Inside" Story

Time to belly up to the locals only bar. Spoon has returned to whack some sense into your eardrums. "Inside Out" epitomizes what a panoramic musical experience is all about. Up close and personal so much about the song gives off golden light. Affirmative adjectives don't do Rob Pope nearly enough justice. You'd have a tune of far less heft were you to strip bass from the mix. There's a little funk punch he throws in for good measure. Fantasy elements don't fall far from this catchy number. For Spoon playing keyboards comes to resemble a triple team undertaking. Eric Harvey and Alex Fischel join in on the fun too. You'd swear it's rising from a firmly grounded place at the Earth's core. Meditation retreats were made for this light stepping tickling of keys. Time's warped ways get featured billing. Maybe that's why "Inside Out" sounds like the "sleepy dreaming" haze Tears For Fears alluded to in "Break It Down Again". "Inside Out" sleepwalks but in a highly quaint fashion. How else could you manage to successfully construct a bass/keyboard sandwich high on the delectable scale. Singer Britt Daniels constitutes the most vital element going and even he stands before us the walking poster boy for not going crazy with the sleep promoting medication. Gravity, a prime indicator of time's ravages gets moved upfront right off the bat. Who has time for holy rollers? Definitely not Britt. He's got a life to chase down. Then again who doesn't. Britt reminds us time keeps on going when we have nothing else to give. Too sad but too true. The sobering aspect is we don't even know when we've reached nothing else to give status. Perhaps we won't make it to that juncture at all. Shrouded in mystery but light on clarity. Melodically "Inside Out" has a demeanor too at peace to draw comparisons to mood altering drug use. However the zippiest notes in the tune could have you scratching your heads pondering how to get your hands on the choice weed Britt commits to his system in the name of authentic artistic direction. How rapturous it would be lying face up in a country field somewhere when suddenly "Inside Out" pops down from the speaker in the sky. Daisies lurch upward around you. A steady rain benevolent in its quest to calm you steadily cascades down. There you have it. That's an ideal natural cleanser to go with the chemical stimulation. Let's suppose field poetry's not for you. In that case you'd not go wrong sitting Indian style at the heart of a meditation garden and allowing audio refreshment to act as salve for your various broken places, places that the eel slippery time supposedly heals somewhere along the way. I tip my bowler hat to the Austin collective for stirring meaty ingredients in its stew, the result being an oven fresh palate satiating delight that wins over both the earth tone and fantasy adventure crowds. Spoon merits its critical accolades as well as its fan base. "Inside Out" hits the mark with a commitment to saluting its quirkiness. You can bet it's earned the inside track to repeated go rounds on any rock programmer's playlist.

Twenty One Pilots Have The Heart and Soul of a Winner

Columbus, Ohio duo Twenty One Pilots blend smart music style with some genuine laugh moments on "Tear In My Heart" a single that you'll get as part of the May release "Blurryface". Most of the mojo we've got vocalist Tyler Joseph to give thanks to. He's Mister Everything on this release. In the first installment he puts piano front and center. Also, he cuts said piano off with timely interjections of such sentiments as "Sometimes you gotta bleed to know you're alive and have a soul". He gives piano a playful puppy dog hook, like the furry companion delicately strides along a few paces, Tyler expresses his heartfelt thoughts on his world, then the puppy advances some, and so on. It pleases me to announce "Tear In My Heart" possesses three very separate yet individual personalities. Piano greets us first, Later we're introduced to keyboards and synths. To add to that Tyler steps out from behind the curtain to repeat his refrain sans much accompaniment. You're not going to suffer energy lag listening to the song. Having three Sybil worthy personas tells you this twosome doesn't skimp on their responsibility as value driven purveyors of ear wholesome goodness. So who's the other end of the twosome you ask? That would be Josh Dun who carries the drum weight so Tyler can ham it up as veritable one man band. Sometimes you just need a reliable mate to keep up with you as you parade along. Josh manages masterfully. If the lyrics are any indication Tyler goes to great lengths to make sure his sweetheart is as content as a pig in slop. He thoughtfully avoids potholes so she doesn't get jarred awake following an entire car ride of her dozing. Meanwhile he curses his government for not using his taxes to patch up the damned holes. See there? Tyler Joseph, equal parts soft touch and hard ass. You can get great mileage from a song that cracks open an atlas and proceedings to give a charming ride across the musical map. We learn she's the tear in Tyler's heart. If you like your distaff descriptions more graphic then Tyler aims to please. This girl's a carver, a butcher with a smile. Do not trust femmes bearing cutlery that zooms in for the kill. Tyler shrugs that advice off. It's not that he has a masochist side. Au contraire, he only desires his own bloodletting to remind him something in life really is worth an effort. You never suspect Twenty One Pilots has no intention of coasting on piano laurels. This pair doesn't have any intention of playing us for fools. They strike paydirt through fusing cute and calibrating. "Tear In My Heart" has what it takes to melt the iciest of souls.

We Are Harlot "Nails" It

I've heard reference to life being like a banister we all slide down. Hard rock possibly soon to be juggernaut We Are Harlot's "Dancing On Nails" leaves me in a similar physical point of reference. We are on some impressive lust cruise. The tour guide is named Danny Worsnop. The boy sure can talk about his urges. Nothing goes better with that than a side order of guitar as cooked up by Jeff George. Although the pole reversing guitar solo doesn't come until well into the song when it does put its boots up on your coffee table it knows which names to take and which butts to kick. Danny glides along Jeff's excellent in sync exhibitionism. I did bring up matters carnal so time to revisit what I was driving at. The first stanza would appear to be assuming form of a woman too enrapturing to be believed. Never has a good morning good bye been characterized as not worth messing with. Furthermore Danny's bones appear to have deserted him. Moving right along to the undressing her with his eyes part of the fantasy this female has something worth exploring. Can't imagine what that might be (wink wink). In the second full stanza Danny leaves nothing to the imagination in his hormonal homage to how she plays sinful tricks with his mind. The smell of sex brings out the beast within. She and only she can grant him raw seduction. I never heard "I like the way you sway" as lyrical content before. Sort of cornball but I appreciate the rhyme attempt, half-assed or otherwise. Drummer Bruno Agra puts on a stick smacking clinic. He's as nimble on drums as Jeff on guitar. Call it music to hastily rip panties off to. I emphasize hastily because "Dancing On Nails" doesn't even reach the 3 minute mark. This band does make commendable use of the alloted time. Danny's lost in libido and we've got a telescope zoom lens to live vicariously through the action he's getting. No beat goes undelivered. No vivid image is left ignored. She runs him right off the rails, and he can't stop lapping it up. There isn't a clearly defined bridge where Jeff could strut his stuff. Usually it's the halfway mark where the guitar ace tosses off the shackles and lets you know he means business. Under one minute left smacks of late to the party but at least he showed up. For all intents and purposes We Are Harlot is a dyed in the wool supergroup. Organizer Danny Worsnop came to us from Asking Alexandria, Jeff George from Sebastian Bach, bassist Brian Weaver from Silvertide, and drummer Bruno Agra from Revolution Renaissance. They've hit their stride early in the game. Amps plugged in they waste no momentum firing off licks and painting female form so with such arousal that not only is it guaranteed to make your mouth water, your nose and eyes may moisten up too. "Dancing On Nails" hammers home its sultry sentiments in no bones about it fashion. So what if they make drawing a diagram a moot point. The boys have chops bound to serve them well.

Gavin DeGraw and NEEDTOBREATHE Electrify Throughout "Brother"

"Brother" unites soulful Gavin DeGraw with NEEDTOBREATHE to produce fantastic results. You get drawn in to the epicenter of an uprising you don't want to exit anytime soon. Slap on the buoyant piano then let it rip like nobody's business. You'll note that in the lyrics much attention gets paid to the lighthouse guiding lost souls to shore after enduring choppy waters. The titular "Brother" receives encouragement not to worry about being left alone. Gavin vows to be the fortress protecting him from what slings and arrows may come. The gaps in orchestration fill in oh so nicely. We get at least a few seconds worth of free air to absorb all fragments of what Gavin and NEEDTOBREATHE are laying down. It doesn't matter what fierce winds might be blowing in his direction. Shelter can be depended upon. Over the half way mark we bound into a chord shift. NEEDTOBREATHE which, for the uninitiated happens to be a Christian rock outfit from South Carolina, Seneca to be exact. Bear Rimehart can claim credit for how the piano morphs from one heart stopping loop to another. Right in step with a Christian uprising comes the hand clapping entourage. You'll certainly be hard pressed not to appreciate how the prevailing attitude digs deep into your most vulnerable crevices. The opening lure is the NEEDTOBREATHE chorus combining voices to hit a glorious acme. Gavin's voice brings sincerity to new heights. Warm piano during the shift pushes to the fore a marvelous course alteration. The closing notes hold together to bring about a stellar high point to build momentum from. Gavin DeGraw's backup gang includes two drummers, Travis McNabb and Mike Baker. Their influence goes a long way in summing up the lingering attention you derive from repeated listening. Right now a good many are stumbling for answers to light the way to a brighter future. "Brother" reassures minus sugarcoating the rocky road ahead. Gavin with open hand admits his weakness right down to confessing they are what make him stronger. Like many before him Gavin presents the whole "no man is an island" theory. Simply put, he couldn't take on the world alone. Is Gavin the man you'd want watching your back in rough sledding? Yup. Does "Brother" carry with it the adrenaline rush needed to make the hurdles before you? Not in the Olympic athlete sense but for sure on an under the skin level. Dig deep and far. This pace wraps you up blanket style. The warmth isn't oppressive or saccharine. The muscle beating beneath means only to carry you over the rough spots. "Brother" demonstrates the raw beauty of what happens when the meshing of spiritually elevated voices come together for a united purpose. "Brother" gets the nod as a seriously heartfelt family affair.

Elle King's Got One Bluesy Ex-Rated Tale To Tell

SNL nostalgia buffs, you must remember Rob Schneider, Mister "Making Copies" guy who is either revered because of or cursed for "The Hot Chick". His daughter Tanner Elle who goes by the stage name Elle King has elected to pick up the show business torch and run straight to blues rockin heaven via her single "Ex's & Oh's". Brian Setzer and Chris Isaak ought to be nodding their heads in wildly expressive approval at what this mid twentysomething gal has labored to produce. She's fiercely gifted at the guitar which serves the song well. Can't have a fire worth squat if you don't have a flame to goose it up. The session drummer didn't work his charms halfway. The kick starting panache lends some spice to the meatball. Elle doesn't waste time demonstrating that she made a real man out of him, then let him go on an unsuspecting populace. The man parade comes but never wants to leave. Nothing remotely innuendo based there. Coming from Elle's girlish lips naughtiness bubbles up as the flavor of the day. It's up to you to determine whether she plays herself off as the town tramp or good at getting attention with her feminine wiles. Her exes haunt her. What other kind of ex is there? Ours is not a population where happily ever after courtship predominates. Elle gets around. From California to New Orleans she surely kisses and tells. We linger to gobble up the toothsome little nibbles. Elle can claim to have performed at South by Southwest. If "Ex's & Oh's" was on the dinner menu the crowd we suspect drank it down to the bottom of the shot glass. Shifting focus to the guitar's chord it's very similar to that used by Canadian band Metric's "Youth Without Youth". Elle's selection of chord makes it a overly libido driven cousin. You get the same general guitar pepped up thanks to fist in the chops drumming. Anyone's who had a close listen to "Youth Without Youth" knows that little number was lyrically much more serious than "Ex's and Oh's" Both titles captivate in ways you don't initially hear coming. Metric makes you wait for the gratification whereas Elle anxiously grabs you into her bedroom trysting. Talk about your sexcapades best enjoyed with buttons down or even off. One thing I recall about Papa Rob was he nailed one killer Elvis impression on SNL. So I get where Elle's performing inclinations come from. Equal parts ghoulish and mouth watering the video interlaces nicely with Elle's sordid explanations. Her New Orleans lover was "kept warm in the winter, frozen in the spring". Again you don't need to have a diagram drawn up for you, huh? "Ex's and Oh's" merits brownie points galore for not making us beg for a easy to trace back story. It's free wheeling romp to the most severe degree. If you're going to live out sexual fantasies vicariously through a close neighbor it may as well be Elle. "Ex's & Oh's" knows how to make listeners go "ooh" and "aah". Rob's got one tasty temptress in his gene pool.

No Foolin'...Lord Huron Puts You In The Mood For Love

Coming closer the enchanting waves emanating from Lord Huron's "Fool For Love" are a wonderful treat if you've gotten in the door after a taxing day of fill in the blank. Right as you start to get comfy cozy up pops a plucky bit of percussion alongside the kind of strummed guitar that you yourself would play for your lady love were you so inclined. Lord Huron calls Los Angeles its home base. Its origin is Michigan. There's nothing in your face about "Fool For Love". You're not pushed to the altar kicking and screaming. You know what sort of weather would go perfectly with "Fool For Love"? How about some Southern clear skies, temperature nowhere near the million percent humidity you'd get around these parts, these being the Texas persuasion. Out in front we get Ben Schneider who envelopes us in a homestyle charm you'd be hard pressed to resist. You see, given this man's a fool for love the other guy making a play for Lily won't delay his plans. Big Jim sounds like an imposing hombre, tell as hell and broad as a train. Jim's a bad ass who Ben isn't afraid to engage in fisticuffs with. Ben hums like a revved up truck. He cares not for the odds. His being a fool for love makes him dangerous. The sunlight's splendid rays shower you lovingly as Ben tells his mighty protagonist's story. Tom Renaud has an affable way with his guitar. So much so that you can practically envision marshmallows being roasted around the campfire. In fact the band's name stems from Lake Huron. Ben grew up visiting there and did in fact spend evenings playing around the campfire. If you're of a mind to, an outdoors listen under the stars would help make all right in your world. He's even given us play by play of his fight claiming this dude doesn't hit half bad. Progressing through the song we receive a return visit from the percussion deprived waves of serenity. They build a little, then some more until surprise the light footed percussion, brought to us courtesy of Mark Berry peeks its head in to say hello. Another factor that the guitars usher into the equation takes the shape of a western twang, the better to appreciate the fighting words Ben utters. Miguel Briseno flavors the proceedings with bass which undeniably holds court. The lowest ranges work their way across your skin like a late afternoon visit from Old Mister Sun. Thankfully the drum slot in the band doesn't overextend itself. In fact nothing about "Fool For Love" gets in your face too aggressively. Sort of floats on the wind encouraging us to jump in at any time. If you'd like to investigate this blossoming act further I advise you to check out the brand new "Strange Trails" project. Lord Huron sure knows how to jump start itself into an ideal position to grab our fancy. We can hope this group knows what to do with the momentum once it grabs hold. "Fool For Love" doesn't play dumb with us. Au contraire the imagery is vivid and bears the earmarks of a storyteller who knows the use of the book once it has been placed in his hands.

Breaking Benjamin Succeeds With a Practically Brand New Line-Up

Wilkes-Barre, PA's Breaking Benjamin has gone through a complete overhaul akin to the rework of a classic car you knew and loved for so long. Only lead vocalist Benjamin Burnley remains the constant presence. "Failure" pretty much trashes any sense that the revolving door approach has done one blasted thing to mess up the quality product this band doles out to its established fan base. Machine gun steady rat-a-tat lifts you to a full standing position from whatever lethargy you were drowning in. Ben, as many artists in the here and now are doing these days, examines the big picture crazy orb we're rotating on. Early in the proceedings you appreciate his somewhat cautious optimism. He assures the crowds "Life will come our way". Funny thing about that contention is if you wait too long to be proven right it might end up passing you by. Best to grab onto the runaway jet ski with both hands engaged. We get reminded of the whole dying alone fear many folks have in the Reaper's lurking presence. Ben turns away from cold, corpulent, defeated images to admit to us how tired he is of feeling lost and of letting go. That last bit no doubt alludes to saying goodbye to deceased buddies. Tearing the world down sounds extreme but not lacking in sentiments easily related to. New fret technician Jasen Rauch sets his ammo to the suggested machine level without giving any quarter. He's the drill bit working his way into Ben's scarred cranium, a prime way to enable us to enjoy a closer look or enjoy some choice voyeurism that's really none of our concern to start with but when has that ever stopped us before. We Yanks do like sticking our noses in places where they don't belong. Continuing on, Ben's subject matter strikes at our vulnerable sides while the voice itself isn't overcome with maudlin doom in the least. Maybe that's what staring your own undoing in the face sounds like. Shaun Foist shows he's no novice with a drum kit. He plunges into Ben's darkness, none the worse for wear after coming out of the water. As a completed package "Failure" should be consumed in the spirit of a kick laden cocktail but not as a meat and potatoes main course. The quibble I zoom in on pertains to yet another musing about the universe and our limited time offer to be a contestant on it. The rock world has done this concept to death. Maybe staring at one's navel helped grunge thrive for all of about three seconds but evolution doesn't happen when you spend too much cosmic real estate hosting a pity party. Technically Breaking Benjamin clicks and clicks in impressive fashion. Lyrically how many stale doughnuts can you live down before you demand something fresh to get your sonic taste buds on the right track again? Breaking Benjamin has summed up what makes jaded rock critics jaded. They've been there, heard that, watched the fragile artists OD themselves into an irreparable no man's land. I doubt "Failure" is going to spell world beater for any major rock critic who takes a look at himself in the mirror and, lacking inspiration, wonders why he took this job in the first place. We'll have to wait for the June release of "Dark Before Dawn" to find out if Breaking Benjamin has foisted an entire fogged up dirge or if that Debbie downer approach begins and ends with "Failure". If the project brings depression to agonizing new lows then the main failure would be convincing the weather beaten to place an additional burden on their already shaky shoulders.

Muse Demonstrates It's Still Alive and Kicking

I'm eagerly looking forward to June 8th. That's the day Muse comes out with its new album "Drones". Very few bands impress me on a regular basis the way Muse does. The threesome manages to perpetually innovate while not disregarding the electrifying rock formula that's taken them to the highest heights of stardom. The new "Dead Inside" incorporates the things elevating Muse head and shoulders above the rest. Often you can detect this eerie interplay between Christopher Wolstenholme's keyboards and Matthew Bellamy's urgent voice. I have been a Muse fanatic practically from the start because its sound defines complexity. If comic books had theme music Muse would be tagged responsible for most of what we hear. "Dead Inside" has dedicated itself to zeroing in on the sensitive portions of your inner selves, not once failing to make you at least a shade uncomfortable. Dominic Howard's presence only exists to keep this driven marching force propelled forward. Let's suppose you get comfortable with Matt's keytar and are lulled into thinking there's nothing more to this concoction besides showing off with the keyboard/guitar fusion. Muse appreciates how easily distracted you're getting. Makes it easier for them to pitch the curve ball you're not likely to see coming. "Dead Inside" doesn't lose touch with the urgency which has you already fantasizing about how grand it's going to sound on stage during the tour you know they're going to be presenting. Muse never did shy away from human vulnerability. Why should they start now. Each link in their discography chain sounds so very desperate for release from prison, self-made, or assisted. "Stockholm Syndrome", a track from "Absolution" was an exercise in emotional walls unsteadily but surely crumbling down. "Hysteria" reminded you that staying on the right side of the law would be advisable because the royally screwed over psyches of the cell block contingent mirror "Hysteria" and its hanging on by the thinnest thread mindset. "Dead Inside" hearkens back to what "Absolution" brought to the table. Muse has learned well from its own history. They don't repeat, merely reconfigure to best use the already supplied materials. Anybody get chills when those keyboards tear at the nervous system mere minutes in? That's very understandable. "Dead Inside" gathers steady momentum much like an airplane does as it's taxing to the runway. All is innocuous enough, then the plane gains speed, and finally launches you and your compadres into the wild and we hope safe again blue yonder. In the closing stanza Matt pleads for mercy. He gave his lover everything and then some. He doesn't want to freeze to death under the waves of presumed indifference. Dominic's drums beat fiercely. Not metal fanatic fierce. Dedicated to seeing this ongoing train wreck through fiercely. Christopher strums way beyond the skin's surface. Prickly heat gets more pronounced by the second. Is Matt winning his sweetheart over or is the quicksand's pull too much? Matt wears the tormented hero cloak admirably. Muse doesn't have a boring bone in its collective body. Believe it or not "Follow Me", a track off of "The 12th Law" proves the three can be so demonic as to unveil a dance flavored charmer without forgetting they are first and foremost a rock collective honing their craft every time they lay down material. "Dead Inside" has a very strong pulse. Feeling this beat might unsettle you but you'll come away from the trek a better warrior.