Meg Myers Need Not Apologize For Her Bone Chilling Presence

Wow. Psychotic females must be all the rage presently. Florence let her inner mental patient fly during "What Kind Of Man". The Machine had to have been holding its collective breath, crossing fingers their female leader wasn't about to go in full on flame out mode. This needs be a lesson for the listening audience. Bottling things up is a recipe for disaster. Tennessee wild child Meg Myers gets that loud and clear. "Sorry" runs the apologetic gamut but throws in a sprig of defensive uncorked cat claws for good measure. Nothing about this textbook display of intensity ever comes close to easing off on its prey. As usual love or in Meg's uncoiled case, love tragically lost takes center stage. Got an appetite? Might wish to skip past the opening lines. Not amenable to hunger. Her heart is "wasted and cut up like a drug". That's a bit mixed message for my tastes. If her heart's wasted then how can it give her any pharmaceutical benefits? Next line has us imagining tears taste like something other than salt. A little blood and vinegar to go with the main meal? Why hasn't Paul Newman's salad dressing company gotten in on this action? Following on down watch out for choking conversations. So loosely put not only does "Sorry" begin life as an appetite suppressant it manages to market itself as being a trifle hazardous to your health. You can tell Meg's at her wit's end come chorus time. She says sorry in a fashion where you sense she's worked her way beyond fed up on the road to breaking necks. "What do you want from me? "Fine! Blame me!! I ruined our love until the end of time!" In a later lyric she admits "My voice is twisted. Never would've figured that out from the quivering mass she packages her voice in. She's surrounded by ambience guaranteed to roughen up the softer corners of the song. Guitar headed for slow burn status. Keyboards ripped from a B-grade slasher flick. Drums relentless in pounding home the message. That screw turns and turns and turns until it hits bedrock. In the video Meg gets us inside this angst embossed suburban home tour. To add to that wanton destruction of property lends a complementary visual to the hot mess Meg's plowing through. Watching Meg resist exploding makes for periscope lens yuks. For the record "Sorry" treats audiences to a break from open hostility tirades of relationship dissatisfaction like Halestorm's "I Miss The Misery", I song I think's engrossing but leaves no dysfunctional relationship fragment unfurled. Truth be told Meg settles down after the carved heart tears as salad condiment barrage of indelible imagery. I don't know if she's snarling her way through bearing 100% of the responsibility or concealing the wish that her guy would sprout a pair and own up to some failure himself. She does grab steady amounts of attention and that's what makes her hard to turn your back on. "Sorry" isn't scream therapy. It most closely resembles wounded beast lunging out of her corner to at the very least defend herself. "Sorry" ought to be a little less hard on itself. However as power pop fireworks go the skies have gotten undeniably lit. Meg has shown having a brusque childhood hasn't prevented her from losing focus on her craft. No sorry needed, Meg. The ones who will be sorry are those who haven't given your current quest for the spotlight an honest listen.