Young the Giant Flashes Its Silvertongue With Authority

Like some bass to go with your dance ditties? Young the Giant can hook you up thanks to "Silvertongue", the kind of song that fills you up in a deep dish pizza sort of way. First you get Francois Comtois laying it down on drums, a nice little appetizer that juices up the main course devilishly. Then the aforementioned guitar, courtesy of Payam Doostzadeh whose also responsible for the synthesizer which adds plenty of sparkle. The Irvine based band comes to the danced armed for bear, hand clapping sweetness to beat the band. Lead vocalist Sameer Gadhia serves as a prime master of ceremonies, beckoning the masses forward with his winsome ways. His pipes serve the material well. This shindig gains traction thanks to Sameer. He elevates the material to a higher dimension entirely, one that's rich in fun vibes that get you away from whatever troubles might be brewing. The tempo doesn't run willy nilly all over the place, a ship lacking direction. The beat has a slinky edge bound to get party attendees rolling in the aisles...that is when their feet aren't shuffling across the floor in utter gaiety. Young the Giant has its craftsmanship down to a science and that fact helps the boys out along the way. If "Silvertongue" was a kind of wearable material I'd point to tight '80s era Spandex. The sound goes on seamlessly, not a stitch out of place. The video surely is catnip for all you folks who like stylish nuggets alongside your stein of beer.It is hypnotic above and beyond the call of duty. Jacob Tilley and Eric Cannata do double duty on guitar, with Jacob throwing in synthesizer and mellotron for good measure. Eric adds keyboards for good measure. So the bar has a fully stocked larder of aural goodies to throw in your face and the results resonate like nothing you've ever experienced before. During peak hours you can turn to "Silvertongue" and it can do a really fantastic number on your mojo. Young the Giant has brought a fantastic bit of ear candy to us without so much as one conditional for our affections. That bodes well for their immediate commercial future and rock chart durability. "Silvertongue" speaks volumes for the talent Young the Giant has on display.

Grouplove's Life Feeds Off of Schizophrenic Guitars and a Keen Sense of Warmth

It's a tale of two instruments which propels Grouplove's new single "Welcome To Your Life". On the one hand you've got drum fill accompanied synthesizers. Very loose and fluid hook line starting off the proceedings in an understated way. The chorus, on the other hand, resembles diving into a warm sauna rich in harmonious electrified guitar shape and texture. Very human personal feeling all the way around. The lyrics benefit from such an inviting template from which to dip into. It caresses the body and soul seamlessly as if you could practically sense an actual person assuaging your angst ridden demeanor Lyrically the point is girl thinks guy is a super hot mess, however, for whatever reason they're back in business regardless. The adage appears to be nothing ever happens without a change which, in society as we know it to be, appears to be rooted in truth. "Welcome to your life. It could be a fantasy, let it be your fantasy." Some fantasies are sort of rooted in grim undertones so, not all fantasies are best encouraged. What should be encouraged are the nerve ending appeasing chord progressions found in the main refrain. Your mind goes to unwind on impact and said impact is well worth indulging in. You don't suspect the brand of song you're going to get from the electronic opening. You'd be forgiven for blowing off "Welcome To Your Life" as a one trick pony with nothing much else to show for taking a peek under the hood. Then the ambiance shift occurs. You are treated to friendliness personified. Hannah Hooper fuses her breezy vocals nicely with Christian Hooper's ingratiating persona. The result surfaces as bubbly listener friendly alt rock that this band has forged a fine reputation for itself in singles past. Pace wise nobody moves at an overly fast clip. You watch the parade roll by but it doesn't leave you eating its pronounced dust. You can settle in, possibly newspaper in hand amply ruffled, and use the tune as endearing background noise as you're reading the classifieds, sports page or whatever else tickles your fancy. It's a likable gem that has the potential to grow on you upon repeated listening. Chance amounts to circumstance. Truer words were never spoken. Unplanned events often make up the bulk of our daily dealings. We make plans but, in the final analysis, many of our best laid ones don't exactly reach full flower, life getting in the way and whatnot. It's a game of chance, and one where winning depends on what you consider winning to entail. For some it's a night where the hubby isn't beating the wife to a pulp. For others it's a fourth quarter balance sheet where the profit margin trends upward. It's all in how you use your victory filter. Grouplove has cemented its winning ways via a song that wraps you up in its arms and carries off to an audio nirvana the likes of which you haven't known before and likely won't again anytime soon. Welcome to a sound that lingers on the eardrums satisfyingly and won't let go.

Green Day Gifts Us With a Breath of Fresh Air

Green Day's new effort comes packed full of great spark both from acoustic and electric guitar. "Still Breathing" has plenty of oxygen to spare and we're the prime benefactors of it all. The song opens armed for bear on a steady diet of prime acoustic strumming. We're not entirely sure what kind of highway we're about to journey on. Billie Joe Armstrong knows his way around the acoustic style. It's certainly showcased his friendly side, all sunshine and clear as a bell futures. As the song clicks into third gear we hear more high octane electric coupled with some high powered drumming from the illustrious one Tre Cool. He bangs away like a man possessed. He shows off his wild man chops during the chorus which features the sentiments: "Cause I'm still breathing on my own. My head's above the rain and roses making my way away, Talk about combining the bitter with the sweet. On the one hand you have the sweet smell off fresh cut roses, thorns and all. On the flip side there's the seemingly never ending rain beating down, a picture of well watered melancholy tended to by a constant, devoted gardener. It's a nice juxtaposition featuring light and dark and one combining the beauty of a spring afternoon with the solemnity of a dark life sapping winter evening. But...back to the song itself. The horsepower never ends. Even in the acoustic portion, Billie has team Green Day running on all cylinders. The pulse goes at a jaunty clip, inviting listeners along for the agreeable ride. When this tune gallops toward top speed at the electric guitar choral refrains, Tre is at his finest. His drum kit takes on a life of its own. The rat-a-tat intensity really complements Billie Joe's vocal pluck. The man sounds so happy to have weathered whatever storms life has pushed in his general direction. To be breathing on his own sends him to high levels of ecstasy that he becomes hard pressed to keep under wraps. The simple pleasure rolls of his tongue impeccably well. "Still Breathing" has wonderful harmony that holds up nicely throughout the whole song. You really like spending time with Billie Joe, Mike, and Tre, especially when the product they offer bubbles out of the champagne glass. We can relate to your child looking off on the horizon, Billie Joe. In a sense that's what we as a collective are doing, our group eye to the future, curious to discover what's coming up to surprise us around the next bend. These guys are well past the age of courting lost or regained childhood innocence but the desire for perceived simpler times remains hard to turn away from. "Still Breathing" stays crispy from first note to last. It reminds us how blissful the flow of oxygen can be especially if we've been taking it for granted way too long. Green Day truly put out a diaphragm full of impressive sentiment and sharp execution. We can all breathe a sigh of relief that Green Day's new song isn't one meant for the discard pile.

Chevelle Opens Up a Demonic Door Full of Fiery Riffs

Chevelle is back, hungry, and ready to deliver some bone crunching words in the first installment off its new foray into the rock world, "The North Corridor", which goes by the moniker "Door To Door Cannibals". Kudos to guitarist Pete Loeffler for delivering the fire that refuses to be extinguished. The bridge explodes with his hefty hooks and you start to wonder, "Did a real human being actually drive home these enticing sounds. The pacing goes ever so deliberate, the better to wring out each flop sweat inducing nugget. Pete's lyrics make you groan in all the right places. You're in the middle of the horror show yet at a safe enough distance where the threat of bodily harm is remote, if it exists at all. How prickly heat inducing does "They're like cannibals from the grass stealing lives" come across to you? Checking to make sure your jugular vein is where you remembered it being last? That's a positive sign if ever one existed. Dean Bernardini drops mouth-watering bass as if he were spreading rich barbecue sauce across genuine choice chuck. Sonically "Door To Door Cannibals isn't without its endearing quirks. The bridge guitar gets us back to the sort of showoff moves that metal lovers desire chapter and verse. Before the fret bore down relentlessly until there was no way you could hope to cry uncle. Sam Loeffler employs his drum labor sparingly but we'd miss it were it nowhere to be found. A little bit here, a little bit there but nothing that suggests a swagger that keeps anyone else from having an opportunity to shine. The collective gets what greater good it's contributing to. I myself like that Chevelle wants for me to take sensible bites of this cut of raw meat rather than wolf it down in one Simpsons style gulp. I get to appreciate the rich flavor palette at work beneath the surface. I get to hear for myself what a multi-tiered masterpiece is brewing. I haven't found too many songs in which reference gets made to the jocular fingers in the face. Chevelle shows us again that there's a first time for everything. In a rock tune that's a daring image to send our way. A little levity alongside our patented rock bugs in the teeth demeanor. Chevelle does the squirm inducing job nicely and we get the sense we need to hold on for dear life because who knows where the ride is going to take us. I believe Chevelle should have no problem selling the masses on how much of a cranium buster they're in for. "Door To Door Cannibals" says quite a mouthful, and does so in zestful fashion.

Lots Of Love Coming Your Way Thanks To Shinedown

Shinedown's new "How Did You Love" explores the question of how one presumably gets remembered in this life. An unexpected piano riff gets us into this discussion regarding what type of mark we left behind. Ostensibly it's about the sort of love you distributed to your friends, family, etc. Shinedown bursts into high gear during the choral refrain as a means of demonstrating how passionate they are towards this topic. Vocalist Brent Smith fully engages in now or never urgency and that's what takes this song up as many notches as it can possibly go. Zach Myers pummels you through guitar work that, as they say in football, doesn't take a down off. Check out how potent it sounds at the bridge. Conviction, thy name is Brent. Each note comes through so clearly that your tone deaf ninety year old grandpa could grasp this message. Shinedown has previously demonstrated how adept it is at marrying thoughtfully cooked harmonies to excellent vocal technique. Whether it's soundtrack work or studio craft, these Floridians know how to hammer home a point until you've got it committed to memory. These lyrics point out how losing yourself in the shuffle on the way to your preordained headstone carries with it untold agony. So while you're on your knees in the religious institution, hoping your God has that direct line to your soul, best remember how did you treat people on this side of the life sphere. Brent stresses that it's up to you to find your own way while you're hear so that, in the final analysis, regret has no chance to poison your heart, and therefore infect the hearts of those around you who were silly enough to let you into their inner circle. All of what makes Shinedown an awesome outfit to be reckoned with comes through in this slightly under three and a half minute ball of flames and life ethic examination. As you might expect from a song draped in such royal finality, headstone and cemetery imagery factor in largely. Life's a one take film so you'd better leave no doubt about the sort of man or woman you had hoped to be because after the curtain comes down that's what they'll take away. If the cat that ate the canary grin is your final visual offering to the wider world then others can remember for all eternity a guy who remembered to pack a smile alongside his workaday lunch pail. Eric Bass plunges into our chests fearlessly on bass. He knows how to hammer home the now or never vigor so we have to at least acknowledge the sense of uneasiness pondering one's final sentiments can dredge up. I've always respected Brent for how masterfully he gets his tonsils wagging for us. No lack of bravado or horsepower from him. Even during songs that aren't as weighty as "How Did You Love" Brent can command an audience's total attention simply by refusing to dial down his macho muscle flexing. Drummer Barry Kerch pounds away without fear but also without hogging the center of attention. In summary "How Did You Love" strikes the sort of energizing pose that's impossible to hate.

Alter Bridge Shows Us Some Potent Political Muscle

The damned song has a super charged intro before Myles Kennedy even appears to blast home some political fire and brimstone on vocals. We're talking 1 minute, 15 seconds of pronounced muscle flexing just to get your palate warmed up. Yes folks, Alter Bridge wants to talk presidential race with us and aims to do so in all their electric guitar venom pierced glory. Mark Tremonti and Myles lay out the electric thunder. The bridge brought me to my knees in amazement. The drumming courtesy of Scott Phillips as part of the aforementioned intro melted face. No two ways about it, "Show Me a Leader" thoroughly encapsulates the spirit of this political season. Enough with the half-hearted promises that never amount to jack squat. Myles and crew want a candidate who doesn't bring lies as part of the package. They want hope to survive and, believe me, in this political cycle, one wonders if it has boiled down to the lesser of the two evils rather than some white knight on a stallion ready to save us from ourselves. "Show Me a a Leader" crackles from stem to stern. If you lean in close you can practically smell the fire in the band members throats. There comes an emphatic "NO" throughout the main verses. No to the way it has always been. No to pretenders to the throne. No to business as usual in Washington. Way to shift chords and speed, guys. That, in the intro, underscores how uneasy this particular election is making everyone, particularly from sheer overexposure. It feels like the Clinton/Trump wars have been raging on since the Stone Age. This song sounds perfect as the vehicle to bring the assorted divisions to a rousing climax. Absolutely stellar melody. It is programmed to send shivers down an unsuspecting spine or three. "Show Me a Leader" sounds a lot like Alter Bridge's stab at a magnum opus. If so then this was a success to end all success stories. You don't get much crispier than Alter Bridge's sustained power rant against the waged power struggles. Brian Marshall gives amazing balls to his wielding of the bass. In fact it too lends this outing menace, as if that was running low in the first place at the outset. Disillusionment fills the smoke penetrated hallway. It has come time to act and make peace with decisions made, ruminated over, and possibly regretted in the long run. Myles rages about the fool's errand that's known as waiting for the one whose intentions are pure gold. That's like waiting for a unicorn to traverse the morning sky. Nice fantasy but no basis in reality, but the fantasy has its sex appeal for sure. "Show Me a Leader" shows us the 2016 version of Alter Bridge has boned up on the steamy political climate and knows how to turn that ample frustration into a laser sharp hard rocking diamond that looks you right between the eyes, daring you to be the one who blinks first.

Begin Your Formal Introduction Here With The Big Gun Show

You'd be wise to check out Austin's own The Big Gun Show on November 4th at Ginny's Little Longhorn Saloon because the band refuses to be pigeonholed into any one genre. For Exhibit A I present "Begin to Begin". Into honky tonk? Guitarist Chris Collins has you covered. Enjoy a tall cool Lone Star Beer knowing that the roadhouse vibe has been well represented. As for the drumming, Yates Hagan, in the spirit of Rolling Stone Charlie Watts, does an excellent job simply keeping time, moving the parade along commendably. He knows exactly when to move into cruise control and let his bandmates come front and center to the spotlight. Speaking of which vocalist Gunter Woodson does his job above and beyond the call of duty. Good storytellers are always welcome in the music business and Gunter lays down the right chops to keep the casual and veteran listener engaged. This outfit draws from indie rock, country, and if the organ laced background harmonies are any indication, the gospel end of the spectrum as well. I fancy myself an equal opportunity appreciator so...hearing this many types of musical soup stirring around in my ear makes it warm and fuzzy from top to bottom. The song's tempo doesn't leave you gasping for air. Nice of them to allow us along for the ride, respecting that we don't wish to be blasted into shell shock mode. Homestyle guitar showmanship at the bridge adds some body to this rarin' to go classic machine. The "ba-pa ba-pa" playfulness of the endeavor also adds a brotherly love connect that would go well with a local pilsner or pale ale from Ginny. The Big Gun Show is a modern band steeped in the knowledge of legendary musical roots. Gunter has as much as shared with me the notion that he grooves on The Rolling Stones era when Mick Taylor and Gram Parsons were part of the package. To him those were heady days. But back to the song itself. Many a night could be spent nursing smoke rings, whiskey, or both in the company of "Begin To Begin". I wouldn't call it brood music but you could do far worse than drown your discontent in a bottle of Jack Daniels while this track is going. I'd be shooting this post in the foot if I didn't bring up Dave Duce's bass abilities. They're smooth hickory sauce which complements Gunter's steady vocals and Yates Hagan's drumming suitably. In "Begin To Begin" you'd need extra napkins to soak up the grill-mark enhanced goodness. Don't hold your fire on these guys. The Big Gun Show merits some time in your personal holster or as a willing spectator at Ginny's place. It seems hope springs eternal in the Live Music Capital Of The World. The Big Gun Show doesn't need to wish on a star to boost its fan base. Artistic know-how should work nicely. http://www.thebiggunshow.com/

Ghost Nails A Real Beauty With "Square Hammer"

Right on time for a Halloween fright fest comes Ghost, the Swedish doom metal act that proves beyond a shadow of a doubt that none of its members are quite right in the head. The latest track from "Meliora" has fast become a favorite of mine for a number of reasons. For one Earth, the drummer, bangs away right out of the box or, should I say, coffin, since that's the ghoulish aesthetic this outfit tends to be top heavy on. Let me warn you in advance...if you're nursing a wicked hangover this probably isn't going to be your soothing reentry into the land of the living. Ghost pulls out all the stops where pathos goes. Wind puts keyboard fills in precisely the spaces where they achieve the greatest impact, namely during the second verse. We've already been bashed over the head by pulse pounding drumming. Bassist Water's imprints run far and deep all over "Square Hammer". That bass starts from the base (homonym joke possibly intended) of your spine and sends icy chills upwards that pierce the extra sensitive parts of your skull until you're screaming for the mercy you know these gents aren't about to send your way. Fire really doesn't put his lead guitar virtuosity to great use until the bridge where he then lets fly like his own gruesome demise hung in the balance. Ghost does far more than rock out. The Swedes give you the smashing show you'd give your right arm to tell your friends you were a part of. The lyrics remind you that you're not dealing with folks playing with a full deck. How can you claim them to be all there when they open the show tossing off bygone era candy like, "Living in the night, 'neath devils torn asunder. You call on me to solve a crooked rhyme. "As I'm closing in imposing on your slumber. You call on me as bells begin to chime." Then comes the chorus/ultimate moment of truth staredown initiated by the lines, "Are you on the square? Are you on the level? Are you ready to stand right here right now before the devil. That you're on the square. That you're on the level. That you're ready to stand right here right now right here right now. I haven't brought up lead vocalist Papa Emeritus III up to now but I hereby add his name to the mix because this story would blow away on the breeze were it not for the convincing cobwebs in the belfry way in which he conjures up such a sanctuary reminiscent fervor. The man could quite literally raise the dead on the strength of those pipes. It's at the chorus where he really gets down to brass tacks. That's real send the rocket blast through the roof kind of emotion. Earth and Wind are in perfect sync throughout this cut and that, my friends is what makes "Square Hammer" the world beater I suggest that it is. No matter how heavy into campy Phantom Of The Opera over the top parlor tricks the guys get, the opening one two punch is never far from the memory bank. Would I be surprised if "Square Hammer" ended up as the first track on the soundtrack to the apocalypse? Not on your life or, to put it more appropriately, not on your dead. Ghost scares up a dandy one thus hammering home the notion that it's a force to reckon with, Day of Reckoning or not.

Red Sun Rising Doesn't Forget To Remind Us Of What Matters

From Akron, Ohio we get Red Sun Rising back in the soup of what we call rock and roll lunacy. From "Polyester Zeal" I give you "Amnesia". It is a thoughtful meditation on applying the whole Carpe Diem mantra to everyday life, to making hay while the sun shines. Ryan Williams has a mean spirited guitar swagger going here. It's the main reason why "Amnesia" scores so vehemently. Whatever lead vocalist Mike Protich lays down on the lyric sheet, Ryan chomps into his instrument with a malevolent fervor the likes of which only the Kirk Hammetts of the ax slinging hemisphere would relate to. Take a really close listen and you know Ryan means business.Drummer Pat Gerasia doesn't skimp on ferociousness either. His skin bashing gives "Amnesia" its crackling urgency. In fact urgent sums the cut to a t. Got a must do item? Don't hesitate to put the plan into action. Feel unrequited love for a blond bombshell? Don't hesitate to let that someone know she's front and center in your mind. Don't write your life story and have regret spill over most of the pages. We all are dumbfounded at the speed with which our day in the sun can escape through our fingers. Mike merely wants us to maintain the appropriate perspective. Ricky Miller takes his bass and applies scowl in all the right places. Again, it's a reason why "Amnesia" isn't your garden variety rock number. There's a brain underneath those metal menace mouths. I highly endorse the well blended melody hard at play. The players know their cues and execute them perfectly. No problem following alongside this medium rare pacing. Mike comes into his own at the chorus as his voice adopts new drama that heightens the urgency already going on in the studio. Check out how driven he becomes at the juncture where he utters "moment in time". He hits a whole new level of bloodletting. Knowing how to maintain rock credibility amidst a landscape where the tried and true brevity of life theme looms large proves to be a trick Red Sun Rising has got down to a science. This band applies fresh paint on an old house that's been weather beaten by this message more often than any of us have in our collective memory banks. Why we keep being lured in stems largely from this notion that here and there we need reminders, gentle or otherwise that time is the currency all of us have and it's not a limitless means of spending. We'd best speak our peace and then step away from the card table, content that we've played the best hand we knew how. Never again will you hear "nothing" described as "fun". Most people shudder at finding so much as one moment left unoccupied. Stillness of heart gets them a little uneasy, as if Armageddon would be preferable. Red Sun Rising need not worry about our suffering group amnesia as it pertains to this song. "Amesia" merits a heady spot in our memories because Mike and his mates awaken mass complacency by appealing to our rational side, the side that knows our futures are right now. Squandering them would be a regrettable fool's errand.

Highly Suspect Applies The Human Touch On Their New Single

Such great memories I have of Highly Suspect's "Lydia". It had a scrappy edge to it, particularly where the lead guitar was concerned. Grit as far as the ear could hear. Fast forward to now and the Cape Cod outfit pulls from its bag of tricks, straight from "The Boy Who Died Wolf", "My Name Is Human", which delves into our collective atomic makeup. For openers give Johnny Stevens the nod for mesmerizing listeners with a guitar starter apparently plucked from the center of the Earth's molten core. Quite a probing sound at work, getting to the heart of what it means to be us. Johnny's vocals are also right there in our faces, daring us not to notice he has our vulnerabilities by the jugular. Highly Suspect shines on chorus work. In this instance it pulls up cosmic dust and washes it over us in rampant styles that leave us totally awestruck at how heavy their world weightiness truly becomes. The opening notes practically have you in mindset of hovering over the Earth, dazzled at what you are seeing and at the same time intimidated by our relatively small place in it, which is amusing given how many of us go through life trying to find just where our place in this world might be. If we're lucky we get to that place but, many fall short of self-actualization. Rich Meyer excels on bass, especially in laying down a particularly daunting backdrop for we the people to hit the most ebony corners of our soul, that part of us which doesn't die. The song, at least to these ears, sounds broad in scope and message. It digs deep to get that alt rock production value Soundgarden would have approved of. Lyrically the general gist can be summed up in one concept. We're all on a level playing field here. Nobody's better than anybody else. Chinks in the armor are par for the course here amongst us armor clad warriors. This track clocks in at 4:18 seconds but the lush orchestration gives it a 5:00 plus bravado that rubs off indelibly. Rich's brother Ryan lays down modest drumming that doesn't demand we pay too much attention, just enough to note that he's going about his business in a workmanlike way that allows Johnny's chops to assume control of the playing field. "My Name Is Human" doesn't pull any punches at any time. It sets us straight regarding how much we really matter. From a fusion vantage point all the players join up to make an incredible noise that is bigger than any one person. The shift from main verse to chorus is jarring but easily embraced after you wiggle your toes around in that water. That shows Highly Suspect isn't a one trick pony at all. It starts of pondering in a Carl Sagan kind of style then leaps into a beefier melody. If you want a scientific perspective they don't come much more textbook Sagan than "Hello, my name is human and I came down from the stars." In summation Highly Suspect puts the human condition under a microscope and what we get back in return staggers the imagination.

Volbeat Deals Out One Hell Of a Smashing Track

Long live the mighty Danes Volbeat. They sure know how to lay down the lumber for a crushing metal cut. The brand new "Seal The Deal" gnashes its teeth and begs you to stare it down without blinking. Rob Caggiano's guitar licks are nothing short of skull crushingly potent. He's the thread that makes this garment hold up so magnificently. Of course you also have to have an authoritative vocalist holding court. Michael Poulsen fills that bill beautifully. You can taste the acid dripping off his tongue. What's more Jon Larsen's drumming doesn't take first gear for an answer. He pulverizes the skins as if they wronged his girlfriend in a major league unpleasant way. There is a storyline at work behind the lyrics. Reclaiming one's soul appears to play a key factor in this little yarn. Testosterone looms large, as the chorus refrain proudly attests. Michael's aching for a fight. He wishes to seal the deal and then start the fisticuffs all over again the next day. That "Seal The Deal" goes at a champion horse racer's pace is testament to how much Volbeat respects metal's history and carries its torch proudly into the future. You get the sensation of being on this roller coaster ride for which screaming over the side rail would appear to be mandatory. Thrills and chills are the order of this day. "I get groovy" beckons to memories of disco balls and Studio 54 with its various excesses. Not exactly Volbeat's native tongue but that does throw us off enough to think, "You know...that's artistically confusing therefore it's defiantly metal. The guitar licks swerve up and down the spine, both from the instrument and the part of our body. Kaspar Boye Larsen moves in behind the proceedings in motorcycle rev fashion. His role is to get Michael's ballad some extra torque so the machine flows super smoothly. Michael warns pearly gates aren't in the cards in the end so you'd best stand up for your rights while you are able. Volbeat isn't flying the power metal flag so much as draping it proudly across itself like a budding Miss Universe showing off her feminine wiles. The sense of confrontation underscoring "Seal The Deal" is palpable. Michael certainly drives the point home resoundingly and the results get goosebumps into the mix. The guitar work descending upon the bridge never fails to raise many a roof. It excels at reminding us what made us metal enthusiasts in the first place. It's sort of the bone rattling palate cleanser which follows the crux of a well-prepared main course. You need something purifying to get that T-bone aftertaste off your incisors, canines, and molars. "Seal The Deal" knows what line to sign on when it comes to finalizing a contract steeped in the brand of metal purists crave.

Kings of Leon Doesn't Waste a Drop of Energy

Kings of Leon has returned. Cue the thunderous applause. The new "Walls" album hits stores, iPods, and most other forms of musical conveyance on October 14th. "Waste a Moment" delivers on the raw punch followers of the Tennessee natives have relied on for years. Wasted moment indeed. From the get go nobody on team Followill settles for less than exemplary effort. Caleb lays out some of the strongest vocals of his career to date and, given this song is a mere three minutes three seconds in length that amounts to far more than a tiny hill of beans or two. Were Jared's bass licks to go AWOL "Waste a Moment" wouldn't possibly have obtained this level of greatness. It pours all over a listener's ears like warm water emanating from a gaping bath tub. That's where the soul gets much of its juice from. Meanwhile Matthew inserts some lead guitar that hits the right aesthetic notes and then some. As usual Kings of Leon use grand use of the video art form to plug their product. Add a zinging bite of mystery and you've captured this family foursome back at doing what it does best. The tempo gets into a nifty glide space and refuses to take its teeth off the throttle. One roller coaster ride packed with wall to wall enthusiasm. The words do get somewhat odd contextually but we don't expect brilliance so long as the cohesiveness of the band stays intact. Mission accomplished there. The first line alone informs you Kings of Leon aren't your conventional wordsmiths. Austin's brand of weird stacks up nicely compared to not so tossed off band lines like: "All the way from Waco to WeHo with the rabbit on a chain." Who says that in this or any other space in time? Kings of Leon don't have any qualms about engaging in brain/vocabulary expansion. This band also knows how to pile on vivid characterizations as "Sex on Fire" made pretty plain not too many years ago. The backdrop gets set courtesy of gems like: "Sexy was her boyfriend with no kin always running from the law. Every other weekend, weekends with his back at her claw. I don't think any added visuals are necessary. Back to the main idea of this story, "Waste a Moment" loads up on vim and pulls off the power surge with authority. Follow Caleb's lead and the results are usually splendid. I totally admire the underlying urgency Kings of Leon brings to the table. That elevates their game past the pinnacle that most bands on today's scene will be lucky to reach in their prime. This effort uses the D chord to blistering effect. Once atop the horse not a stumble arises. "Waste a Moment" will never be accused of being a waste of anybody's eardrums. Kings of Leon has earned the right to reclaim its piece of the rock throne.

No Need To Pray For Sixx A.M....They Have Their Shit Together

Sixx A.M. employs no small measure of theatrics to foist "Prayers For The Damned" upon us. From the start vocalist James Michel gets to the previously impenetrable truths about how second chances loom large in the healing of our pasts and the hoped for revival of our futures. The overall instrumentation flies from the convulsing pit, ready to attack the sensitive spots of your psyche. I applaud Dustin Steinke for his otherworldly drumming. His head of steam trumps that of the runner-up contenders. Listen to his multiple strokes piled one on top of the other and you'll discover that Nikki Sixx knows how to bring high talent into the fold. James Michel employs his own brand of sorcery on keyboards. He brings lightning to complement Dustin's thunder. As a one two punch you'd be forgiven if your eyes were to roll back in your head a shade. The bluster cannot be denied. You're in a corner with nobody there to free you from the mire. Storms are brewing and you forgot to get your umbrella to give you any hope of shelter. The skies ply their dark gray menace. Nikki further unsettles the situation via a bass onslaught that isn't out to play nice. Lyric hint at end of the rope territory. James appears set to allow the fast drop to oblivion to consume him body and soul. Hope resides in his claim that maybe we're not alone. Many a person, deeply spiritual or otherwise has held fast to that hope in the ages past. We by and large sympathize with being afraid of our own ghosts. Ghosts from the past are the price of admission on this mysterious trip around the sun we all undertake, wanting to get somewhere but ending up nowhere fast. Later in the word sheet James already cottons to a nothing to lose attitude since he has already lost everything. "Prayers For The Damned" sounds like the hail-mary pass a desperate QB would throw up with one second left. I don't mean that in a derogatory way either. That football play commands attention. All eyes are on the pigskin slinger as he tries to bail his butt out of a sling. James succeeds in not overselling the pain he's combating. All you need is a touch of spice and the soup has the fire necessary to work its way to the top of the request list. Let's talk smoldering guitar solo shall we? DJ Ashba pulls off the equivalent of being prone on a massage table letting the masseuse work his magic hands up and down the pressure points. The wider his demonic instincts stretch, the greater the vicarious thrill we share. Make no mistake though...this is James' therapy session and we have backstage laminated passes as proof. "Prayers For The Damned" specializes in keeping us off balance. That makes us ready candidates for the doctrine James wants us to heed. We do crave the chance to pull James away from the cumulative effects of his chasm of despair. Alas, all we can do is hope the rain lets up in short order. However I'm not begging for the tap to shut off too soon. "Prayers For The Damned" reaches deep and pulls out an explosive style of pathos that's hard to shake, harder to deny. Sixx A.M. can happily get up from the altar rail. This is one prayer worth an enthusiastic response.

Five Finger Death Punch Need Not Apologize For Its Honesty

Judgment Day. Many a metal band has made reference to it. Ivan Moody and the rest of the folks in Five Finger Death Punch spend quality time taking a really close look at it throughout the new single release "I Apologize". You have to, in a sense, be impressed with his whistling past the graveyard , a joke of sorts on my part since Ivan's uncorking his manly rage from the bowels of, you guessed it, an actual graveyard. Anyway, strking a commanding D chord, Ivan screams out how he's guilty of being such a fool for not keying in on the difference between wrong and right whilst the world passes him by, for listening but not exactly learning. One day Death's shadows will catch up to him and then it's time to face the somber music. Kudos go out to ace guitarist Jason Hook for throwing down a wicked guitar solo at the bridge that'll take you back to any one of a number of top '80s fret slayers. You can very acutely taste Ivan's dismay at the bind he's locked himself into. If Life's one giant classroom, then he's guilty of pushing the snooze button a little too often. Brash best describes the combined grittiness Five Finger Death Punch puts on full bugs in your teeth riding along on the Harley display. The gents give the message room to sink in nice and slow so the gravity of the grave isn't lost on listeners. Drummer Jeremy Spencer contributes where needed and when he does, the smoke on the pyre rises higher. He leaves the showboating to Jason so folks can better admire Jeremy's workmanlike gifts. This number barrels over whatever wall of defense you may have erected, hell bent on allowing you to look in the mirror and summon up a little self-reflection time of your own. Chris Kael delivers on the foreboding facets of "I Apologize", and given the video shoot locale, what's a little extra bite between friends, or enemies for that matter. Zoltan Bathory'a rhythm guitar poses as a show stopper in and of itself.Ivan could melt faces on the basis of the slightest stare. He's intensity personified. He gets how easy it can be to miss the boat as the universe laughs at your humble efforts. Forget about melody and slap the bib on at once. "I Apologize" no doubt will leave red meat juice for hours and hours to come. Sledgehammers and subtlety don't go together very well. Five Finger Death Punch got that memo early on. Ivan's rage settles down right as Zoltan's rhythm guitar drops in the last bits of burial sod. So you see, a controlled burn rules the roost in the final assessment. What fun we had reaching it though. "I Apologize" examines how you'd better accept yourself, warts and all because, in the end, you're the only you you've got. The gloves come off in a big hurry and the outcome leaves no survivors in its wake. Blessed is the band that apologizes for nothing it's achieved artistically. Contrary to what the title would hint at, Five Finger Death Punch has nothing to apologize for. It's whipped up an indelible wedge of 21st century gut turning metal musing.

Gavin DeGraw Knows Which Woman Lights His Fire

He's got the reputation as being Mr. Sensitive Man and for his latest, Gavin DeGraw unfurls his tempura watercolors to pay homage to a one of a kind woman who has this habit of violating fire codes with her incandescence. "She Sets The City On Fire" ought to strike a chord for anyone chasing the unattainable Venus De Milo of their deepest fantasies. Guided by a metro snazzy keyboard and enough manufactured drum filler to enable the song to reach a nice cruising altitude, DeGraw muses about this woman and her million cigarette lighter combustibility. He has a dynamite photo lens trained on her so far as his overall evaluation of her temptress leanings are concerned. She's a perfect ten, the epitome of what a man should want from the opposite sex. You ascertain that as this effort progresses the aura of undeniable charm reaches pronounced heights. The keyboards dig their talons in deeper. Gavin's witticisms rise to the task. He at times posits this notion that it's the ghost of a siren he's chasing instead of a flesh and blood attainable beauty. Give him credit for sticking to his loyalties no matter what the outcome turns into in the end. We get a variation on the Woody Allen valentine to New York City as Gavin declares its sun doesn't get much brighter than the comely femme in question. Mr. Allen would wholeheartedly approve of the sentiment. Of course Gavin doesn't wallow in the mire like the noted film director does so this message proves itself to be infinitely more palpable. Gavin's the guy you want to see grab the girl and run for the finish line since he comes off earnest in his songwriting delivery. Plenty to recommend in the hand clap department, particularly after we eclipse the ten second mark. That's when that big sky starts to open up and Gavin's free to wax poetic on how this lady he paints the picture of would be tailor made as a perfect fit for his bed. "She Sets The City On Fire" possesses a very genuine spark that sets bad moods to good in record time. You're not flying over New York City's well-established skyline as much you glide over the higher skyscrapers on Gavin's ever ample wings. In the video we're treated to a grid version of the Big Apple's urban core, not knowing where the next twist is going to take us. I think it's a modern miracle how the processed drum playing doesn't get in the way of Gavin's authentic audio presence. You might say that it borders on the transcendent. Artistically I wouldn't say that any fertile new ground has been broken, but "She Sets The City On Fire" suits the purpose for a well-rounded coffee hour at Starbucks, or quite possibly a coffee shop which is homegrown and not steeped in franchise potential. The fire has been nobly lit, Mr. DeGraw. For that no small amount of pride appears merited.

Zakk Wylde's Sleeping Dogs Growl Loudly For His Latest Effort

Meek isn't in metal wild man Zakk Wylde's nature. However for the brand new "Sleeping Dogs" he does stop to get contemplative, as the mid tempo beat can attest. You sort of sense this effort goes nicely alongside a backdrop which finds you floating downstream, paddling a canoe, listening to the wise man unfurl what he knows. His chords are high level mellow which is a far cry from his Ozzy Osbourne days where his attitude level was off the chains. The drumming here doesn't stray too far away from its boundaries. Nice, contained, and in full service to the message Zakk's trying to send out. The lyrics point to how difficult it can be to attain peace of mind. That battle often suggests hard fought victory to attain a level head. In the opening stanza the protagonist, lamentably doesn't manage to get to the bridge where hectic leads to calm. Bitterness becomes his companion riding in the side car, rubbing in how incomplete a person he ultimately became. Zakk picks a chorus refrain to end all chorus refrains, a truism that shows he hasn't lost his snarling way phrasing entirely. "Gone but not forgotten. You cut me down just to watch me bleed." What mercilessness this implies. The protagonist isn't exactly letting bygones be bygones. Later on in the song he swears the last word represents the last thing that will be taken from him. The way the ambience stays at one defining level with an occasional shift into a chord that adds additional beef to the brew puts Zakk's ability to meld hard and soft textures on delectable display. As for his voice it's got the swamp fog lingering quality that isn't at all out of place beside the subject matter, very thick and at some forks in this road, mysterious. Zakk already has many disciples courtesy of Black Label Society. How they would feel about "Sleeping Dogs" stands as an argument waiting to be explored thoroughly. But, back to the platter in front of us. Zakk digs neatly into his vocal register and pulls out the kind of attention grabbing consistency reserved for the Tom Petty level of storytellers. Beat by determined beat Zakk allows his presence to be clearly felt, the moral of peace in one's own skin as the grand prize unmistakable. Too bad the lead character in this psychodrama never got to that rewarding destination. Zakk's ace in the hole artistry wise comes from not moving this heavily weighted canoe down the stream so fast that others can't digest the broad scope which allows Zakk's brushstrokes to effect the creation of a moving canvas of artwork. His time spent on VH1's That Metal Show didn't force his sensitive side to get tangled in the underbrush. Rather, he takes his man pill, rolls up his sleeves, and gets down to the business of adopting the Aesop cap, proving that at least in this scenario, age and wisdom do make an exact match. Zakk has come a long way from the "No Rest For The Wicked" Ozzy Osbourne days. He's a man who's seen his share of the seamier side of the world and has the bruise marks to prove it. "Sleeping Dogs" stands poised to wake up any hard rock fan who thinks Zakk Wylde's sharp teeth aren't still biting in the creative heft sense of the word.

Open Your Ears To The Disturbed's Call For Truth

When The Disturbed gets a full head of steam going on behalf of righteous indignation, nobody cranks out the vitriol with more conviction. You start off with a thunderous explosion of guitar from long time veteran Dan Donegan, add in a pinch of David Draiman laying down truth sliced up thin and toothsome like a savory ham, bring John Moyer's fang filled bass to the party, and lastly bring along head drummer Mike Wengren to blast away any and all complacency and you have the recipe for what makes The Disturbed the powerful force it is today. David Draiman gives no quarter, asks for none in return. "Open Your Eyes" finds David and crew smack dab in the middle of their guns blazing element. The inferno roars, guns pop, The Disturbed cuts through the clutter, making their message unmistakable to neophytes and established Disturbed faithful alike. Turning to the lyric sheet, Dan condemns lying and the liars who choose to fashion it as some variant of the truth. "Open Your Eyes" plays off like the sequel to "Liberate", another ditty about getting your mind free from hypocrisy and half truths. Of course the edge boring through the soul of "Open Your Eyes" plays at a much sharper edge than "Liberate" which went on super slick like premium grade motor oil pushed through a funnel for all vehicles to behold. But again back to the words themselves which ought to give us a window into Dan's mental state. You're captive to lies, wearing a disguise just to cope with the daily doings of modern society. You're a willing stoolie for any sales pitch you get sold. Dan begs you to see through the disguise so you get a clearer picture of how you're being fleeced. News headlines compel your actions. Dan calls the uninformed on the carpet for allowing themselves to be sucked in by propaganda. Dan's guitar explodes methodically throughout and we're better off for the privilege. John Moyer acts as the girder upon which Dan can stretch out and lean into the material. It's quite beefy stump speaking to chew on and Dan pulls it off in stunning aplomb embossed fashion. He's one convincing mouthpiece for us to gain insight from. As a collective The Disturbed play on a level nobody else could possibly touch. These gents aren't out to wine and or dine you as a glam metal throwback party band might. Unabashed truisms are their stock in trade and they know where to stick the knife in for the deepest cut. What I respect most about Dan is the maniacally eyed tonsil flashing he brings to any party he signs off on. Dan's none too taken with the lemmings who accept whatever order gets put before them. Not revolutionary thinking in the slightest. He wants only authenticity standing behind him or on his behalf. "Open Your Eyes" settles on a rolling boil, then bursts into high gear for the climb ahead. If you like your hard rock soup served to a burnt tongue plateau then this song should leave your mouth feeling shades exceeding warm and fuzzy inside. The Disturbed earns its license to shake things up as much as they deem appropriate. "Open Your Eyes" belongs in the same conversation as other great Disturbed masterworks.

Metallica's Hardwired To Blow

To anybody out there who still digs Metallica's "Kill 'Em All" some thirty plus years on the guys have a stellar treat for you. "Hardwired," the title cut from the upcoming project seeks to give fans both longtime and new a dose of the hard, fast elixir that put Metallica on the map way back when. Kirk Hammett continues to deliver riffs that would make the late Cliff Burton smile and flash devil horns in rambunctious glee. Lars Ulrich remains a drum bashing force of nature. Robert Trujillo looms large on the bass side of the spectrum. His contribution can't be overestimated. They supply the extra oomph that allows "Hardwired" to royally come off the spool. And how about James Hetfield. Fifty years plus age bracket and continues to go right for the throat as his lyric performance shall attest. Such a sunny worldview the man possesses. "We're so fucked." "Shit out of luck." Makes you think the apocalypse looms near. His take appears to be that humans are a rather wretched lot (no argument here on occasion) We are, as he scornfully describes it, "Hardwired to self-destruct." Yes, looks like history has born that out a time or three. James ascertains we're on the road to paranoia. Not a nice place to visit when you get down to brass tacks. "Once upon a a planet burning, once upon a flame" sounds downright literary in the grand scheme of things. Who knew James Hetfield was the type to dabble in the classics? "Hardwired" flat out rumbles through time and space like a colossus you can only hope to contain because you won't slow it down. The track's ideal for the monster truck rally portion of the Metallica fan base. NO retreat to be found anywhere, the Metallica way of doing business for as long as us metalheads care to remember. It packs a hefty wallop in just under three minutes, twenty seconds. Behind the gear box sits a macho convergence that accelerates the tune into sixth gear, a level Metallica pretty much invented. They intimidate through death, doom, and other things that comprise the stuff of many a young tot's nightmares. Metallica long since sloughed off the sellout label, and why not. They more than earn their stripes. The video takes on a black and white patina that many can recall taking center stage on the band's "Unforgiven" piece. "Hardwired" stays exclusively in the grind it out performance wheelhouse. Hair goes flying, demonic chords take wing. Metallica plays like their lives are triple-parked outside the recording booth. Strange to me that if ever there was a period in the band's colorful history that would have found them kind of mellow I point to "Nothing Else Matters". "Hardwired" gets about as mellow as a charging rhino. We're dealing with what amounts to a bull roaring through a china shop, its eyes blood red. My verdict? "Hardwired" handily takes us back to Metallica roots and the view from the abyss couldn't be any more intoxicating. "Hardwired" can stand tall among Metallica's hardcore delicacies.

Rhapsody Redux From Panic! At The Disco A Light Beer Laugher

Now entering the classic song lovefest we have Panic! At The Disco doing a disservice to Queen fans the world over by essentially taking the much revered "Bohemian Rhapsody" and giving it the watered down light beer treatment. On the plus side the Las Vegas denizens stick to the original chord and method. You'd think Brendon Urie was merely superimposed over Freddie Mercury and left to his own devices from there. What's the real difference between the two versions anyway? Not a whole hell of a lot to be honest. Same hard luck story of a poor boy on a ill-timed killing junket. Poor thing was just getting started in life but elected to throw his future down the dumper. At the chorus point is where Brendon and pals make a weak as water attempt to put their on imprint on the song. Candy coated gloss reigns supreme. Guitar man Kenneth Harris won't make anybody forget Brian May for a pronounced period of time. If it smells like aural wallpaper it probably is that. The harmonies at that juncture, all things being biased in favor of the revered original, come across as the machinations of fan boys who have a Freddie fixation and wanted to noodle a bit at the altar of a childhood idol. Remember the piano shooting "Bohemian Rhapsody" into the stratosphere, high intensity raw emotion leading the charge? Well, Panic! At The Disco promptly chucked that down the porcelain facility in service to, as I said before, gloss piled upon gloss. The drumming in the later stages, which in the original was used to magical effect isn't firing on many cylinders in the redux. Blink 182 spat on Ray Parker Jr.'s fun loving, kinetic "Ghostbusters" theme. Why? Only that threesome knows for sure. Wasn't really needed in my estimation. Now I know Panic! At The Disco has suitably exhibited a flair for the dramatic on past efforts. That might have served them well here. Alas it never came to pass. Only so much juice you can squeeze out of grade A nostalgia before there has to be some sense that a band isn't merely riding on somebody else's coattails. Panic! loves its source material and makes overtures towards reverence on a sublime level. But the guys don't pull off their devotions animatedly enough to demonstrate they've in fact improved on the original in any way. Even the climactic closing cymbal isn't pulled off with any kind of aplomb. Brendon's a fine storyteller, using original material such as "Hallelujah". His chops truly set their own identity up for perusal. Compared to Freddie though, Brendon's light in the loafers which, of course would be like comparing a Corvette to a Mazda. They both get you from point A to point B, but the Corvette gets you there in style. In Brendon's hands the lyrics have drama but they don't maintain the original's resonance. One aspect of a well-spun remake is you very nearly forget the version you're listening to wasn't the original. At best a band makes a cover its own. Suffice it to say Panic! At The Disco's given us no reason to get rhapsodical over this Queen update. Barely a ripple in this pool.

Green Day Gets Its Revolution Started With a Bang

Unicorns will actually fly before Green Day mellows out. I'm seldom a man of few words but the only one needed to describe the pop punk trio's new salvo on our senses is "explosion". What meth lab did this threesome knock over to whip up a batch of no surrender full steam ahead like "Bang Bang", a track culled from what's sure to be this Halloween season's early treat, "Revolution Radio." Green Day invented sixth gear all of a sudden and are not shy about employing it to the fullest degree. Vocalist Billie Joe Armstrong hasn't lost a trace of the angry young man we glimpsed during stellar tunes like "Holiday", "Basket Case" and "American Idiot". Tre Cool blazes through the drum kit as if The Grim Reaper was hot on his heels and so a memorable parting shot sounded like a necessity given the dire circumstances. Mike Dirnt's bass proves equal to the task in front of the band as he summons up the appropriate thunder to make "Bang Bang" sound like the latest no questions asked winner in their now legendary catalog. We can drop any concerns over whether or not this outing satisfies the accessibility factor. The grooves simmer like boiling vegetable soup, the speed limit has been tossed out the window right alongside the rule book. The sound has urgency in its hip pocket and wants you to know that chapter and verse. Billie wouldn't mind being remembered as a celebrity martyr. Not that the entertainment industry has ever been in short supply of those. Death or head, eh? That had better be some prime pussy then. "Shoot me up to entertain" appears to be an obligatory reference to recreational drugs being a necessary part of the whole creative process. Works fine for some, tragically for others. I can't believe how "Bang Bang" eclipses any speed race Green Day has put us through in the past. The bridge injects a fatal shot of what makes Green Day one of the most electric outfits of any size working the beat. Can't be complimentary enough about the rampant creativity ambling through the video. Again, just another day at the office for this bunch. It's a shade higher up on the animation food chain than Green Day usually heads for but, if you're Green Day, you get a pass I suppose. I can't even pin down one chord that makes "Bang Bang" light up so flawlessly. Let's call it a four way tie then. There are certain bands that, when you see their names on a record release schedule, you go nuts in celebration. Green Day falls into that category for their die-hards. "Bang Bang" aims, fires, and connects in so many ways. Here's an autopsy report you'll want to pry into.

Skillet Makes Even The Most Meek Among Us Feel Invincible

Christian rock band Skillet comes on like the tidal wave mentioned in the chorus throughout the new "Feel Invincible". The intensity level goes all the way up to eleven. Lead vocalist John Cooper leads a call to arms and we have been invited to participate in the fomenting revolution. What a huge thrill!! The production values crackle like a house afire. Each band member gives it one million percent and the dividends fall on the mega rewarding side. The crunching rock doesn't so much glide across the surface as much as bury itself in your bloodstream begging you to get down on your knees and beg for mercy in whatever form you can obtain it. Drummer Jen Ledger does a fantastic job of blending her well-timed vocals in with juggernaut beats. Lead guitarist Seth Morrison brings his best work during the bridge, Nothing along the order of showing off a la hair metal circa 1980s. It's his technical astuteness which carries this particular day. He lays out ballistic thunder in creamy fashion the way you'd spread out peanut butter. Full steam ahead no quarter asked for or given. Lyrics point to this being John's hour to fight even if the naysayers are already counting him down and out. Wimps need not apply here. Purely army squadron psychological pepper on the ball being thrown over the plate. Early on John knows the target on his back is next to impossible to shake let alone claim victory over. Does he opt to cower in the corner? Not on your life. He rolls up his sleeves and belts out rally cry after rally cry. Of course given the Christian nature of this band all praise for the pending uprising lands square in God's lap. You can feel the electricity vibrate across the board. "Feel Invincible" gains strength as the minutes elapse. Buckling your seat belt would be quite the smart idea lest you lose your lunch somewhere along the voyage. It's quite the honor to be going side by side with the platoon known as Skillet because the band knows how to establish a unified front and march down the field, intentions clear as mud to anyone toting around a working pulse. So what gets the reward for best overall lyric on the sheet? How about "Fight song raising up like a roar of victory in a stadium. The song itself roars like a lion itching to get sprung from its cage at the zoo. The billows of bluster come at you unrelentingly, knowing exactly how to get at your hot buttons, how to incite a riot among the calmest of souls. You get left clutching a Trojan Horse weightiness after the proceedings reach their logical conclusion but in a gigantic empowered exhale fashion. Korey Cooper's keyboards blaze the trail to renewal and all we have to do is follow along like the Curious Georges we know lie within our marrows.If "Feel Invincible" were to be compared to an amusement park ride then this snarling beast can be classified as roller coaster in the ways in which it matters. Maybe a little reverse peristalsis is good for body and soul. Skillet's form of dishing it out certainly has an indisputable bite behind it. In short "Feel Invincible" goes on camouflage fatigues and wears well over the excursion. Maybe you won't walk away clutching any cloak of invincibility but you'll likely work up a satisfying sweat.

Oxford's Glass Animals Take a Big Swing At Life Itself

Load the cannons up with pure electric bombast, throw in a brilliant change-up quiet keyboard ending that nobody saw coming and what are you left holding onto my friends? Why the pulse pounding craftsmanship of indie Oxford band Glass Animals whose opening salvo from the soon to be released "How To Be a Human Being", "Life Itself", packs in a wealth of British guts spread out over close to five minutes. Also present we find no small kitsch factor, something torn straight out of a Bollywood extravaganza. Look to the video if you doubt what I'm saying bears some ring of truth to it. Lead vocalist Dave Bayley relates a story many a teen has likely straddled through to young adulthood bearing the scars of. "I can't get a job so I live with my mom. The boomerang generation writ large for all to see. The chorus speaks to getting your mind free, to discovering a way to lean back and breathe. Easy to covet as opportunities go but highly difficult to obtain in the ever wandering craniums we carry around above our necks. Much to praise regarding "Life Itself". You could experience worse than a highway drive toting this on the iPod shuffle. Co-keyboard players Drew McFarlane and Edmund Irwin-Singer make this effort high on the chuckle factor. Sure the lyric material does present plenty to ponder. For example...how about those grown-up superstar dreams Dave was courting? Doesn't sound like they really came to fruition. That was one pipe dream that never found its way out of the pipe lamentably. From the song's tempo you'd never think Dave sounded too terribly disappointed. Just a road hump among many along his primrose path. Joe Seaward does commendable work behind the drums. You don't make him out to be a glory hog in any way whatsoever. He presents himself as a timekeeper in the classic Charlie Watts tradition, always dependable, never one to commandeer too much of the lion's share of attention. Maybe he's not in Charlie's league yet but give him some room to grow and somewhere down the line we could be returning to this same vein of conversation. Anyway, back to the lyrical heft, or lack therein. Dave covets freedom, and all the open air perks that it conveys. It's what young adulthood hangs its hat on. No parents giving you restraints holding you back from a high old time. Getting in to see R-rated movies whenever the mood strikes. Moving on to the next phase of boy-girl interaction. Stacking "Life Itself" high on humor presents an enormous bonus. It gives Glass Animals a high likeability factor. So much of today's world appears doom and gloom coated. Why not toss in some "lighter side of" yucks while we're at it. The video is infused with much youthful spirit. You want to make the connections where you can locate them. You could establish a pretty swift friendship based on the chorus alone. It begs you to go along as a travel companion, to share the unknown road together. Adventures are what life on planet Earth is made of. Glass Animals have the right animated vim to take us on a hugely enviable trek to destination unknown. "Life Itself" amounts to much more pep than any of us bargained for. It's a life worth pursuing...I can promise you that much.

Nothing But Thieves Throws Down a Massively Effective Wake Up Call

Nothing But Thieves relies heavily on the bass of Philip Blake to propel "Wake Up Call" to dizzying levels of melodic grandeur. The chewy goodness permeates throughout this effort. Of course you don't far from first gear if you don't have an ace in the hole drummer inching you along. Enter James Price whose way with sticks staggers the imagination. In fact he and Philip play off each other's sense of rhythms ideally. Lots of juice flowing and what a wonder it is to behold. You throw in Joe Landgridge-Brown on lead guitar and the recipe for British rock brought to the dining room piping hot comes into big league focus. "Wake Up Call" itself pertains to the wake up call you don't get from life when it appears all you're doing is burning up daylight, wasting precious energy much better used on grand pursuit of one kind or another. Barreling through best describes the song tempo. Kind of like the race for the wake-up call that never really arrives in the manner in which we'd like. A chord predominates and what an effective use of that chord it turns out to be. Desperation hasn't set in but it looks like vocalist Conor Mason has placed it in just around the corner status. His voice gives off a workmanlike shimmer that's employed to marvelous effect. Also, one hears a definite crooning element giving away the passion in his message. And that would be my cue to let you all in on what the message conveys exactly. To the lyric lab, pals o' mine!! Conor expounds on how our hearts are not wireless. Plus Conor has no intention of slowing down and fading out. Many rock stars follow the exact same plotline to sometimes tragic results. "Sometimes we never get started. No one will give you a wake up call." Too true. We often have to be our own alarm clock if we ever expect to obtain greatness or something resembling it. When the chords do shift the drama of "Wake Up Call" claims a slice of greatness for itself. Skin bashing from Mr. Price can be the infection you don't want a fast cure for. Mr. Vernon's pipes hit that sweet spot when the titular refrain comes bursting through his lips. In the video he strikes the cosmopolitan pose in blue suit and ratcheted up attitude. Seeking but never making contact with what he really is after on this planet. The bridge affords Joe room to flex his capable muscle and make his instrument meld gracefully amidst the confusion. Guitar doesn't have to strike a macho pose in order to be at peak effectiveness. Joe kept that in mind and the outcome really demonstrates he's learned from any past mistakes he's guilty of. "Wake Up Call" is a quick entree bite at the musical buffet table. No longer than three minutes, four seconds. Economy of sentiment isn't always a bad thing. At least the guys make it count. No nook is left wanting in the atmospherics department. No accessible hook goes without being snatched successfully. As a total package "Wake Up Call" is the right psychological alarm system at the right time. We should all be so fortunate as to have a high caliber bunch such as Nothing But Thieves helping us get with the program.

Grouplove Pops Open a Bubbly Version Of Life

Welcome back Grouplove and thank you for bringing your keen sense of adorable arrangements along for the ride. At first glance you get this idea that co-vocalist Hanna Hooper is bound to steal the show called "Welcome To Your Life" thanks to her emphatic pipes and engaging vocal presence. Toss in her keyboard quaintness and the table's set for a brash ride like none you've ever known throughout your days. Not so fast my friends. Just wait until you get to the chorus. That's life celebrated through the wide-eyed wonder of youth. Bright shiny color comes from every which way and grabs you by the paw begging you to come along for this supercharged journey. All's quiet on the front side. Merely window dressing leading up to the movie soundtrack grandeur that follows. Christian Zucconi makes his brotherly presence known right up front. He excels at setting a twinkly mood right at the start. At his core he lays out a child's many possibilities for her life. Fantasy possibly? That's what childhood dreams are made of. This child's such a big mess but Christian loves her anyway. The drumming soars to exciting heights thanks in no small measure to Grouplove's muscle, one Ryan Rabin. His deft turn makes "Welcome To Your Life" cause for technicolor celebration. You're given the sense dreams, even those of a growing mind like a little girl's really could come true. As the verses grow bigger, Hannah's tone increases in its attention to daring proclamations. She declares "We're back in business. You're such a big mess and I love you." Not a shade of cynicism to cloud the trip through childhood wonderland. Rightfully Christian declarers "Nothing ever comes without a change." As hard as it is to accept, change is that nagging constant out to shake up lives hither and yon, for better or worse. In a child's construction of his or her possible vision of the future, change can be electrifying. Over on bass, Daniel Gleason gives us firm footing so we can all travel in high stepping panache. Let us not leave out guitarist Andrew Wessen who brings the top quality strumming longtime Grouplove fans and now hopefully converts alike can all appreciate. Sure, at four minutes and change, you could demand something weightier than the pondering of the extremely young set but "Welcome To Your Life" has the markings of a track that in no way warrants undue hostility. Remember folks, we all start out little. From small locations big dreams have the potential to emerge. Grouplove has the giddy thrill of early life discoveries down to a well-concocted science. Hannah and Christian make for an exemplary pair of arguments for why youth should not be considered aimless drifters. They usually do have something bold to contribute to a conversation if you listen long enough. Big messes or not they do have a way of making you think...at least for a little bit. You take your love where you can find it. In this instance Grouplove steps full stride into what could be instead of what's dead and gone. "Welcome To Your Life" sends us a welcome breath of delightful air in a world of nasty where President Trump happens to be an honest to goodness possibility.

Good Charlotte Salutes Good Living

Waldorf, Maryland's Good Charlotte just wanted to tease us with that acoustic guitar opening, right? Because that in turn opened the door to a fabulous chorus chock full of spangly angelic dreams of a future kissed by the possibilities of good fortune alongside bragging tales of how righteous everything appears to be at the moment. "Life Can't Get Much Better" gives the band mates room to open wide on the wave of lyrics that leave plenty of optimism to mull over. First things first. Benji Madden's rhythm guitar defines what sensitive manhood's supposed to come across as. Drummer Dean Butterworth fires away undaunted by any obstacles that might be tossed in his general direction. You can really hear the mojo crank up at the chorus. He's a one man wrecking crew to be sure. Lead vocalist Ben Madden delivers a whisper soft message of how great things are stacking up currently. The video's family friendly imagery bolsters the happy to be alive ethos and that takes "Life Can't Get Much Better" as high as Good Charlotte's collective legs can carry it. The video's black and white cinematography really endears many because you get to see joy in mass quantities both on and offstage. The lyrics make you want to grab for the nearest box of Kleenex and sob like it's going out of style. For example how about "These scars are tokens of promises broken." Very visually captivating thoughts run deep through those particular words. It smacks of old history, wounds that run deep. "I just wanna see you laugh again" touches at the very heart of who we are as human beings. We hate to see our loved ones in agony and so laughter seeks to send out the healing balm that common conversation at times fails to make plain. You won't have to chase after this track for it steps in stride with your daily dealings. Paul Thomas gets his money's worth sent over to us on bass. Simply more warm fuzzies to engage our spirits. "Life Can't Get Much Better" features Ben's ability to be delicate in how he conveys his current life satisfaction. Nothing could be clearer than, "Life can't get much better. Let's just stay forever. We've got to hold on. We waited so long." What wonderful aspirations to hold onto. Nice touch including adorable kids in the video. Brings the coziness of Ben's inner circle/touring life into full focus. It's invigorating to watch this little pageant unfold on its own steam. That way you wrench every PG-rated bonbon out of this nifty little film. Billy Martin's rhythm guitar also earns brownie points because what good is one when two can get you more miles to the gallon. Good Charlotte has connected itself squarely to the cause of savoring the breaths you take via "I Just Wanna Live" so you know gratitude ranks high on their list of priorities. On that effort the guys went fourth gear. For this outing it's second gear, no urgency in getting to the destination. In summation, "Life Can't Get Much Better" couldn't be a better example of what Good Charlotte's capable of under the best of circumstances.

Pretty Reckless Takes A Hard Edge Approach To "Take Me Down"

The Pretty Reckless have one smoke fueled singer in Taylor Momsen. The details she weaves for "Take Me Down" are smothered in back porch devil may care goodness. Being at life's crossroads never sounded so fraught with luscious temptation. You see, Mom's worried that her darling will burn up in the Mississippi sun in pursuit of rock 'n' roll glory. Just one of the numerous musical highlights "Take Me Down" has up its highly loaded sleeve. For starters, if you're going to sing about a highly weather beaten road of exploration, you might want for that road to come complete with an easy to follow series of chord progressions. This tune puts the pedal down and is content with the cruising speed its operating in. No small credit belongs to lead guitarist Ben Phillips whose strumming essentially gives "Take Me Down" the celestial lift it needs to be great. It's never far from center of attention and the results pay off in spades. The close treats us to a little drum showmanship thanks to Jamie Perkins who puts the exclamation point on this song, no questions asked, no prisoners taken either. Moving right along to the lyrics themselves, Taylor sounds totally committed to a life of rock rebelliousness. Her exact words are: "Don't care what happens when I die. As long as I'm alive all I wanna do is rock, rock, rock. Nice the girl knows what she wants and is dedicated to the fine art of getting it. The chorus stands out as being one of those kick up your heels propositions in which you've got a cold one in one hand and the mic in the other. This crazy lady scrawls gods names on her walls for crying out loud. She truly strikes me as fitting the description of someone hardcore in focusing on the life she leads. At the chorus there's Ben demonstrating his powerful guitar chops. Bassist Mark Damon ain't too shabby in plying his end of the trade either. Say you've got a full gallon of gas and are headed off to the beach, lake, or other fun spot to lollygag. By the time you hit the shores, "Take Me Down" will have helped that trip shuffle along that much easier. It's a number you'll likely enjoy very much if all you've got on are tank tops and cut-offs. Taylor has pipes guaranteed to cut through any clutter you can dream up. Tempo keeps on an even keel. That serves the song well. Many highly weighted decisions dot this landscape. You'd hate for any part of it to get bogged down in the mire. We're definitely talking sunny weather jam here. In short "Take Me Down" functions beautifully as a fast charging rock pick me up.

No Better Heart-Tugger Than Hozier

Hozier can tug heart strings unlike anyone working the music scene today. He reaches you in places that likely haven't been touched in ages. Folks in the balcony read his messages loud and clear. This time love stands out as the clear message. It gets plucked straight from the soundtrack to The Legend of Tarzan. You can clearly tell "Better Love" was a no expense spared production from Hozier's first piano note to the final chord. Hozier understands how to get in a zone once he has occupied it. Look at his face in the video. Nothing but determination as far as the ear can hear. The sound he's forging is his and his alone. Of course it helps to be guided by crisp jungle snippets from the movie itself to get us all into the same primal instinct. How the piano glides up scale at precisely the right juncture, the way the drums ante up this song's overall fire, how Hozier serves as mainly the gatekeeper through which the magic can unfold before us. It justifiably cements Hozier's reputation aa a leading concert hall get. "Better Love" likely will have the doubters who question whether The Legend of Tarzan deserves a robust viewing taking back their consternation in a fraction of a second. On the lyric side passion drips everywhere. Couched in brutish imagery but passion laden all the same. Hozier's "blind to the purpose of the brute divine". He thrills in knowing how alone and unknown he and his beloved really are. Grand longing gets confessed. But at the heart there's no better love loving him than she. My favorite line has to be "Like fire weeping from a cedar tree know that my love would burn with me. We'll live eternally. Such bold promises coming from mortal man. No doubt he's got conviction on his side and that counts for an awful lot on this planet. A fun place to hear "Better Love" blaring would be spinning around under the Zilker Park Christmas tree. Lights spinning. Giddy dizziness mounting. Besides which the birth of Jesus and Hozier were made to go hand in hand. Listen to "Take Me To Church" and tell me you're not compelled to double over sobbing, confessing to things you were never even guilty of doing in the first place. "Better Love" can make you realize that, despite society's overblown imagery of immaculate pair-ups, imperfect love does have its own special rewards for any who seek to learn what they are. As you might expect from a Tarzan movie soundtrack cut "Better Love" shuffles along at a galloping pace. That leaves Hozier to merely strut his convincingly facade busting stuff. After that's done you'll be putty for the man to mold in whatever way he chooses. Not all the prime summer movie real estate has been converted to millions invested versus millions earned back. A new Tarzan's on the prowl. There's no better opportunity to explore Hozier's "Better Love". Who knows...maybe you'll strut a little taller in the saddle upon repeated listening. Hozier found his mark in blazing record time and a letdown doesn't appear imminent anytime soon. Too many more tracks like this and years from now we may be talking about the legend of Hozier. Here's to what his future has in store.

Say Hell No To Ingrid Michaelsen's Disposable Pop

Ingrid Michaelsen, let's talk. What's a pretty girl like you doing constructing a tune, in this case "Hell No", in which the video turns heads easier than the tune itself. I mean look at it. You've got a panda mask, piggy mask, water shooting out of your eyes, even the Reaper gets his time in the spotlight. What do we the listeners have to show for it? Just a processed slice of keyboard drenched, processed drum, Meghan Trainor sound alike pablum. I see how the rhythms could make even the stormiest days brighter but "Hell No" could've been sung by anyone from Rihanna to Meghan Trainor to Miley Cyrus and nobody would catch the difference one iota. Lyrics suggest we're dealing with some a-hole that Ingrid wants to avoid like the Bubonic Plague. The man was wearing his previous lady's sweater which should've been a dead giveaway the bum was bad news. No amount of candy-coated filler is going to hide the fact that "Hell No" amounts to three minutes two seconds worth of you missing an opportunity to be doing practically anything else...or anyone else. I give cred for the special effects and the myriad ways the director uses to employ them but...a little substance please. Good for Ingrid listening to Mama's wisdom that boys like that don't work out in the end anyway. The chorus tries its best to be pep rally emphatic but the whole shebang comes across as high school glee club dated. Ingrid certainly isn't tough to look at. Add to that her new album title "It Doesn't Have To Make Sense" plays its human condition card beautifully but...you and I likely didn't pop in to check on the intangible, unanswerable questions of the universe. Escapist entertainment shall suffice thanks. We have to be at least partially entertained though and "Hell No" fails to pass the sniff test. Tell me something Ingrid. Where's the cute affectations that stemmed from "Boys and Girls"? The method behind that song appeared to have artistry embedded at its core. That song was also less hogtied by a pronounced lack of subtlety. "Hell No" sings its kick that man to the curb philosophy loud and proud. Perhaps if man bashing amplified to a mega arena pitch suits your listening proclivities then...three cheers for you. Ingrid's got to be smiling somewhere in a distant recording studio. Meanwhile, maybe the heat makes me intolerant. Maybe I ask for standards I know are too high to ever be met. Still Ingrid's slipped a peg or two in her career development with this tired tale. "Hell No" I won't go off to be seduced by your lightweight charms.

Thrice's Black Blast Stings...Literally

Let's hear it for a 2016 novel concept. And it comes to us courtesy of Irvine, California's Thrice, an act making a case for watching yourself around hornets' nests. They do have this tendency to react when provoked. First things first, the musicianship works on so many levels it's astounding. Who'd have thought a humble glockenspiel could spark tinges of terror into the hearts of so many. Teppi Teranishi pulls the trick off meritoriously. Of course, his guitar technique flat out bulldozes everything in its path, and that's why "Black Honey" leaves us tasting the titular sweetness all the way to the final notes. Lead vocalist Dustin Kensrue has a mission simple enough for us laypeople to comprehend fully. The man merely wants his honey so if some bees get a little bent out of shape that's the price that has to be paid I suppose. Riley Breckenridge steps forward on drums to become the ultimate skin bashing beast, the sprinkle provider for this cosmic cake. Check out his ferociousness and tell me venom does not dwell within his heart. Back to Dustin's honey lust and the violence he's willing to carry out to get his needs met. Butterflies aren't safe in Dustin's realm. For gosh sake the man tried to stick a pin through one because he liked the pretty colors. Warped sentiment to be sure and what did it get him? Just a butterfly burning in the fire with all the others. You sense a true Twilight Zone quality to the video, particularly apparent in the lip-syncing of the words by unknown (at least to me anyway) actors. The boy sporting alien eyes surely merits tooth chattering fear overtones. You can't reason with hornets, Dustin. You should have learned that in grade school somewhere. The busy buzzers don't care if you get top quality honey or not. They have their lives. Please find your own or else friends will start abandoning you in droves. Eddie Breckenridge throws down on bass like destiny made him do it. As I said, top-drawer musicianship everywhere you look. Intensity sells this ticket. Dustin's driven. Teppi slams home ideal chord changes when needed. To be honest the motor under this hood makes the lyrical content look highly anticlimactic. No problem, though. We didn't come here to discuss the finer points of why you should leave bees alone rather than piss them off for your own selfish reasons. The boy in the video had to have loved playing space oddity to the hilt. His whole face gets into the act. "Black Honey" presents to us a meaty slab of reliable rock. Its tone isn't charred black barbecue style but it leaves behind an earthy aftertaste sure to leave the initiated and newbies alike (ahem) buzzing for weeks.

Phantogram Employs a Wicked Electronic High To Set Off Sparks

For this review of electronica act Phantogram's "You Don't Get Me High Anymore", I'm going to employ the inner workings of a car wash to sell you on the difference between the main primal beats and the softer yet no less unsettling interludes. Hearing this is like going to the quickie car wash and sitting helpless as the battering scrubber sponges expose each speck of unwholesome crud that was ever on your vehicle. Then comes the soft hot wax that's supposed to uncork a compelling gloss to said vehicle. The sadistic half of you craves the scrubbers going full blast because that's the shop's power angle. So hefty is the cranium crunching keyboard work that you forget actual vocals are taking place here. Therein lies the added layer of night terror inducing chaos courtesy of femme tonsil flasher Sarah Barthel. What she says and the delivery she uses to put it across the port bow are equally scary. Let's put things this way shall we? Sarah sounds a little too excited about looking the abyss of death straight in the eyes. Nothing in better living through chemistry land appears fun anymore. Common complaint among the perpetually disenfranchised. Thank heavens for the soft airy stretches that appear as Sarah asks if you want to walk with her to the end. Sounds air brushed to the hilt and that's an ace up this song's sleeve. "You Don't Get Me High Anymore" blends aggression and gentle dreaminess like they were concepts made to stand side by side, brothers in the face melting arts. Lots of pumped out drumming to get you beats per minute up to that all important aerobic level. Sarah needs drug stimulation but the high now requires a more concentrated four tier dose. Co-conspirator Josh Carter has his sights set on ladling out the meanest guitar licks he can scrounge up. He succeeds beyond his wildest expectations. He's the multitasking fiend who can work those licks in between Sarah's deceptively soothing keyboard fills. She glorifies wild rides through emergency room corridors. She looks to be an OD victim waiting to be discovered. Druggies tend to skate that dangerous line separating recreational use from morgue identification. Sarah's line "Used to take one. Now it takes four" speaks to how a drug user's tolerance escalates if initial dosage gets absorbed convincingly enough. "You Don't Get Me High Anymore" sings praises of hitting rock bottom, of how everyone's stoned in some form so why not enjoy the in progress carnage. Sarah's voice cuts through the clutter and uses a buffed sledgehammer to do it. The woman requires stimulation of the pill popping persuasion. The old manner of supply isn't working anymore. Josh uses the wise move of stepping back and letting Sarah uncork her heretofore stifled rage. This number screams like a user going through the to be expected detox stages. First the comedown, then the cleanup phase. Rough edges work wonders. They give the song an antidote needle's proper bite. Overall "You Don't Get Me High Anymore" merits respect, whether high or sober as a judge. It should gift you with that electronic high you didn't even know you were craving.

This Avatar's Eagle Soars High On Heavy Metal Wings

In the mood for fresh brewed Swedish metal? Don't let the opening notes of Avatar's "The Eagle Has Landed" throw you for a loop. Behind this wheel are some superb production values which include a hint of Cookie Monster vocals that don't obscure lead vocalist Johannes Eckerstrom's fine tuned delivery. At first you think you're getting mainstream friendly hard rock but, not exactly. Get set for swashbuckling lunacy. The drumming's top notch, a tip of the hat to you John Alfredsson, You can do guns blazing bashing one minute and send us back to the glam '80s the next. If the video is any indication lunacy in liberal doses is there to be downed whole by all concerned. The shot of Johannes holding a recently deadened heart, while decidedly gross, captures the take it in stride humor Avatar looks prepared to dish out to us. What isn't palate appeasing about this laugh worthy oddball. At the four minute mark guitarist in residence Jonas "Kruger" Jarlsby does what any self-respecting fret worker has to...back away from the recent memory of the lightning sharp bridge and have the sense to turn it down a few notches to catch one's breath after what's been a blissful backstage pass into the core of weirdness. Bass player Henrik Sandlein lays his riffs down nice and easy so we can indulge in each delectable morsel. Lyrics reveal Jonas isn't quite right upstairs. The yarn spinner revels in unraveling his tale, doing so pearly whites out for our approval. "Come see up close at the feat of king. I am as I was as I will be. Look at the smoke can you hear me a-screaming. God of above, is beneath me." That's the tip of the iceberg so far as harmony hilarity goes. The third stanza unfurls overblown to the degree where parody would be considered a mandatory next step. Behold the lines: "Ladies and gentlemen, your hero has returned again. Everything is going to be okay-ay-ay. Ladies and gentlemen, your shepherd and your very best friend bow your head and let us in." That's a wish easily granted given the nifty company we're keeping. Avatar appears fully aware that subtlety doesn't reside anywhere close to their wheelhouse. Let 'em loose on behalf of Viking helmet guitar showmanship and the rest likely will fall into place nicely. Johannes loves being silly to the highest order. See his puss in the video? There's no place he'd rather be than on set hamming it up like he's merely being asked to don his second authentic skin. Much of "The Eagle Has Landed" gets used in service of setting an impenetrable mood. The cast of this motley crew have their respective instruments tuned up and armed for bear. Would you like spectacle alongside your melodic death metal? Good choice I say, Who wouldn't embrace the sensation? Your little ones, should they wander into the room, could get nightmares if they venture too close, so be careful. Long story short "The Eagle Has Landed" flies to wicked heights of loose-jointed fancy. Clear your schedule for takeoff.

Blink 182 Has A Bright Future In Its Sights

Hey everybody!! Let's step back to Blink 182's halcyon "All The Small Things" days. That little sojourn comes in the form of "No Future. What you liked and or respected about Blink 182 back in 1999 gets put on full display on this opening salvo from the new "California" CD. Drummer Travis Barker gets into a solid head space behind the kit. Not a single beat wasted. All in the name of high quality pop punk that catches the ear like nothing else can. Vocalist Mark Hoppus infuses "NO Future" with his patented brand of sassy punch that you can't help but be drawn towards. The lyrics echo the sentiment uproariously. A boy and girl speaking volumes about how the sun will rise despite whatever dumb decision they end up making between the hours of dawn and dusk. One moment's mistake leads to a lifetime's regret, no turning back expected or warranted. The female protagonist confesses how foolish it is to even try. All those demons just keep coming back to make a mockery of you anyway. The "na na na" sequences really bring "All The Small Things" back to mind. The need for speed exists in droves and, regardless of the downer subject matter at hand, Blink 182 has this resilience that keeps theie mindset somewhat sunny, as if those 1999 kids were very much alive and still TPing suburban lawns everywhere. Fairly new guitarist Matt Skiba has his octane set on high fuel, a point that keeps the proceedings lively as well. Back to the drumming. Travis maintains a laser like focus that serves this effort very very well. The harmonies keep right on glowing on through the aforementioned dusk referred to earlier. I admire how the beat jumps down the range of chords until the guys are safely at the bottom rung of delightful. "No Future" skips along in high electricity mode taking names and kicking butts wherever they go. How troubling it must be, as the lyrics say, to be "Wide awake from the dream with a shake and a scream." Must have been one heck of an awe inspiring nightmare. So how is it a tune so orange juice fresh squeezed with light can possess such dank, musty, hellishly sweat gland producing commentary? Therein lies the beauty of Blink 182. They can be chanting "Work sucks. I know." one decade and come back another decade spouting off about how apathetic others are to their decision making processes because no real future exists for them anyway. From the word go Blink 182 stays true to its roots and the dividends we as listeners reap are tremendous. "No Future" definitely has a bright future at rock radio. May their horizons be filled with constant brightness.

Breaking Benjamin Escorts Us On a Precious Trek To Eden

First you take one ripple on undisturbed water, that comes in the shape of Jasen Rauch's delicate electronic strings. Then, you add the determined vocals of one Benjamin Burnley, slicing his way through the underbrush, undaunted by what adversity comes his way. Toss in a little bass action from Aaron Bruch. Top that all off with the steadfast drumming of Shaun Foist and what do you come away experiencing? One gorgeous track from Pennsylvania's Breaking Benjamin which goes under the moniker of "Ashes of Eden". You know what it's like idling around in Eden after this song reaches its conclusion. So much vulnerability pouring out of Benji. You want to tell him everything's gonna be okay but, alas, that's a claim you can't etch in stone at present. The pace here urges you to tread carefully because the Fates don't necessarily play kindly. Slow, jacuzzi comfortable, easy to get along with. That's due in no small measure to Benjamin's likability quotient which goes sky high this time around. His lyrics echo the pleadings of a man close to the edge, somewhat dreading, as I guess we all do, what is or isn't waiting for him on the other side of this rotating jewel. Not once does "Ashes of Eden" beat you over the head on a wave of treacle that you can't penetrate with your most high quality putty knife. Ben wants you to stick by his side, no matter what the final verdict might be. "Will the faithful be rewarded?" he wonders. Fair question. None of us comes back around to suggest a definitive answer so that question becomes increasingly seductive. Over the melting heart landscape sits a very high concept song. I think "Ashes of Eden" merits its close to 5 minute playing time. You're able to examine the many layers closely, an archaeologist of music if you will. You get an inside line to Ben's aching frame of mind. The choral refrain speaks loudly to Ben's urgency. "Stay with me, don't let me go because there's nothing left at all. Stay with me, don't let me go until the Ashes of Eden fall. He has trouble hearing his travelling companion. He wonders how she can possibly be with him if he can't feel or hear her. Going back to the opening ripple effect called on in the beginning, it's that gentle wave that ushers you into Ben's dilemma. He wants security but that, as we Earth creatures know, gets cast into the villainous role as cruel illusion. We make security for ourselves through whatever safe haven we can construct for ourselves, an impregnable fortress of the mind in which not just anybody can gain access. Moving slowly through "Ashes To Eden" makes approaching this flavor of unknown sound almost palatable. Our bearings can be collected before we reach the waterfall's edge. Truth be told the song functions as a perfect complement to the rush of a hungry waterfall...or Dom Perignon, you make that call yourself. Much beauty can be culled from the lush arrangements. Dazzling electronic strings ignite the cauldron that sends us down the well-worn path. You'll discover that you're going to emerge the better person for having made the trip. "Ashes To Eden" allows gorgeous, slow cooked atmospherics to whip up a beauty that cleans up good.