BORNS Jumps Into The Pools

Are you that certain someone who likes music to get high to? Please welcome Michigan wunderkind BORNS back to the creative realm. We already knew his magical abilities were out there where the buses don't run when "Electric Love" nuzzled close to us. He hasn't come down from that psychedelic haze since that time if "10,000 Emerald Pools is any indication. If you've been fancying a swimming pool and a mellow backdrop to enjoy it with then you can mail or text your thanks to BORNS. The background harmonies make you want to roll a quality joint and then visualize the ghost of Jimi Hendrix. This oddity doesn't make its mark based on miles per hour. It's got a laid back mindset that old Austin couldn't emulate in a million years. So what makes these pools worth swimming in? Perhaps that answer can be found at first glance of the opening remarks on the lyric sheet. You don't get devotion on the scale of "I'll dive in deeper, deeper for you down to the bottom, 10,000 emerald pools. BORNS is so ladies man that time stands still whenever he hits the scene. Not that the sentiment ranks as daringly different but, the woman in his life equals oxygen. Such Romeo and Juliet tenderness running through his veins. Looking at the video I wouldn't begrudge anyone an urge to have a few glasses of water. It's pleasing to the ear to know that BORNS isn't in any big hurry. His energy level suits the purpose. "Electric Love" didn't work up a dangerous sweat either and that was a very right decision. Can you feel the pool softened strands of hair? Can you feel the chlorine riding up in your bathing suit? BORNS must be happy at the visceral reaction. What decade do we group this baby into? I'm tempted to think mostly modern psychedelia befitting the '60s but smart enough to know we've been in the 21st century for a spell. BORNS knows how to use his indescribable chemistry to both men and women to the mixer. And how about the title of his album as a big time giveaway regarding where his psyche is. For the record (no joke intended) it's called "Dopamine". Scientists know that's the name of the feel good chemical responsible for overall well being. Try not to be blissed out on the bubble embossed embrace of "10,000 Emerald Pools" The inner beauty brings us a million miles from world unrest as can be. The drum beats urge us to maximize what's life affirming and not to get wrapped up in what sucks. The woman BORNS speaks of represents buried treasure, treasure of the salivary gland activating kind. As far as artistic merit the song's a nifty use it for the chill out purpose then toss in the trash receptacle in prep for the next natural high. I wouldn't go so far as to say it avoids potentially being victimized with the passable background filler label but what's wrong with heading into the day on an uncluttered note. "10,000 Emerald Pools" has the serene eye appeal of the view of one's reflection in a mountain lake. If you take a dip your teeth will chatter for good reasons and good reasons alone.

3 Doors Down Hits Upon Some Formidable Electricity

For many rock fans their introduction to Mississippi's 3 Doors Down came via a tight package called "Kryptonite". Former drummer Richard Liles was a major reason why that song garnered the momentum needed to cement its place as a top 5 hit. Lead singer Brad Arnold was just as convincing then aa he is now but it was the drumming that caught fire. Zoom forward to 2016 and we discover 3 Doors Down has emerged with what this blogger asserts is the most radio friendly single of its career. As a cohesive unit the working parts are well oiled and ready to thrill. From the start the new "In The Dark" comes gift wrapped for bartenders looking for a go to selection to juice their clientele's good time. The band has certainly learned to play nice. Chet Roberts cobbles together impressive guitar virtuosity. The bridge trades in showmanship for steady workmanlike glue that holds the ship together. Over on bass Justin Biltonen contributes in an understated capacity. You know he's the cobra waiting to strike but he never once telegraphs his moves. The aforementioned Brad tonsil flashes sexual thrills right and left. Of course I wasn't present for the studio session but could you blame me for thinking Brad had a cat that ate the canary grin on his face when he was reciting the words. I don't recall ever having heard a song where a woman performed what Big Bang Theory's Sheldon Cooper would refer to as coitus in the dark. Sexual positioning isn't uncommon in the annals of music history but you'd expect a modicum of light stimulation. The vixen sounds like she gets what she wants when she puts her wiles to work. "And all her moves won't let you get away" tells the tale of a dominatrix who could be either angel or devil depending on which end of the foreplay you come out on. She has the mystical power to render men unsure of who they are. She holds their hearts in her hand knowing how to turn the right screw. I'm admiring the consistency in energy generously poured in throughout. The machine has found a lane to travel in, and therefore all that's left is to roll into fourth gear and enjoy the feel of wind whipping through hair follicles. I make the claim that "In The Dark" meanders as far away from "Kryptonite" in terms of temperament and thematic elements. The former asked for comfort for a fallen man whose wits have betrayed him. Lines like "If I go crazy then will you still call me Superman" drive that suggestion home. The latter mines stripper pole masculine fantasies until it hits unyielding bedrock. The former was at times gravely serious. The latter keeps the cocktail hour enthusiasm going through steady temptation of the flesh. I'll be interested to learn whether or not "In The Dark" follows a similar path to across the board radio playlist acceptance. I'm not insinuating that "Kryponite" was an exotic dish meant for discriminating palates to mull over. That the song struck paydirt in 2000, the same year as Bon Jovi's far more rambunctious "It's My Life" should tell you the climate favored its ascendance. My argument is "In The Dark" sounds like it was fine tuned within an inch of its life for the sole purpose of courting rock radio. I'm not revolted though. It has hooks that will carry you through a bad week at home, school, or the floundering office social event. "In The Dark" succeeds in lighting up this blogger's penchant for sturdy rock brought to the table piping hot and ready to be devoured.

Shaman's Harvest Rattles Chains To Haunting Effect

Shaman's Harvest, here's your big time hard rock moment. The Jefferson City, Missouri outfit which was formed in 1996, has put together a fine rocker that gives a listener everything he or she could hope to ask for. Charmingly enough, the opening portion, unlike some movie trailers, doesn't give away what makes the single "In Chains" massive. Chunky guitar thunders through the roost like the proverbial fox getting left alone in the hen house. Were you as surprised as I was at the differing attitude between the first five seconds and the chorus. Kind of lulls you into a false sense of I know what my buck is buying me. Nathan Hunt has a tight grasp of what it takes to keep an audience's attention. You want to follow his steely resolve because it's within that resolve where the melodic treasure lies buried. Speak of gold doubloons Derrick Shipp successfully avoids peppering you with too much of the machismo that's a rock guitar god's bread and butter. Knowing your trade doesn't mean overselling how well you can ply it. Way to go, Derrick. Tastefully seasoned without dropping the entire salt shaker in. Adam Zemanek refrains from posturing at the drum post. Some artistry gets flexed but he's man enough to acknowledge when he's going overboard. Josh Hamler claims authority at rhythm guitar. Matt Fisher contributes solidly on bass. The fabulous sync between band mates earns us and them a ride worth the pesos. Turning to the lyrics you can tell why Nathan invokes his right to be forceful. Look who has popped in to say hello or...goodbye in this case. It's the Angel of Death and Mercy. Release from the day to day cage has been requested. Not to worry...very soon my child. Nate gets an A for knowing how to incorporate a simile into his technique. "Like a cripple without his cane" spares nothing for the imagination. Nathan has icicles in his veins that he wants warmed until he's numb. That's a mighty bad week/life he has working for him. Darkness has fallen. Where's the jailhouse guard to give him his freedom?. He'll go so far as to request that someone drop him in the cold muddy water so his personal purgatory might be eased a shade. At first listen to both chorus and bridge I got these sensational '80s metal flashbacks. They were a welcome visitor. It's of great value when a rock act knows how to execute balance in both song structure and technical display. You don't have to rob emotional Peter to pay Paul. Shaman's Harvest has passed that test. I wouldn't say Shaman's Harvest merits classification as post-grunge although maybe the hovering doom and gloom in the lyrics emerges to prove me wrong. I know when rock's lethal sting has me where it wants me. It's difficult not to grant respect for how the chorus fuses the best of the players' vocal ranges. Gone are traces of overselling the dramatics. Shaman's Harvest gets what tightly executed hooks are supposed to sound like. Let's hear it for the band sticking with it long enough to cut this beauty. Many marriages, musical or otherwise, don't reach 20 years, at least not without backbiting, salacious extracurricular activities, and the not uncommon cocaine fueled tragedy. Shaman's Harvest is still ticking. "In Chains" frees itself from any timidity rooting around underneath the band's visage. That's what sparks legends.

Rachel Platten Doesn't Take a Firm Enough Stand

Rachel Platten belted out an impressive ditty with "Fight Song". Moves both hearts and mountains. That inspirational wave can't be escaped. The whole one match making an explosion really gets to the sensitive side of you. That one pathos heightened effort should have been all anybody needed to know about Rachel Platten. I can't think of why the follow up single "Stand By You" had to be equally Screen Actors Guild intense. What we have here is a song that's slightly sweetened but has the same circle the wagons do or die desperation "Fight Song" worked to great effect. It has a thoughtful video, showing off Rachel's pearly whites not to mention a gospel chorus backup. Did you fall in love with the two adorable kids that had some face time here? The video director isn't stupid. Lots of manipulative trinkets designed to pull the strings viewers have a hankering for. Rachel's smile does shoot sunbeams across the port bow but what else could possibly be getting communicated here? The whole where's heaven I'll gladly walk through hell with and for you sentiment ladles cute on super thick. Call me hard boiled cynic but I need something substantial to convince me to walk through Hell with somebody. Rachel's affable but this relationship has barely scratched the surface. Musically the chord shaping strikes the adorable meter authoritatively. Far be it from me to tell anybody what to laud, who to praise, and how high to jump but pop/adult contemporary divas don't extend reach in the way they used to. Sure, Gagas and Perrys don't come around every day but Rachel's nice to share a coffee with and precious little else. Props to the video's wardrobe coordinator. Everyone's either dapper or comely. The lightness of being wraps itself around "Stand By You", the better to keep you toasty at night. The sound merits background fill status for everything from changing the baby's diapers to getting dinner ready. If that's your bag then today's your lucky day. Otherwise "Stand By You" doesn't sit well as an enduring pop classic.

Life Would Be Much Better Without This Saint Asonia Song

Plenty of bluster drips from "Let Me Live My Life", the new single from Canadian supergroup Saint Asonia. I can say with confidence that this single revolves mostly around a machismo slinging display of guitar and drums but with little lyrical excitement to make me want to do much more than sip, belch, then throw it in the garbage. Kudos to lead guitarist Mike Mushok for showing up and bringing a thudding solo to this dance. There, I've said it. That's about as exciting as "Let Me Live My Life" gets. I've heard the "repulsed by the man in the mirror" speech so often I could say it verbatim in my sleep. In fact the Kurt Vile review I did for you guys last time specifically mentions the clown in the mirror. I'm guessing delivery counts for everything. In Kurt's hands it was jovial. Here it's just grating. Regardless of how many cracks get clearer in that mirror you can't make the song stand on its own merit. Adam Gontier isn't winning any points for insisting "my pain is your entertainment. Where are the violins when you need them. About the only thing that works in this song's favor is its short play time. A shade over 3 minutes and we're wrapped up. This must be the aural equivalent of bringing a date to the door, giving her a gentle peck on the cheek and then stopping short of letting her in for some nookie. At its best hard rock chord bravado can heighten a band's A-game. "Let Me Live My Life" is not one of those instances. I doubt much could have been done to save this patient even with spicier lyrics. Adam calibrates his voice to achieve maximum irritation. That's not praise I'm ladling. That should never be the zero sum game of a rock song. If an audience is highly engaged by an effort then as an outfit you've soared above break even status. Corey Lowery gets much attention for his bass. Yet another example of how the cog eclipses the team tandem. Rich Beddoe lacks energy, at least not the kind that would elevate "Let Me Live My Life" to something besides a curiosity missing much motivation for repeated listening. It isn't like the basic riffs haven't been pounded into the ground a zillion times. That lyrical image of a knife being pulled out embodies every cliche known in the annals of rock history. Ditto for fearful hands being held steady. I'm not so clueless that a certain disposable aspect lies within pop culture as a collective. Saint Asonia has only been around since 2014 and therefore can't afford that label. It needs a few memorable outings under its belt. Only the guys themselves could say whether the song was pitched for an audience not expecting much from its diversionary entertainment. It comes across as such regardless. "Let Me Live My Life" sadly is dead on arrival.

Kurt Vile Leaves a Pretty Chorus In His Wake

On the strength of stage name alone I'd say Kurt Vile has the potential to go places. Nothing remotely wrong with a catchy chorus meant to stick to the sides of your brain. "Pretty Pimpin'" represents my introduction to this Pennsylvania native's recording chops. He's put all his money down on a swarthy guitar lick, and the results don't hesitate to beguile. He isn't shy about dropping down some laid back lyrics either. The only quibble from this end is that five minutes, twenty five seconds is a shade long for a tune long on cute and folksy affectations. The chorus, while charming in a brotherly love way, wasn't mean to be flogged in quite the way it has been. Again, I pick nits only because I love. Kurt's a genial sort who grows on you favorably. He makes everyday pull yourself out of bed by any means necessary sound downright Mensa. He gets maximum mileage from addressing "this stupid clown blocking the bathroom sink" How he makes standard dental hygiene sound compelling belongs in the eternally unknown category. The teeth he's brushing, those stranger's teeth, happen to be his oddly enough. I'm lead to believe most of his week gets regurgitated as some giant blur because when Saturday rolls around he and the "stupid clown" renew acquaintances. Kurt projects the image of a man for whom pursuit of a good time serves as the ultimate end. His lyrics aren't Shakespeare to be sure but I get off on hearing the everyday nudged closer to transcendence terrain. You get your fill of laid back landscape from the video which only serves to buoy the drifting along on the breeze ethos that gains momentum the longer we listen. Folk happens to be one of those genres not overloading the market in the here and now. Kurt's presence can't help but place a winning face to the formula. He unfurls other wordsmith jewels such as "All he ever wanted was to be a man but he was always a little too cute to be admitted under marbles lost." If that line doesn't merit entrance under sheer genius today, then give it some time and distance. It will turn heads for somebody. For the record Kurt's a musician of many stripes. You don't hear them on "Pretty Pimpin'" but trumpet, banjo and keyboards also factor into his toolkit. Maybe future single releases will highlight those talents. Look for "Pretty Pimpin'" on his "blieve I'm goin down" album. "Pretty Pimpin'" sounds like it's nattily dressed and eager to be caught as man about town.

Charlie Puth Dials In a Tired Refrain

If this post calls me out as being some sort of curmudgeon then I shall willingly swallow the man pill. New Jersey's Charlie Puth has a lot going for him. From a business standpoint he had the good sense to hook up with Meghan Trainor. The boy's not hard to look at. Not too mention the way his teeth glimmer when he flashes them. Photogenic every which way. Unfortunately his single "One Call Away" typifies much of the style over substance content of 21st century pop music. He's graceful behind the ivories and when backed by a snappy drum off we go with young stud on the prowl scene making. His look ends up winning out over his words. Have you had your fill of boy wonders trying to don the man cape in the name of true love? It's been flogged beyond physical recognition. The chorus suffers from saturation bombing. It's repeated too often even for a chorus segment where the point is earwig through repetition. I'd be excited if that chorus was not mere skin and bones but, if the deli's out of prime roast you can't grouse about not getting your share of prime butcher wares. Translation? "I'm only one call away. I'll be there to save the day" constitutes what Charlie's pushing through on tonight's dinner cart. This dish has light seasoning which may bump up the charming factor but it slides right off the ear like water off a duck's back. I'm not saying lovable reassurance doesn't count for something in this often troubled world we are navigating. Nothing wrong with being told "No matter where you go you know you're not alone." What could be more fundamentally human than that? I don't even expect groundbreaking communication. I merely want the packaging of David's gift to a little bit different than that of the hunks that have come before him. No one claims he should shriek like Michael Bolton or flex sexual swagger like Robin Thicke but meet cute atmosphere can only get you so far before you'd like to consume something with a little more meat on the bones. While I've been composing this post the melody has already fizzled away. I'm not so old that my emotional responses are permanently set to "jaded". As a lifetime music connoisseur I insist on the right to be choosy when the situation calls for it. Charlie probably isn't a bad bloke that doesn't give him a pass when he's in the studio professing to pump out product the masses supposedly crave. "One Call Away" comes from his "Nine Track Mind" album. You see there. The album title swiped the creativity momentum from the single it sired. "Nine Track Mind" makes me chuckle. It could refer to nine tracks on an album or that Charlie's mind gets pulled in nine different directions. Now that's food for thought. As it stands "One Call Away" sounds very much like a wrong number.

The Disturbed Triumphantly Awakens The Sound of Silence

The definition of a quality remake so far as I'm concerned is that you forget the artist or artists singing it weren't the originals. For instance, call me highly uncultured but it was years before I knew Cat Stevens rather than Maxi Priest was the guy who sang "Wild World". Maxi's version put a smart reggae spin on what was already a very spiritual track. No Doubt jolted Talk Talk's "It's My Life" with some 21st century flash. Two examples, neither one disrespecting the original's work. I proudly add The Disturbed to that list of second time around game changers. Remember Simon & Garfunkel's "The Sound of Silence". Politically and spiritually keyed up. You never left the turntable of the '60s thinking of this as anything other than a civil unrest age basic acoustic guitar and drum number. Enter The Disturbed, the band responsible for "Down With The Sickness" and "Liberate" It gave Simon & Garfunkel's tune a gravitas overhaul. Instead of a wounded guitar we get symphonic convergence piano. David Draiman says mouthfuls without overwhelming our ears with metal bombast. Drummer Mike Wengren soon follows and man does he get the tribal weightiness down pat. The ultimate selling point comes when David's voice and his bandmates heightened use of drama elevate. All you'd need to know to learn what artistic vision is for the remake comes from glancing at the video. Little by little pieces of this giant puzzle fall into place. Frankly, my jaw has dropped to the floor upon realizing that The Disturbed actually comes programmed with a setting that's not blatantly in your face. That was a good strategy for "Liberate" but would have been disastrous for "The Sound of Silence". Dave and pals give this classic the respect it deserves. Not one overloaded guitar solo to speak of. In a sense I walk away from the experience wondering where bassist John Moyer and guitarist Dan Donegan disappeared to. Their presence is light like cat's feet. As holds true with an Oreo cookie it's the creamy ever expanding middle of The Disturbed's remake that heightens its own awesomeness quotient as the seconds build into minutes. Take a good long look whenever Dave's face appears in the video. He's not usually the model of restraint as an artist but for this outing that's his ace in the hole. When the crescendo hits blissful exhaustion settles in. The arrangements build steadily so you can at least steel your breath for the theatrical sparks that fly. I have to wonder what Simon & Garfunkel would have to say right about now. Pink doesn't see imitation as the highest form of flattery but I don't see or hear why those two would be put off by what The Disturbed has done to their of its era contribution. In this case "Silence" is indeed golden. Not only that it shows some contemporary rockers know how to respect their elders.

Parkway Drive's "Vice Grip" Doesn't Hold Weight

Hello Cookie Monster. What unintelligible vocals you have. Even worse, you're not saying anything revolutionary. Parkway Drive fans the metalcore flame for everyone to hear via "Vice Grip". What's troubling is how relentlessly hot it burns and with very little fanfare. How many times do we have to hear the one life one shot at glory cliche before we go bald from having ripped the hair out of our heads? If Winston McCall buried his voice any lower we'd be shoveling for weeks. So...tired theme buried under overemphasized metalcore. Not a recipe for long term success. Jeff Ling's an able guitarist but the sizzle doesn't exist. The bridge fails to impress. This whole effort smacks of paint by numbers going through the motions. Ben "Gaz" Gordon hammers away on drums as if he's bearing a statement never before heard in human history. He's a nice distraction. We shouldn't need a distraction though. Parkview Drive should whet our appetites to where we're not left claiming the appetizer will suffice. Jia "Pie" O'Connor isn't too shabby as bassists go but he can't carry "Vice Grip" on his shoulders. Why does the video merit a higher wow factor than the track. I mean...take a look at the video. It's not hard to look at. The guys radiate vim. Plenty of blue skies to go gaga for. This screams juggernaut. Winston presents one example of getting out there and taking chances. Try jumping from a plane on for size, guys. You see? That's bonafide pluck from a band that apparently knows how to strut its stuff if prodded in the right direction. I believe faulting metalcore for living and dying off dirty vocals is like faulting grass for being green or Donald Trump for not knowing how to keep his foot out of his mouth...there's no logical justification for it. Can't be helped. "Vice Grip" does conduct itself with bravado. Not a slow song by any stretch. Tempo and gusto don't appear to match to the detriment of this effort. I tend to appreciate metalcore acts that give us double bang for the buck with one clean and one dirty vocalist. Not that I think Vice Grip owes us a style shift. I do insist this band needs to at least take a swing at being conceptually unique. "Vice Grip" won't score so much as a marginal sleeper hold with the content they're giving at present. Too lean and mean. Meat on the bones would serve Parkway Drive well.

Muse Puts Dessert First For "Reapers"

The tactics Muse uses to reel 'em in for its new "Reapers" single can be compared to putting dessert first during the course of a scrumptious gourmet meal. Right off the bat...HOT DRUM SOLO! Who says Christmas season is over? No sooner has that surge of awesome passed that along comes...EVEN HOTTER GUITAR SOLO!! To Dominic Howard and Matthew Bellamy respectively all I can say is thanks for gifting me with the first two standout moments of 2016. It really does feel like getting right to the chocolate bon bons before I've torn into the lobster entree. I don't find myself surprised. Muse delivers the entire package rather than the occasional dribs and drabs to allow us to feel like we're part of the Muse stratosphere. Muse employs several unavoidable adjectives to get its messages across. Muscular springs to my brain's lips. Whether on vocals, guitar or drums this three piece gives you many advanced warnings that it's not fooling around. Amazed Matt can pull some rabbits out of his hat even after that opening bit of guitar wizardry. Granted the picking isn't nearly as sublime from that moment on but does it really function as a limiting factor when you give it a final analysis. Muse never shies away from lyrics that can white knuckle you on impact. Not to mention novelty factor gets its day in the sun too. Who else but Muse would think to utter "There's a crosshair locked on my heart." Real warlike savagery put under the microscope. Not for the faint of heart. Drones are dropped into the word warfare in timely fashion as well. Muse excels at taking its listeners to dark places that make the majority feel highly uncomfortable. Let's not forget we're far too busy lapping up the technical excellence to care that we should be quaking in our boots at what they're telling us. Matt reminds us that on the battlefield we're expendable. In a sense he has lifted Jack Nicholson's stellar "You can't handle the truth" line used in A Few Good Men only Matt changes the pronoun picture so it focuses on himself exclusively. Muse changes its musical road voyage with stunning regularity. I can only imagine the band turns out to be just as exhausted once it has finished playing as I am being a highly active listener. Did Matt enter the Hendrix/Van Halen pantheon with the opening solo? Sure sounds like room for debate there. You figure Muse isn't applying only one template when crafting its multi-pronged assault on listeners' comfort zones. I enjoy living on the edge when Muse is largely responsible for putting me there. It knows no speed limit which, ironically enough is a statement I make fully aware that "Reapers" doesn't come anywhere close to being the band's fastest track. Regardless you want to stop for as much breath as possible at the conclusion because you've ran further faster in six minutes than some do in their entire lifetimes. A quick recap of Muse's singles catalog proves it aced the band versatility course in school. "Hysteria" went on the skin like freshly honed razor blades. The craziness was apparent. "Starlight" had quivering vulnerability going for it. "Starlight" made you want to give Matt a teddy bear out of pure empathy. So what does "Reapers" bring to the party. Testosterone turned up to eleven alongside pure stealth instrumentation. Pussies need not step onto this playing field. "Reapers" sows incredible testament to why we'll be talking about Muse years into the future. Excuse me while I dab the sweat off my brow.

James Bay's Vocal Talents Are Hard To Let Go Of

Has there ever been a node in music history where the sensitive male didn't get tongues a wagging. British dreamboat James Bay can now be added to the list. His current "Let It Go" isn't unduly complex. I'd like to think it's quality background for a nice, soothing, hot bath, a bath possibly to be shared between man and woman. I'm doubting that the lyrics within are prime territory for such intimate cleansing but James drops his armor deftly. He's the guy you want stroking you delicately as he seeks to do his part to make the day's cares appear easier to get under wraps. "Let It Go" begins with a thoughtful summary of what James and his lover have been up to. The rough outline encompasses walking, drinking, being entertained, nervous touching, staying up and waking up with this certain someone. Not long after, second stanza to be exact the precipice looms. Delusion clouds the brain. So great a level of angst to contend with. Letting go what needs, nay, begs to be let go is a well worn motif in popular song. The Beatles certainly left their imprint on said pearl of wisdom. James begs his lady to let the discord float away on the breeze. Easier said than done, but a sign of blossoming maturity. How I do appreciate the delicate strokes James takes on guitar. His instrument matches the heart on the sleeve earnestness of the words he speaks. He isn't proposing rocket science earth shattering things conceptually. Given the state of our world today it's a basic sentiment that never grows old...you be you, I'll be me. If only more people took those words to heart then Earth, our borrowed island home would be a niftier place to inhabit. After the chorus James swims to the desperate end of the pool. The visuals become coarse, the scene unflinchingly raw. Clothes have been thrown. Bite marks have been left in the heat of anger. James questions why they even bother living if such harsh exchanges are all they're living for. James strikes quite the continental figure if the accompanying video gives the slightest hint. He isn't exploding from the epicenter of his combined confusion and discontent. That discipline leads to a meatier romantic stew. The chord threatens to get untied but the chorus shows we're not there yet. James finds a comfortable niche chord pattern for his guitar which plants him in no-roaming territory both lyrically and aesthetically. Rolls up to the mid range of major chord then hits the sweet spot a bit lower. Humans have been here for eons but even now letting each other be appears a weightier task than one would hope. "Let It Go" isn't easy to let go of after you've given it a few listens. Add to that it's probing, reassuring, and wise on a primal level. As long as men pursue women this type of song will always turn heads. At the very least it has raised my eyebrows a notch.