Adele Sends Out An Unburdened Farewell Missive

As you'll recall Adele's "21" release was nothing if not weighed down. "Rolling In The Deep", while deeply heartfelt had that sting that comes from knowing that a love that could've been, frankly, looks like it's never going to be. "Rumor Has It" brought back the Motown glory images but it too grew heavy under the weight if personal conflict. How nice then to hear Adele learn how to come up for breath through the balance of "Send My Love (To Your New Lover), a neatly arranged lighter side of goodbye from the recent "25" release. The effort goes through some admittedly spartan motions relying on guitar alone to build suspense. At the chorus surprise pops out jack in the box style to shock you. Adele's not seeking to drag us through another one of her stylized dirges. Rather she's celebrating moving forward and, by extension, celebrating that moving forward is even a possibility for her. Wisely she concludes she and her soon to be ex main squeeze aren't kids anymore so it's time to graduate to grown up decisions and bothering to live with consequences. In the video, glamour remains Adele's ace in the hole. She's dressed to the nines. Multiple mirror angles gussy her up to play her role as woman about town waiting to be set loose in search of potential future other quality fish in the sea. Adele's camera worthiness gets played to the hilt. Enough time has passed since her landmark "21" release that her production company can probably afford the bells and whistles put before us as any eye candy worth its sucrose must. Adele calls her man on not being ready to make the next big leap in their relationship. Does she go ballistic? Quite the contrary...she gives him a lighthearted au revoir. The band playing come chorus portion got plucked out of some Caribbean island hotel room lobby. Nice choice of accompaniment. Adele couldn't get any more magnanimous than "I'm giving you up. I've forgiven it all. You set me free-ee." Ghosts of relationships present get tossed to the fickle breeze. Adele advises the on the way out man to treat this next piece of feminine wiles better. No hostility in sight. No signs of a budding ingenue wanting to slash car tires. Adele just wants to move on down the road, kick the tires on a sparkling new relationship. Maturity and motherhood suit Adele jolly well thank you very much. Adele has never sounded more comfortable in her own skin. As a result "Send My Love (To Your New Lover) is one communique that's not going to leave the recipients in the audience shooting laser dart glares at her. Quite the contrary...they'll respect how much she's grown as a woman. That translates into sexy in any language.

Frightened Rabbit Scares Up Unbridled Intensity

Hailing from Scotland, Frightened Rabbit enters the adult alternative fray courtesy of "Get Out", a tune that sneaks up on you and then...BAM!! Electricity personified. The new album's called "Painting Of a Panic Attack" which does hardly any justice to this outfit's powder keg waiting to be unleashed brand of boy girl anguish. The table isn't fully set until the one minute mark rounds its way into the side mirror, begging you to ignore the rubber it's peeling. Early on I thought Frightened Rabbit's mannerisms appear to go hand and glove beside '80s alt names like Simple Minds and The Cure. Like I said, the lads come by way of the land known for producing Robert Burns. Simple Minds front man Jim Kerr is of Scottish descent so the comparison totally sync up. Scott Hutchison's vocals are modest, not so bad given he's detailing an unhealthy relationship where "under her thumb" doesn't exactly bring down the red alert alarms. He spells his dilemma out rather than venture over into conventional "Oh, woe is me" turf. The beat seldom veers of course from a motif bordering on surveying the scene of the accident whilst not getting too close to where much blood runs over the innocent. The chord structure modifies to fit a calmer scenario during the chorus but then inches right back up to hawk looking down on the ravaged he-man. You'd likely leave the scene of the crime needing to upchuck after a steady inhalation of verse one. Scott's helplessness isn't exactly concealed in swaddling clothes. His assessments? "I'm in the arch of the church between her thumb and forefinger. I'm a worshipper, a zealot king, cursed, a devotee of the heady golden dance she does. She's an uncut drug. Find the vein and the pulse. Chased it and for a minute I was floating dead above myself. Scott obviously needs a few more outside interests besides being beaten down by the female form. How about bird watching. At least then you're watching something capable of flying gracefully instead of sapping mercilessly. In the video there happens to be plenty of girl on girl conflict played out expertly thanks to top notch cinematography. Grant Hutchison, step forward and be counted. Your steady as she goes stick smacking plays a large role in getting Scott out of a pretty minor role as the "How did I ever get into this jam" wounded heart hunter into the shoes of gentleman taking back some dignity. Drums usher in Scott's declaration of calamity divinely. He knows the lady's not going to go quietly. He's not trolling the packed house for sympathy either. Thanks Frightened Rabbit for staying on message throughout the chorus. Scott simply admits his defeated stance and allows us a level of admiration based on his not trying to run from his quandary. Scott confesses, "Get out of my heart. She won't. She won't." That's the variety of haunting neither sex gets over within weeks. All it took was a glimmer in the dark and Scott knew he was a goner. In verse two he goes so far as to reduce his being to anonymous content in her purse. He begs her, "Pull me out and throw me down. Stick me to your lip and draw a scarlet 'O'" That borders on kinky but since nothing really shocks me since cable TV seeped into my universe I'll regard it as oddly quaint and get on with the analysis. Andy Monaghan closes in the most stunning way possible given Scott's over the edge visual intimations. Andy's keyboards sound like they're disintegrating right before our ears. Couldn't steal a better end game. In short "Get Out" gets super serious, super resigned, and super charged up. Frightened Rabbit has succeeded in ditching its shell long enough to inject uncomfortably moving protagonist humility into the adult alternative rock epicenter.

Cage The Elephant Stirs Up Some Fog Lifting Trouble

I'm going to try a different tack to explain a song for you, dear blog followers. To do so I'll tell you what, in my opinion, Cage The Elephant's "Trouble" sounds like it's going for at the beginning and close by telling you what I think it wants to communicate at the end. Ever have one of those deep sleeps where you awaken groggy, seriously unaware that you've even entered conscious reality again and are feeling out your hazy surroundings? Cage The Elephant opens in that trance. Brad Shultz uses his keyboard as an anesthetic but no unlikable side effects result. Head tonsil flasher Matthew Shultz woo-woos his way through the first installment. Woo-woos could only exist in an alternate dimension where common sense takes a powder. Jared Champion gets deliberate about his drum contribution. A little beat here, a little beat there but no handiwork meant to bowl anyone over to where Jared gets named drummer of the year in major publications. Onward they slink. You don't have to be a morning person to understand how far the fog intervenes to make for greater intricacies in the playing. The ending settles in for a perfectly salute worthy bass display from Daniel Tichenor. He brings "Trouble" in for a landing without causing any of the titular problems. That leaves the blood and guts middle. Here's where the sideshow becomes increasingly weird. To Cage The Elephant's credit it composes for itself a highly trapeze friendly hodgepodge of audio snack treat. You go from soft touches to raw no feelings left right side up pondering. You could liken much of "Trouble's" overall feel to that of talcum powder, soft going on but an impression getting your most alert sensors ready for action has been activated. Guitar playing scoffs at lunging for higher registers, and that's good use of wisdom, pure and simple. If I'm to understand correctly Matthew doesn't want to go bananas. He as much as invokes God's help during his tribulations. Fair enough. Going off the rails traditionally isn't a barrel of laughs for too many average people. He turns to his special lady as a means of staving off the trouble that's been pecking away at him most of his life. She isn't an enabler for his woes. He won't witness her stepping into the light anyway. The sound's edges grow a bit tighter as "Trouble" progresses. Not so hard that it leaves you saying to yourself, "Can't he just pay for some therapy already. Matthew's shoes are filled by a man trying to walk the straight and narrow. We aren't chortling to ourselves as he tries to pick companionship, the trouble we all need some of, over some wildly unpredictable alternate flavor. This isn't your typical field of daisies. Some unforgiving rose thorns round out the scenario too. "Trouble", in Cage The Elephant's hands, merits getting into. The band's talent for combining delicate with tough as not completely hammered nails signifies to me that whenever they get into trouble they've bottled the formula for not allowing it to swallow them whole.

Chevelle's "Joyride" No Pleasure Trip

Wouldn't Rorschach blots have been an easier test of vocalist Pete Loeffler's mental state than having him go ape shit on studio air? That's about all I have to say in regards to the craftman end of Chevelle's new song "Joyride (Omen)" Much of the time Pete's either controlling hysterics or giving into his demons. Would that his voice emitted more inspiration than the band instruments themselves. This descent into crazy land starts innocuously enough. Simple guitar, no drums cluttering up the space, a clear space for Pete to dive right in and let off some steam. As I said he tends to overdo the dramatics but we can tell he's going through a fairly steep wringer. Along come the drums and...nothing improves. You'd hope for a rocket launch style of amazing but the chord stays affixed to the floor. To make matters worse the chord they decided on wasn't so rich in hefty beef to start with. Another testimony to why having under 4 minute rock songs out on the open market beats a master stroke of supposed genius meant to stun on multiple levels of listener comprehension. By the time we have left the first stanza creepiness has left a viral stench on the backs of our taste buds. Who on earth is going to go gaga for "Your kiss stabs like some voodoo hex?" Way to lose dates and alienate the remainder of the female population. Roses, Jeff. Candy, Jeff. That'll get the chicks on your side. Sam Loeffler's drumming isn't too shabby but it needs to do more than gracefully fade into the woodwork. Workmanship holds up under fire but it appears to be a waste of effort considering how one note "Joyride (Omen) ultimately is. Dean Bernardini intervenes through a bass which literally seems to take the rest of the song on its ample shoulders. I return to Pete, admitted thrill seeker who confesses his heart needs pumping. Guess what, Pete. Your listeners could use some of that action as well. Staying on one chord, harping on one void in your life won't fill that bill. Besides that who likes to hear someone complain about having new regrets. All of us two legged folks got some of those, but that, I'd imagine is what sex and alcohol are for. And what about these infamous lies? Would've made this recording session juicier. Imagine having uncensored access to a friend's diary only to discover there isn't much gold to mine. He only gives you yammering about the a-hole who flipped him off in traffic or the high school reunion in which the captain of the cheerleader squad sprouted into some unbelievably hideous hag. You licked your lips in anticipation for this? What an anticlimactic dung heap. If you're going to titillate might it not be of some value to throw at least a handful of choice chuck roast in there. Self-indulgent navel gazing does not give me cause to do back flips. Quite the contrary...it makes me empathize with anybody foolish enough to waste money on pap of this persuasion. Progress can be measured by miles traveled. If that's provable then Chevelle stands guilty of letting its group engine stay stuck on starting blocks wasting precious gasoline. Looks can be deceiving. So can song titles. "Joyride (Omen)" stalls out after arriving at no destination other than first gear. Maybe y'all should just borrow a Harley Davidson instead. Expensive joyride but not deceptive in how it advertises itself as such.

OneRepublic Goes For Big Time Bouncy and We Reap The Rewards

Ryan Tedder strikes again. Is there no amount of charm he can't muster up that doesn't translate into a slammin' pop hit? The only answer would have to be no. He's the spark plug doubling as an amplifier spurring Colorado's OneRepublic onward to bigger and brighter futures. "Everywhere I Go" possesses all the bounce of a well worn pinball machine. What a contagious bit of kinetic energy the boys have offered. As usual a femme fatale commands the lion' share of mystery. She's the ghost in Ryan's rooms wherever he happens to lay his hat. At the first we get a lighter than air cosmic premonition edge to the whole affair. Then Ryan's mates show up to prove they aren't merely there to phone it in, pick up their royalty checks and hit the town while the mood is right. As per usual, Zach Filkins turns up the heat strumming guitar. Any song worth its salt needs its passion. You get buckets full dripping off of the man's instrument. That "Everywhere I Go" also has deep soulful pockets can be attributed to Pharrell Williams working the production helm. His contribution keeps what could have been lead weight spiritually bracing in the manner of recently slapped on aftershave. Tightly coiled at 2:49, "Everywhere I Go" gets down to business and, if you're OneRepublic business looks fairly promising. 40 seconds in Eddie Fishet barrels into the equation via drumming equivalent to the added special seasoning on gourmet meatloaf. Never takes his eye off the ball...ever. Lyrics are perfect for the listener if said listener thrives on ripped journal pages dedicated to tormnented love and the protagonist's reasons for indulging in the torment. Verse three flat out confirms what royally rigorous romance he can't talk himself out of remembering past its expiration date. I'm referring to "I don't even try looking for something new cause wherever I go I'll be looking for you." Sounds like a tormented man desperate for a hug. "Wherever I Go" isn't that brand of salve but it can bring any past relationships that have you in knots back to the forefront. The video definitely has the paramour house of horrors stigma scrawled on it. To this blogger's ears, Pharrell's handiwork proves itself so chipper you forget this is a ditty about a guy who doesn't know how to put his tryst-based demons to bed. By chipper I mean the soup he's whipped up belies what a conflicted sounding song it is. "Everywhere I Go" goes straight for the wounded heart and turns the uneasiness into what's bound to be another OneRepublic winner.

Bishop Briggs "River" Doesn't Run Smooth But Boy How It Sticks In Your Gut

A present sent to us singer-songwriter enthusiasts, Bishop Briggs hails from London but now does her business in Los Angeles. "River" contains octane at a level positive for a young fresh face trying to leave a sizable mark on the scene."River" proves to be quite the deceptive title. The flow airs towards the choppy end of the land mass. Lots of precision army hand clapping. So entirely seductive. As for the lass herself she could clear out attention space in s crowded auditorium of smokers distracted by their digital devices. If foot stomping does rhapsodical things for you then "River" ought to set your excitement meter to eleven. Bishop has a purity about her that's meant to elevate her above a crowded fray of songstresses. D and C chords make "Flow" provocative. After the backing band has dug in its heels and the mood grows increasingly sinister we're treated to higher amounts of shivers in our shoulders. This tune was made for the folks in the crowd for whom sitting on the sidelines observing clouds roll by isn't an option. If clouds did factor into the world of "Flow" consistent dark appears to be the common thread. Not a hurried bone to be had. Purpose yes, but trying to shatter the sound barrier? Not on your life. The alternating currents between guitar shifts and clapping call and response gets your heart nicely stimulated. You're eager to put on khakis and head out to off the enemy, be it hidden or arrogantly overt. "River" zeroes in on how two people manage to enter into the contract of falling in love Love and bullets coexist uneasily in line one. Specifically she muses, "How do we fall in love harder than a bullet could hit ya? How do we fall apart faster than a hair pin trigger?" Feisty words for such delicate subject matter. The chorus has redemption fight written all over it. Consider "Shut your mouth baby stand and deliver. Holy hands oh they make me a sinner. Like a river like a river. Shut your mouth and run me like a river. Choke the love till the veins start to shiver. One last breath till the tears start to wither. Like a river, like a river. Shut your mouth and run me like a river. Bishop performs like she has go for broke flowing deep in her British blood. That chorus burns bright so that wherever you fall on the romance spectrum you appreciate the ignition with which she gets the flames of passion started. Late in the song mud seeps up from the ground. I mean the chords start to blur into a cerebral paste that, if you're in logical mind mode, ought to send you running for the hills. "River" isn't born of any pure water whatsoever. The wounded temptress garb suits Bishop to a tee. She's out for answers, much as we all are, but have to accept vagaries instead. We don't get a set of proclamations led by a woman staring at her navel depressing the snot out of us. Forward march carries the day here and what an infantry mission statement this is to get behind. In closing "River" runs deep, gritty, but without losing the poise related to having a purpose in your message.

Devour The Day Lights Up The Rock Scene

Devour The Day explodes onto the scene, all barrels loaded for "Lightning In The Sky". Not an aspect of the performance lacks bounce. Vocalist Blake Allison sports a demonic expression on his face throughout the video. He really gets into his work as you can tell. Sheets of rock intensity rain down from the musical heavens. Ronnie Farris drums ferociously and passes the dividends along to us. He puts in the extra effort which only serves to enhance the enjoyment one gets from the song as a whole. Lots of fire erupting from David Hoffman's guitar too. He knows how to get the attention he wants when he wants it. No deep frills. No need to impress you with overly engineered brilliance. Four on the floor exemplary marksmanship on his part. Hits the pressure points and lets them know he means business. Psychotic much Blake? The lyric sheet suggests otherwise. From the jump you know it's clear no sane human being could've penned these sentiments. How about "It was a dangerous display, a beautiful storm, a flash in the atmosphere. And then you were gone. A deadly device, your electric embrace surrounded and swallowed me alive. Now I'm not the same." How do you keep the ladies at bay summoning up solid gold thoughts like that. The rhythms are set on hyperactive and we know what that can do for the pre-teen set. Hormones flailing away like the apocalypse was at hand. I'm really drawn to how the drama seeps into each musician's time to shine. The chorus brings down as much lightning as you can stand. "Strike me down before you burn away." Sounds awfully final to me. You might get vertigo from the high histrionic movements at hand. The higher the stakes the deeper the rumblings of thunderous sturm and drang unearth to make you uncomfortable enough to turn away with your sanity intact but curious enough to witness how unsettled Blake's demeanor can get. I can't think of a single facet of "Lightning In The Sky" that wouldn't inspire goosebumps to make themselves known. Joey "Chicago" Walser comes to add his two cents worth. It works its way into your spine and doesn't bother to ask "Mother may I? You get a solidly impressive confluence of unity among bandmates. They take turns stirring the pot, sparing no expense on nosegay spiking ingredients until the resulting soup of psychological bits of broken pieces simply won't be ignored. A tad of the shakes predominates "Lightning In The Sky". Whether it's Blake's supposed inability to keep his mental instability under wraps or how the guitars further enhance the relative discomfort we're left to muse over, Devour The Day flat out insists that we quake in our collective boots. Due to this "Lightning In The Sky" makes being under red alert constantly sound like a hoot and a half.

The Rides Amount To Virtually Nothing

For all the star wattage present in The Rides you'd think something stellar was headed straight for your eardrums and brain pan. You'd be wrong. We're talking one forth of Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young coupled with Kenny Wayne Shepherd, one of the county's preeminent guitar gods. Add in noted session musician Barry Goldberg to the mix and a legendary blues supergroup was hatched in 2013. Much sitting on bar stools pontificating how there's so much trash floating about the world but I could have saved myself four minutes and change of unwanted shoulder shrugging. As it stands I'd recommend the slow polished musical acumen of the players over anything sneaking its way into the dialogue box. The key strokes scream "Hey bartender, keep those cold ones coming. I can sense some serious grouchiness coming on." Its gait sounds just right for some barflies who floor everybody due to how disenchanted with their home planet they really are. I do respect how the veteran tonsil flashing of Stephen Stills interweaves with Kenny's astonishingly peaceful fret work and Barry's methodical keyboard playing. Drumming amounts to stale icing on this cake. It showed up to collect a paycheck but didn't stick around long enough to collect phone numbers from possible soon to be dear friends. So...a question to ask, unfair it would appear but valid at least for Stephen might be, "Are you slumming at this juncture or is this trio a vanity project too ripe with possibilities to pass up. Not a hell of a lot to tell tale about in the video. The bridge ushers in some serviceable guitar noodling from Mr. Shepherd but that thrill winds up overly ephemeral even for a universe littered with them. Perhaps some tech company of the future will adopt "Virtual World" in service of some hackneyed ad campaign promoting the latest flavor. I'm not saying this effort smacks of an overly corporate bent a la Neil Young's "This Note's For You" but I don't envision it as a long term reflection of what happens when you stick three embarrassingly gifted musicians in a room and see what happens when the cake comes out of the oven. I wouldn't think Kenny's at a career stage in which taking a load off would be necessary. Maybe the chance to share air with Stephen Stills. You certainly won't need to hit rewind to get the song digested the first go-round. Goes down softly, gets absorbed by the palate quickly. "Virtual World" is, lamentably an actual snooze for anyone who likes pizzazz with their blues poetry.

Glad Bonnie Raitt Stuck Around Long Enough To Send Us This Winner

Bonnie Raitt both commands and merits respect. Her back catalog fills to the brim chock full of legendary tunes. Whether it's the playful "Love Sneakin' Up On You" or the smoke grungy pathos of "I Can't Make You Love Me" to the sassy "Something To Talk About" Bonnie's earned the platitudes which have been the hallmark of her storied career. Up at the plate now is "Gypsy In Me" off of the "Dig In Deep" release. A track like this goes hand in hand with the long country mile landscape on display in the video. Give her a bluesy guitar and watch her run off into numerous down home directions. If this was to be compared to New Orleans cuisine this would undoubtedly be jambalaya, spices meandering everywhere. A key turn on for me here comes in the form of stepladder guitar. Up one rung, then another, then the third. Hearing her go on this voyage is well worth the earlobe investment. Such wonderful drums too. This video finds her lyrics scrawled all over various local landmarks, no-tell motel included. The gimmick's cute, and drives home the message Raitt die-hards have known about her since her career kick started in the 1970s. Her delivery continues to impress. Those well worn tonsils netted her a 1989 Grammy for "Nick of Time". A rosy future has been hers for the taking ever since. Imagine yourself idling down the lonely road of your choosing. Crank this on your truck's car radio and you'll soon relate to Bonnie's supposedly somber admission that there's not a line of stay in one place, continuous longevity to be had. In a way all of us are like rolling stones looking for tranquil waters in which to end up. As cruising tunes go "Gypsy In Me" simply adds one new stepping stone to the gritty pathway Raitt transformed into her personal niche and spot in which to bear the soul. The melody doesn't stay in one place, either. Not that any minor keys pop up to turn this brave declaration of the paths not taken into a Titanic like dirge. Bonnie's definitely got a heart of gold that bolsters her rooting value off the charts. You've been warned to buckle your safety belt. The ride's long but, given the narrator sharing it with us, reassuringly consistent. Bonnie's all about full value for the money. No one begrudges her a wanderlust, a need to go wherever the wind takes her. Her pearly whites could bring solace to a grief stricken African village. "Gypsy In Me" spells appeal for the ever curious traveler in all of us.

The Goo Goo Dolls Spring To Life

There are so many exciting working parts to The Goo Goo Dolls latest effort "So Alive", the first cut from the new album "Boxes". For starters the keyboard glistens like snowflakes at the epicenter of a New York winter. Sort of tap dances its way up the scale to burden lifting results. Shame on Korel Tunador if he's not impressed at his contribution to this introspective piece. Craig McIntyre's drum playing is no slouch in the immediate impact department either. It gets fiercer as the song nears its conclusion. That chorus can't be erased from memory simply because too much of what adds to John Rzeznik's status as a top tier vocalist and overall man's man lets its presence be known. Robby Takac's bass has plenty to contribute as well. As a total package "So Alive" wades in the waters of how you'll never know what potential you have if you're not willing to make that first big leap into the unknown. "So Alive" pats itself on the back for being just that. John isn't too manly to wear his heart on his sleeve. No superhero cape. No heart of stone. Flesh that bleeds like the rest of us. Much of the imagery rests upon his declaring that there's something to be said for coming off the bench and at least taking a turn at bat. Better than confining yourself to the role of perpetual bench warmer. The notes slide onto the studio floor self assured. The band knows its intentions and rides on the wave of its earnest message. This trip strictly focuses on the war waged within. In John's world you can make it on a wish if you want to. His words exactly. Most of us operate on a wing and a prayer anyway. Tops on my list of kudos would have to be how the keyboard and drums mesh seamlessly. Light and leathery join forces. The results dazzle no end. John's pipes stand tall and firm as they have for such classic hits as "Name", "Iris" and, to a speedier degree "Long Way Down", which made the Twister soundtrack more awesome than it had a right to expect to be. "Long Way Down" clawed and scratched its way to respectability whereas "So Alive" relies on inborn elegance to punch its ticket as a worthy Dolls ditty. The range this band has shown over the years continues to astound. They have working class chutzpah but they can lay down the licks that lure the ladies. John and Robby have been constants since this whole rock star pipe dream took flight in 1986. Suffice it to say the partnership has lost none of its integrity over the decades. "So Alive" promises vast vitality and proves it's up for the challenge by leaps and bounds.

Justin Timberlake Gives Us That Feeling of Joy

It's safe to say that Justin Timberlake knows how to put wide grins on the faces of his adoring fan base. That reputation only stands to grow thanks to "Can't Stop The Feeling" a track from the new DreamWorks animated film "Trolls". You couldn't ask for a much higher level of sunny than what you get here. The video is filled with everyday people strutting their bad stuff, whether it's a waitress, a trucker, or a gleeful blond kid in swim trunks, joy spreads like the infection you wouldn't mind acquiring. Check out JT in the supermarket chewing the scenery like there was no place he'd rather be. He achieved pop mogul status in the "aughts" decade thanks to "Sexy Back". Since then he has found film stardom to be his equal cup of tea. But you and I both know his place is up on stage wowing concert audiences of any persuasion you can name. The cotton candy fun backing musicians are mere added bonus for Justin's easily likable screen presence. He and Beyonce very much travel in the same circle. He went on to far greener pastures following N'Sync. His body of work proves he made the right call. Queen Bey jettisoned Destiny's Child to essentially rule this world and any distant planets soon to be discovered. But back to Justin. His smile electrifies the second "Can't Stop The Feeling" guns into motion. Add some bouncy drumming to the mix 25 seconds in and Justin's off to the races. What a race to be part of. Smile for smile I can merely use "Happy", the Pharrell Williams earwig as comparison of a similar sugary sweet blissful times nugget. The underlying bass not only allows the drummer boy to take a break, it also allows Justin to ingratiate himself on the video end even more than he already is. The portly black gentleman gyrating in front of the barber shop sells those parts of the video Justin hasn't mapped out on his own. Justin and Pharrell have sunshine references in their songs. Pharrell suggests the sun might want to take a break now that his woman has arrived. In Justin's case the sunshine resides in his pocket. Choice real estate if you ask me. The grocery clerk clutching his pricing gun comes off as nothing but a squeezable lug. What I'm getting at is each of the average Joe participants revels in his/her dance moves. Think about it. This track stems from a movie about trolls. I don't think party time creatures when trolls are mentioned. Justin makes me believe. His female admirers already kneel at the church. Plenty of other followers are bound to fall in line because even the most iron hearted Scrooge couldn't turn away from the loving spirit gently creeping up from the floorboards. Bonus commendation for identifying the dancers in the video. They probably won't ever command Prince Justin's salary but acknowledgement for a job well done never goes out of style. Why would you want to stop this feeling? It's an industrial strength lethargy blaster.

Paul Simon Mellows Out For "Wristband"

Another fine Paul Simon broth has been brought to the table courtesy of "Wristband" the opening serve volleyed over the net from his soon to be released "Stranger To Stranger" album. Much of what makes a Paul Simon project a multi-sense experience can be found her. Buoyant brass, percussion lifted straight off the streets of any one pf the grittiest towns you can think of, jingling chimes, a total package that respects you the listener for having bothered to invest the emotional energy on Mr. Simon's new foray into the music lab. You might say "Wristband comes as close to copping a hip hop attitude as anything in Paul's catalog ever has. Through "Sounds of Silence" we know he can do tender. Both "Graceland" and "Rhythm of the Saints were world beat dynamos. Wristband" shows off what can happen when Paul grows comfortable with his place in the universe. There's a captivating shuffle permeating this air and it's a true pleasure to inhale the poetry of a man who's quite aware he doesn't have anything to prove to anyone. Even so, even in his early seventies he doesn't perform like a guy who assumes his best days are behind him. Clearly he's retained the talent for exciting witnesses to his concert stage. His new lyrics signal that he can hang with the hipsters of both yesterday and today. "Wristband" makes for spectacular backdrop to the latte of your choosing. It's a friendly little number accessible to fans of all stripes. From line one of the first verse Paul knows how to play it cool as possible, and in a way I haven't recalled since the "Graceland" track "I Know What I Know". You can hear encapsulated backstage excitement leap out of each instrument. But, returning to that first line..."I stepped outside the backstage door to breathe some nicotine and maybe check my mailbox, see if I can read the screen." Total player who knows how to work the room. The shuffling pace motivates you to shimmy along with the maestro himself. Why he would opt for something this aesthetically adorable at this juncture in his career smacks of unsolved mystery but some things benefit from the allure of not having all the answers. What sends me to heights of ecstasy surrounding a Paul Simon project is between the vocalist himself and the supporting bevy of musicians you come away dripping love that could only come from a family effort between kindred spirits who know what they're trotting out passes the sniff test by a country mile. They know what they contribute has meaning, meaning meant to last for decades. "Wristband" strikes these ears as a vital shot in the arm from a guy who knows his audience, himself, and the mighty windfall that dedication to craft his netted him since what feels like forever. What an opportune time for chill out chords and savvy sentiment.

Tremonti Kicks Up Some Impressive Dust

Quite a weighty musical lineage got us from Creed to Alter Bridge to Creed guitarist Mark Tremonti's outfit, the aptly titled Tremonti. The latter's new "Dust" probes existentialism in a way Scott Stapp likely would approve of. The opening guitar riffs possess a self-assured sting that manages to sound like it just came out of the dryer waiting to be tossed onto the bed for that cathartic sleep many of us hope for. Garrett Whitlock lays down some mean drum work that's equal to the heaviness of Mark Tremonti's lyrical shadings. Mark's implying what I bet every person who has ever passed through Earth has considered at least once in their lives...the biggest battle we wage happens to be with ourselves, the men and women in the mirror. If I was to describe an adjective that best sums up "Dust" that would be "smokey". The notes burn long and without a trace of survivors. Mark has assembled an intricate tapestry of deep thoughts that gets you to look up from your mobile phones and pay attention to the activities circling around you. I respect how Mark's lyrics drive the point home without being anything other than passionate. Mark wants to know what the reason for a fast fade was. He wonders if lack of love ends up being the culprit. We're not sure who Mark's cussing out but the truth is eons more painful than fiction. "The whole damn thing has turned to dust. The ashes you left to bury us." Not exactly material for the faint of heart. For sure I haven't heard guitar chords shift in quite the manner the opening frame does. Mark's voice doesn't let his listeners get off the hook so easily. His aches transfer to our bodies and we writhe in agony. For the most part the chords are of the major persuasion. Lucky thing too since coupling this material with minor chords could easily make one sick to his stomach if it penetrates too deeply. Nice pause between the first and second guitar chords, too. That ups the already laser sharp high drama. The drums don't even become a factor until close to the 1:00 mark. Maybe that's Mark's way of inching us through the shallow water before nudging us into the deep end. Another pause comes up which doesn't release its hold until the 1:20 mark. This time it's a vocal pause so Mark can catch his breath long enough to reassert the cosmic presence he's throwing down. This song eclipses 5 minutes for a darned good reason. Mark's got quite a bit of baggage to get off his chest and that requires time to stretch out in the control room. Eddie Van Halen's gritty playing son Wolfgang shows off his bass skills and also proves the apple was bound not to fall far from the tree. Wolf's got something on dear old Dad...the knack for being a threat in two bands. What this kid will end up accomplishing by age 30 is tantalizing to mull over. Eric Friedman puts the menace into his duties on lead guitar. Creed did have a solid spiritual bent to it. Tremonti has picked up that ball and run with it resoundingly. The hairs in back crawl. The teeth in skull chatter. If you only get one chance to own the mike stand, make it count. Of course Tremonti has had numerous turns in that capacity so don't think it doesn't excel at maximizing the chances it has gotten. "Dust" smolders feverishly. These aren't your average bunnies under the bed. These babies strike repeatedly so you remember who slapped you up side the head.

You Won't Take Much Away From New Pop Evil

Get ready if you like a bunch of macho posturing set to hard rock hot off the grill. "Take It All" is to hard rock what rice cakes are to a balanced diet. You'll have to get used to subsisting off a butt load of empty calories. Sincerity they have. The goods needed to commandeer attention spans longer than ten seconds I'm much less sure of. As for the chorus, you'll see that next to "annoyance" in the dictionary. Little pleasure do I take in suggesting a band's trying way too hard to compensate for possessing way too little in the machismo department but what else can I do? "Take It All" simply comes up empty when it comes to pleasing hard rock disciples. On a scale of one to ten, the lyrics rate a minus three. Any teenage male sporting enough of an ego to covet rock stardom and its accompanying perks could've have tossed these lines off in under two hours. Need proof? The first verse easily could've been a Rocky soundtrack throwaway. "You got that fire burning your eyes lighting up the sky I see it coming. You got desire run through your brain. I see your veins, I see it coming." I'm relieved this song peters out before the 3:20 mark because any longer and whatever novelty factor it had would have worn off by then. Musically, Pop Evil boned up on how to nail guitar chords that serve a regimented purpose then flicker away on the breeze. The notion of there being a price to pay in life to make it to the brass ring isn't exactly trade secret news but Pop Evil knows how to make you watch their amusing gyrations in the name of fulfillment on any level. The repetitive "I'm coming gonna take it all" makes my teeth ache. I grow less convinced of their worthiness each time they blast it over my port bow. Nick Fuelling stands out the most on this track but that's only because he represents a welcome diversion from the aforementioned annoying chorus. The most enjoyable aspect of this chest beater travesty happens to be the still photo of the guys on the accompanying YouTube video. I don't like to be Ned Negativity so I do readily admit to enjoying Joshua Marunde (AKA Chachi Riot) thanks to his ably executed and steady drumming. Perhaps the brass at Universal Music figured this effort didn't merit long studio time so they gave an appropriate heads up to the band to compose something fairly light, you know, like that freshly baked stack of pancakes that gets a morning started the right way. The ploy worked, but that's not a compliment. I have nothing but empathy for the up and coming band that might have had bigger pronouncements to give voice to. "Take It All" leaves you the listener with less that nothing savory to chew on.

Radiohead's Slow Burn Engrossing Through and Through

Radiohead hasn't obtained industry longevity pandering to the low brow. Nope, strictly for adult audiences, my friends. 30 plus years on these gents have maintained their artistic know-how. Thom Yorke haunting voice can accept most credit for that but, as a unit Radiohead can turn out some impressive expression. New on the horizon we get "A Moon Shaped Pool". First from said project comes "Burn The Witch", an odyssey of listener catnip combining stately classic rock affectations with straight up rock explosions. You get a lot dropped next to your dinner fork at a reasonable price. Chords bend and morph and twist and shake. Much like the titular witch would if she knew she were about to be boiled in oil. I'm thrilled to see major and minor chords playing nicely with each other. The video which has fallen into breach of copyright messiness (don't let that spoil the good time you'll no doubt have in perusal mode) works as perfect accompaniment. "Burn The Witch" has meat on its bones and the video is similarly well endowed. Pack plenty of protein shakes because you'll need to keep your strength up both intellectually and physiologically. For openers the beat strikes s gentle pose for the camera. That friendly grin gains effective traction as the song progresses. Rhythms increase in complexity. The plot line weaves itself into a defiantly tight little ball. Resistance would appear futile. Then again, with Thom Yorke at the helm, at least you're part of a cinematic cruise in which lasting impressions are a sure bet. Jonny Greenwood's lead guitar sorcery leads through whatever lyrical thicket Thom may have unknowingly tossed us into. Meanwhile Phil Selway politely taps out a drum segment underscoring the delicate turn of events the video hints at. They had me at the chirping bird bit but "Burn The Witch" seeks to be as generous as studio time allows. Thom's no slouch in treating us to richly prepared poetry as I aim to demonstrate post haste. "This is a low flying panic attack" hits me where I live because I know the horror a panic attack wraps its victims up in. You'd think Thom might follow such ghastly confession with something equally dispiriting but no. How about "Sing a song on the jukebox that goes burn the witch, burn the witch, we know where you live." Jukeboxes summon up serene thoughts anyway. During the second shuffle around the chorus line that jukebox gets replaced with song of sixpence classic nursery rhyme etchings. I give the video five stars even if Radiohead can't really say it came up with the concept first. It blends with the heavy tones nicely. Besides what's wrong with some animated distraction. We're talking visual engagement to make you wistful for Rudolph style stop action wholesomeness. Thom lets his voice run off into deep space and, if it manages to come back down where he requested, well, that's gravy on an already clean plate club worthy slab of steak. "Burn The Witch" blazes a welcome trail that stands up nicely alongside other Radiohead flights of fancy.

Weezer Unleashes a Royal Romp

Rivers Cuomo nay not be on anybody's short list of soothing singer but for the balance of "King Of The World" he says things which make you want to melt effortlessly in his arms. The fantasy angle gloms onto your heart. It's hard to resist any way you slice it. The song itself grows broader in scope as the notes multiply. Furthermore, Rivers' sense of romantic location couldn't get any sharper. Who wouldn't want to seek out the Galapagos Islands as a home base. In science circles that's essentially the cradle of creation, a nature-kissed sweet spot. The instruments aren't timid whatsoever. After all if Rivers wants to play king he's got to have body to his regal accompaniment. Patrick Wilson batters his skins as if they whispered something derogatory to him. Scott Shriner's bass underlies the gravitas pumping along from first stanza to last. Rivers never lets us forgot his heart's in the right place. He's aware constantly glancing horror story headlines on the CVS rack can be a bottom of the barrel downer so he suggests to his companion what the prime platform for his reign as king would be. Tears are an optional outpouring of emotion. Imagine that. On a planet where tears outnumber smiles Rivers actually presents a no-crying license to us. You get off on the slight octave raises because they echo the heights of ecstasy Rivers, or King-Elect Rivers wants us to experience. The drums lead the procession aptly. The guitar work of Brian Bell ups the excitement ante further. Whatever smog laden metropolis you come from "King Of The World" acts as an immaculate diversion. This effort isn't living in denial about global pain. Rather it seeks to squeeze light from darkness. What an admirable aim. Anybody out there not saddled with the hideous aftermath of an auto, plane, or train crash recently. Your local newspaper sponsored by Weed Corley-Fish Funeral Home. Any sign of inspirational doings gets shoved into the cargo hold section of the airplane. Rivers knows the toll rises violently by the hour. Weezer could have stopped at "Hash Pipe", legacy secure, catalog impeccable. However the mere fact that Rivers has been one of only two constant band members (Patrick Wilson being the other) since its 1992 inception tells you Rivers loves the trade he's toiling over. In the video, you get a solid appreciation for his whimsical side. You also understand why it's not a great idea to jostle the papers of a man in uniform, even if the dude strikes you as a Paul Blart mall cop type. "King Of The World" rules with a lovably benign scepter. It goes well alongside Weezer's previous mood lightening delectable pastries. Get it while your inhibitions are nice and loose.

Blue October Creates a Homey Single Bound To Spur Memories

What a wild ride it has been for Houston based Blue October. Back in 206 Justin Furstenfeld was so anguish besotted throughout "Hate Me". In fairness his dark night of the soul led to it being such an amazing track. Fast forward to 2016 and we get a Justin who's comfortable with who he is and what the future holds for him. The title cut to the new "Home" album shipped in warm fuzzies right and left. For starters has there ever been quite a cuddle worthy acoustic guitar to hitch your wagon to. It's as if you're at a tranquil beach where the stress crushing waves keep right on flowing, breaking down your sorrows piece by piece. Then during the second frames piano adds to the aural massage parlor exemplary vibes. Nice job on that Ryan Delahoussaye. Matthew Ostrander excels in the bass department. You can picture the moving van allowing for a fresh new life to start assuming positive aspirations. Justin 2006 could never have put these particular sentiments to paper..."I'll smile if I want to. I'm not afraid, gonna flaunt it too. What a glow when you're living true. Yeah." It's rewarding to hear a fellow panic disorder sufferer find his way out of the persistent darkness. The longer you listen, the more inclined you are to root for Justin to get the peace he has fought so hard to obtain. The prevailing color is revitalizing maize, kind of like the color of ready to nosh corn on the cob to be presented at the picnic table where Justin would most likely be seated with the family and good friends he has newfound appreciation for. The song opens very humbly but that doesn't mean simple victories aren't being claimed. The following words show Justin had help getting his head screwed on straight (as we all do at some point.) "I'm living for the right now. I had a few friends show me how. I take a deep breath and blow it out. Let it go. This guy's a far cry from "Hate me today. Hate me tomorrow", huh. Justin's soft vocal affectations lend a paternal manchild delicateness of attitude to the proceedings. You dig his optimism for the future. The dread has been stripped down to the bone, leaving room for the light to nudge its way into welcoming crevices. Brother Jeremy percussion taps sound almost like a crowd of supporters during football season rooting for their local heroes from the nosebleed bleacher seats. Jeremy's not so much a role player as he is the wind beneath his complex brother's sails. The simple and not so simple pleasures of life carry "Home" to remarkable heights. At the 2:00 mark you can tell the excitement for buried ghosts has begun to hit laudable heights. All the hands on deck kick "Home" up to a friendlier notch. Justin didn't have to opt for a personality overhaul but the reward for his taking the risk looks immeasurable. You can feel his smile at the microphone washing over everybody he comes in contact with. The most telling glances at Justin's increased maturity come with the lines: "We all get to see who we grow up to be." Life at its core is a story and the excitement over learning who you turn into smacks of universal appeal. "Home" stands an excellent chance of allowing large quantities of listeners to feel at home with daring to spread their wings and fly, to leave past hurts in the past where they belong. "Home" lays down a pretty inviting instrumental welcome mat. Think of Justin as the neighbor offering you the sugar you've seeking way too long.

BABYMETAL Shows It Can Lay Down Metal Thunder Like The Big Boys

I promise you this post won't come off looking like the Happy Days episode where Fonzie literally jumps the shark. You see, I come before you tonight to lay down the nuts and bolts of "KARATE", a single from Japanese cheek pinch worthy starlets BABYMETAL. Don't mess with these girls or Rob Zombie will knock your block off. This threesome has a tooth crunching band, The Kami Band helping them out so they don't have to do each facet of the heavy lifting. To these ears BABYMETAL sounds like it can seek out and destroy the misgivings of any North American audience it chooses to. In part that's due to how tight and menacing The Kami Band proves to be. Hideki Aoyama and Yuya Maeta have your spine in a vise grip due to the no surrender accepted flash of their drum playing. They pass out the punishment right from the start so you get no room to save your sorry skins. Add to that the three-headed guitar monster consisting of Takayoshi Ohmura, Mikio Fujioka, and ISAO. Did I forget a fiendish devil named Boh haa the brashness necessary to take his flame spitting bass and deposit it in the unprotected zones of your skull. So that's the manpower. In honest the girl power isn't too shabby either. Bear with me for this segment because it required a Japanese to English translator. Not since Loudness made '80s metal audiences guffaw have I required so much assistance figuring out what to make of an Asian act. This metal mishmash starts off with unsettling background that uneasily crawls down your back like a Japanese version of a Freddy Krueger flick. It isn't long before the full weight of the band crashes into view. Lead vocalist Suzuka Nakamoto who goes by the stage name Su-metal has an angelic range which kind of flies in the face of the genre she's representing but hardly anything to bellyache about since talent isn't something she lacks. Her English translated vow of bend not break guts ball reads as "Even if tears spill from our eyes let's confront it. The dogged determination continues with "Single-mindedly let's fight on with out fists more...with our spirits more...with making all sharper. Crunch prevails throughout the guitar segments. Frankly, it's a beautiful car wreck to behold. Three pint sized titans declaring the will to fight on even if they get sad and learn that standing has become an issue. The bridge, as you might expect from any Japanese undertaking, conducts itself in a don't you dare smile militaristic style. Not one note gets wasted on treacle. It's either in service of advancing the epic production values of the video or allowing us time to let our eyes grow ever wider because we can't believe what we're seeing or hearing. I'd be doing BABYMETAL a massive injustice if I left out the other two lead vocalists Yui Mizuno (Yuimetal) and Moa Kikuchi (Moametal). When the chorus hits full stride they make intoxicatingly captivating harmonies together. This isn't some Asian Spice Girls knock-off. Panache they bring to the knife fight in spades, clubs, diamonds, and hearts. There wasn't a penny spared to give us, the conspicuous consumers, an incredible experience we can brag to others we were part of. As the title suggests karate does get into the act, even it's slanted towards the later frames. "KARATE" unleashes its destruction in an undeniable art conscious mode. Art and ass kicking do have this knack for belonging in the same air space. Su-metal, Yuimetal, and Moametal have earned the right to let the haters malevolence slide right off them. The new album "METAL RESISTANCE" ought to be one dynamic display of smartly executed metal madness.

Imagine Dragons Sculpts a Beautifully Flowing Song Meant For Today's Romantics

Imagine Dragons has brought some neat ear pleasing brain carpeting thanks to "Not Today", an iridescent crowd pleaser lifted from the soundtrack to "Me Before You" which looks guaranteed to keep stock in Kleenex very valuable. Ben McKee uses this single as an opportunity to show that keyboards need not be glacial, impersonal instruments. A soft stroke or two can be coaxed out of them. Debonair Dan Reynolds invokes a jangle free capacity to his voice. Since the movie's prime focus happens to be on a once thriving quadriplegic Dan wisely guides the hands of the lead players rather than leave them a chance to dissolve for good. The fragile intimations shouldn't make you think sterile hospital table or anesthesia. Simply wise moves mood wise carried out one after the other. Daniel Wayne Sermon performs the magic trick of allowing his guitar to transform itself into images of gently flowing bath water from which restorative fire can rise from the lethargy. Your best bet is to appreciate "Not Today" as a stand alone work rather than as a debatable link in the ongoing chain of Imagine Dragons collective output. Dan already turns heads because his acoustic rhythm guitar knows how to hit the ladies in their vulnerable spots. Dan has surveyed the less than ideal coupling that circumstance has dissected, then slammed back together in perspective altering form. He's sure that today's memories can lessen the blows from tomorrow's obstacles. The pre-chorus was cued up to the loathsome sound of a heart breaking. You must be icy from head to foot if you don't shudder at the mention of "We finally fall apart and we break each other's hearts. If we wanna live young, love, we'd better start today. Then the main chorus drops in, not like a lead balloon but like the reaffirming bouquet of a pretty but fragile flower. There exists some will to carry on in "It's gotta get easier, oh easier somehow cause I'm falling, I'm falling. Oh easier and easier somehow. Oh I'm calling, I'm calling. And it isn't over unless it is over. I don't wanna wait for that. It's gotta get easier and easier somehow, but not today. Reflect for a second that the song's title doesn't show up until the tail end of the chorus rather than being plastered repeatedly over your senses until, in the worst case scenario, you cease to care for the wounded lovers involved. It's true the Imagine Dragons you're used to give off nuclear level steam when they blend their instruments. I bet you can locate a place in your heart's four chambers for this mature audiences platter. If nothing else you'll discover this Las Vegas band can in fact be accused of having a side film critics might claim to be overly saccharine and sentimental. I myself care not a whit for the rain they unload on this stately, composure dedicated parade. "Not Today" has earned respect for the many tomorrows to come.

Red Hot Chili Peppers Light a Match To Vanquish The Dark

Certain things heighten on the excitement scale when you see the working parts fall into place layer by layer. For example the anticipation for a new burger joint builds if its soon to be constant patrons get to take mental ownership of it from the start. From cement to bricks, to logo, to groundbreaking ceremony it's fun to see a new project assume its final shape especially if the hangout's hotly anticipated. Funk metal maestros The Red Hot Chili Peppers are back to bowl you over with a piping hot sandwich for the senses. First we get a guitar teaser. That would be the mandatory mustard ketchup condiments for the new single "Dark Necessities". We musical gourmands need not worry that this flavor is teasing filler alone. Next comes Flea to enchant us via a very intellectually probing piano sequence. Don't pay the bill and leave the diner yet folks. Chad Smith stands waiting to box your ears behind the drums. He knows exactly where his elbow grease is best employed. The Peppers have shown a flair for percussion dramatics in eras past but here art politely nudges ahead of aerial assault. Don't think we've forgotten you Anthony Kiedis. His voice represents the cornerstone for the Peppers audio empire. You can't sell the finer elements of funk metal to mass audiences if your band's vocalist won't eat, sleep, and breathe the funk characteristics. His pipes remind us The Red Hot Chili Peppers, regardless of what behind the scenes tension, are a tightly loyal brotherhood dedicated to making art you don't chuck in the wastebasket after one nonchalant listen. "Dark Necessities" leaps up and down the chord landscape and what we get in return is in song bursting with metal tinges that doesn't condemn the funk roots to the back of the bus. Not knowing what note combinations Josh Klinghoffer is going to spring on us at any given moment assures boredom's not on this particular menu. Anthony's always been a pretty laid back tonsil flasher, even on sweat churning nuggets like "Give It Away". He's not out to play ladies man. He's way too self-assured to think he needs his ego washed and waxed. Sure his band will uncork a plethora of double CD overindulgence like the appreciated yet exhausting "Stadium Arcadium" but Anthony wants to lead you down back alleys Mom warned you about. As of this effort Anthony can rest easy knowing he's the first person I know who has given a supposedly neutral shadow the ability to smile. No bad side of town detective would ever convince you that's possible. Anthony doesn't paint the self portrait of a guy women would be totally at ease confiding in. "You got sneak attacked by the zodiac" lingers out in that defiantly insane place where the buses don't run. The refrain won't make you eager to take off your coat either. Some musings are best left on a psychiatrist's couch. How do you not get the shakes around "Yeah, you don;t know my mind. You don't know my kind. Dark necessities are part of my design. Tell the world I'm falling from the sky. Dark necessities are part of my design." OK, Anthony. I'll pay for this meal. The sooner the better. Need a shrink? I can hook you up. Pulse pounding exploration of language but a bit spookier than would be advisable. I salute their chord experimentation. We visit other neighborhoods without having to turn off the iPod. The complexity reminds us that even am intricately wired group of swinging funk masters can grow riveting new spots. "Dark Necessities" is slated to be the first cut from June 17th's "The Getaway" release. The Peppers extracted some unquestionable illumination from this brand of darkness.

Volbeat Doesn't Shed Much Blood

If I were you I'd focus on the technical acumen behind Copenhagen metal band Volbeat's "The Devil's Bleeding Crown". That's because zeroing in on the mythology centered lyrics is only going to confuse you. "The Devil's Bleeding Crown" can help you work off some of those unwanted pounds in the gym but beyond that you won't be encouraged to make much of a transcendent investment. As I hope you've noticed since Day One of my blog I derive no joy from doling out a negative review of any song, regardless of the genre I cover. All the same I don't perform a useful service for you if I'm entirely gifting acts with rainbows and butterflies. Volbeat better not have a rainbow jones building up because disappointment shall ensue. This song reeks of exclusivity. That is if you don't already have completed homework turned in regarding Volbeat's left of mainstream wordplay then you'll grow irritable when you can't totally appreciate the depths to which Volbeat flexes its beamed in from a long ago civilization pecs. Like I said before, technical abilities aren't my huge hangup. Michael Poulsen has ideal vocals for a band committed to going on exotic journeys through time and space. The echo effects on display up the overblown drama to so bad it's good levels. Rob Caggiano demonstrates he didn't merely show up for the seek of assuaging his mates' fear of undesired dead air. You asked for a stick out your tongue, stick it to the man guitar solo? Rob seeks to satisfy your craving. Jon Larsen infuses literary novel worthy drumming to this jousting session. Man, whether disciple of metal or mere mortal can't complete or enhance his walk by guitar solo and vocal rabbit out of the hat stylized tricks. We shouldn't need language translation distracting us from kicking back, with or without malt liquor, to enjoy a heaping helping of comically hammed up metal. You didn't think Europe had that market sewn up eons ago with "The Final Countdown" did you? Not on your life. Turns out Denmark dudes can be equally shifty-eyed. Don't go looking to "Falling from the sky, they're cast out from the heaven's light drenching the soil with blood, baptized in the fire hole" if you don't wish to send your party guests screaming into the night. Besides they'll be too busy making sure the sanitarium has a straitjacket sturdy enough to contain you. I'd also advise against parroting "The Devil's spawn no longer breathes, descending angels and fallen kings. Raise your hands, what do you hold? The Devil's bleeding crown." In the current political climate that's hardly true. The Devil's spawn not only still breathes but has positioned himself as the Republican candidate primed to tangle with Madam Clinton. But, in the name of good clean fun I digress. There's nothing wrong with rock bands and their fans cultivating a secret society over the years. Sense of belonging keeps one on steady ground psychologically. But when the lyrics give off the unwanted odor of elitist snobbery then that's not helping a band's chances for cash-ins at the cash register. World of Warcraft nerds may take "The Devil's Bleeding Crown" to its collective bosom but for us non gaming group average rank and file folks this crown is head hemorrhage heavy. It's natural for heads wearing crowns to experience some discomfort. A throbbing headache brought on by social isolation is another unpleasant matter entirely. As your music maven advocate I urge you to devote blood on behalf of a worthier trek through absurdity based metal.

Shinedown Deftly Asks Us To Embrace Top Drawer Bombast

What might life flashing before your eyes sound like? The hearing supposedly is the last thing to abandon you on the physical plane. Given the toil of your earthly existence you'd hope for something worthy of a movie closing credit package. Florida's Shinedown puts itself squarely in the hunt with "Asking For It" which has been lifted from the Threat To Survival" album. For openers you're fooled into thinking Jasin Todd's running with the ball that's been plopped generously into his beefy hands. It's a nifty delusion because this constitutes a likable lesson ripped from Guitar Strum 101. This parlor trick constitutes something to cleanse your palate until the main course comes piping hot to your table en route to your ravenous lips. But you see you need to remember hitching your fantasies to Jasin's efforts qualifies as delusion and little else because, before you know it, coming on like the most massive of gangbusters is Berry Kerch scattering drum decadence like there was a shortage of spare sticks he's gladly overcompensating for. From there vocalist Brent Smith makes it loud and clear that societal trash needs to be taken out. "Asking For It" eases you up this nausea inducing roller coaster ride of inner conflict, never once asking if you're desirous of a vomit bag. Nothing but praise for the aesthetics. The band's tempo rounds into form from the moment the amp plugs in. You won't get movie soundtrack braggadocio on this effort. However, you'll be pleasantly surprised when you embrace the cinematic sensibilities it remembered to pack in its tidy bag of tricks. What's the underlying discord pushing "Asking For It" straight to fourth gear? Primarily we're dealing with a social nincompoop who doesn't know when to shut up. There might not be blood. Such violence implies the will to care what happens to this poser one way or another. The cruel indifference pounces on us through the sentiments "Can I have a moment of your time? Just a single second so you see that, indeed, we'll be leaving you behind." The lyrics sound like a distant cousin to Extreme's accidentally cringe-worthy "Kid Ego". Don't get me wrong. I'm a fan of the Boston band and appreciate the anti arrogance approach. But does anyone really appreciate a lecture made digestible only by an impish guitar and boisterous drums? I didn't think so. In Shinedown's defense "Asking For It" leans on the side of entertain more than educate or enlighten. The lyrics don't zoom in on making us better citizens through a cautionary tale. The general gist is aimed at telling our mystery guest that he should watch what comes out of his mouth or else regret's going to come toting payback that makes a drug hangover sound as appealing as Novocaine. I've spotted some organ laced wickedness in this broth though no band member is listed as playing that instrument. Brad Stewart continues to burnish his unique bass playing legacy. That's where that pit of the stomach unease comes in. Musically Shinedown has developed a noble reputation for keeping listeners guessing. Lesser bands might be happy merely hinging their reputations on one go-to series of guitar notes and then, irony flushed down the john, collect their share of the ducats. Shinedown respects its followers of which there are many. The devoted want change ups, not a predictable pitch down the middle. "Asking For It" gives its faithful a satisfying sock in the chops and leaves them no doubt it was delivered with the best of intentions.

P!nk Sets The Alice Through The Looking Glass Soundtrack On Fire

It's been said in culinary circles that there's always room for Jello. Shift that logic to the music industry and P!nk's the go to delicacy you don't run out of a craving for. The wild child born Alecia Moore has never looked back since she slapped American audience across the face with her 2000 debut "Can't Take Me Home". Although she wasn't thrilled about being pigeonholed as a flavor of the month pop R & B star it didn't take her long to capture her true voice. From "Just a Pill" to "Stupid Girls" (a marvelous dissection of the pretty she things more concerned with their hairstyles than actually making a difference in the world) to the four sheets to the wind encouraging "Raise Your Glass" P!nk doesn't fool around one iota. You either get with her program or prepare to be demolished. The new "Just Like Fire" culled from the soundtrack to the bonafide blockbuster in the making Alice Through The Looking Glass follows the trend that's continued to make her a wealthy woman. Given it's a Disney flick she knows she needs to have her muscle on full display. In this turn on guitar she locks onto E chord and prepares to crawl through the mud, military warrior style. She does remember to remind us there's only one P!nk roaming the stratosphere and lucky for us that's true because two would be an embarrassment. At certain junctures Disney compositions request you move through the adventure trail in extreme caution. "Just Like Fire" goes by the tortoise's slow but steady wins the race credo. I'm not saying the mileage accrued is paltry but what good's a voyage if you can't pause long enough to let the scenery permeate your consciousness. P!nk's a perfect choice for a spot on this soundtrack because she very much fits the profile of an animated character leaping off the pages of a cartoonist's storyboard. Smartly when laying down vocals P!nk never once relinquishes her lust for a full life and all that entails. From verse one she knows what she wants, where she wants it and, shrewdly enough, how to get it. Though she's running out of time she wants it all. She even basks in the regal glory her ambitions push from the deep end of the pool. We already know P!nk's adept at walking on a wire trying to go higher. That's her career boiled down to the most basic definition. Take heart if you needed a bit of anthem style testosterone thrown in. It arrives courtesy of "We came here to run it". That's the battle cry pre-teens won't be able to escape throughout this summer movie season. Not groundbreaking but if it's an attention grabber you seek...well...it has arrived with a blood red bow on top. P!nk's a femme fatale who knows her way around the boardroom. Doesn't hurt matters any that she just so happens one of the most distinctive voices in any genre of music. "Just Like Fire" figures to make the soundtrack to Alice Through The Looking Glass come across as an unbeatable inferno in the digital download arena. Such savvy work bodes well for the movie, too.

Ben Harper & The Innocent Criminals Pick a Great Time To Shine

If you're blessed with the opportunity to gain formal introduction to a song perfectly matching your soon-to-be night on the town with pals, snatch it up and run like you found out what section of Fort Knox they're keeping the most abiding clumps of gold bullion. Who you have to thank for this revelry enhancer is Jason Yates, one of Ben Harper's Innocent Criminals. He's managed to get the C and D chords of his electric piano to play nicely. The piano strikes me as being a gentler lead-in to coffee and croissants with pals. As a structural set up for what's to follow Jason couldn't be placed in a better position. Soon after we're rewarded in the form of shakers from renowned percussionist Leon Mobley. Wait a few added nanoseconds and on jumps Oliver Charles sporting his kick drum proudly. So we've got a peaced out head space going. Possibly we're hitting our inner Rolodex to sniff out the top sandwich shop to go haunt. Then, the coup de grace materializes. Ben Harper plunks himself smack in the middle of the funked up jambalaya to spin his select yarn. He sure has a way with the chicks doesn't he. One only needs ruminate on "We shine like a new tattoo scarred on skin as bright as day across my heart. To anyone out there who remembers being extremely young and bold and thus, wanting some indelible under the skin art affixed to the bod God gave you this rings loud as an EMS vehicle on a frantic midnight errand. Oliver gets us jazzed at the possibility of Java tastefully brewed along with a scrumptious BLT. He smacks on his chosen avenue of expression, really inviting us to explore the grittiness of the neighborhoods we only took passing glances at in previous years. Since Ben's moniker gooses the marquee I'll keep my attention squarely on him. Gamely, the Innocent Criminals follow him during the points where laid back steers towards unshakable no other path to follow immediacy. They have his back which frees him up to divert his gaze to the woman he'd probably give today to in exchange for tomorrow. Come to think of it many a relationship could be eased off life support based on the massage indulgent tones placed in the musical photographer's direct sights. Ben knows his mind and his gal's mind equally well. To him the prevailing take away is stuck on "We are like two roads that lead to the same place, won't leave a trace. There is no other way." So what Ben's driving at is when you're in a serious relationship with him forewarned is forearmed. You might hit No Turning Back Terrace. I don't want you to get this uneasy queasiness in your stomachs that stem from the thought Ben might be guilty of exceeding the limits of relationship closeness because I'd need to fact check to know which fluids were flowing through him when he signed off on these lyrics. I'm content to accept this theory that Ben's simply all the way in when he loves someone. Not one damned complaint to register on that score. In fact that admission likely makes coffee and munchies hours a bigger exercise in realized passion rather that an exercise in live to eat eat to live. "Shine" gets its license to stand out from the crowd through intelligent depth of sound based emotion and corresponding vocal restraint. Use of the latter inspires us to stand proudly in Ben's corner. His voice shies away from the desperation walk. He opts for a dignified gradual loosening up of his heartstrings. You want honest answers but not an overblown Ally Sheedy purse contents on the couch Breakfast Club confessional. As an airy gift wrapped package "Shine" is pretty to look at and even prettier to hesr. It cleans up nicely so we can reap the benefits of polished pop.

Sick Puppies Attack The Senses With Guns Blazing

The Aussie group benevolently referred to as Sick Puppies implore their devoted fan base "Stick To Your Guns". They do so by employing fire hose intensity until they've spent each penny they can afford to hurl at us in the name of getting after what we really want out of life. Major chords with suitable under the surface unrest suits Sick Puppies beautifully here. This threesome exerts tons of snarl trying to get to the top of its philosophical mountain. So when they get to the peak, their drive is laser focused on getting you as far out of your comfort zone as possible so the winning race horse wreath of flowers can be draped around your historically exhausted neck. Sissies need not enter into this puppy bunch's particular litter. The chords climb from gathering footing to talons firmly on top ready to claim a co-conspiratorial role as your life coach/motivational speaker. The sound rattles much like an earthquake zeroing in on an unsuspecting swath of the populace. You know the devastation is coming but shielding your gaze would deprive you of the toothsome fun of voyeurism. Lead vocalist Bryan Scott doesn't want to pester you into being an entirely new man since reality dictates DNA holds some sway in what changeling aspect of your personality you have access to. He wants you to know flat out what cards are available to you in this game and that put up or shut up time has you squarely in its sights. Storm clouds gather, as Emma Anzai hellbound bass makes plain. Mark Goodwin stirs dormant take charge urges on drums which only makes "Stick To Your Guns" an even larger declaration of shackled independence. The style in which bass and drums tag team to warn the listener that avoidance as a strategy is a pretty abhorrent idea earns Sick Puppies an additional injection of masculine mettle. Not that anyone was questioning the band's ready supply of Y chromosomes anyway. Do or die splatters throughout the body of this blood pumping track. Bryan alerts you to the concept that, somewhere deep down, your sleeping giant awakens. It would be shameful if you didn't allow the ogre to rage where he pleases, as he pleases. Be the confidence laden director of your own life story. "Stick to your guns. Pray to your god." If ever innocence was yours to know intimately, it has long since been dispersed on the miserly breeze. Only you can reverse the tide of terror that threatens to pull you under and leave you a tragic water logged memory. At times a kick in the rear can help us summon up the stones to address the path we're seeking. "Stick To Your Guns", in attempting to keep audiences in forward march mode, likely stands to leave said audiences with a profound stick to the ribs aftershock much the way a salivary gland heightening plate of ribs would. These Sick Puppies know the status of their mental health and therefore have fought hard for their right to howl. They've held and kept a beat where alpha males stand to lean into their state of control while betas learn what it's like to grab the conch to preside over their personal Lord of The Flies circle of sharing.

Take The Time To Have Fun With KONGOS

Tribal beyond a reasonable doubt. Jungle attitude brought to a fever froth. Describe KONGOS' new "Take It From Me" either way and you'd have a viable point. Dylan Kongos is your slightly fractured tour guide through this maze of out of the ordinary yet cleverly accessible mood integration. If you didn't get your funny bone tickled observing the video then get thee to a doctor post haste, True to the South African roots lions make various appearances on screen. De-fanged but a nice tip of the hat to KONGOS homeland. The pulse of "Take It From Me" marches straight ahead not bothering to check to see whether or not you can maintain the steady pace. Daniel Kongos does the wrap around thing on guitar much the way wrap around clouds hint at a strong spring storm. Lying beneath the sassy ax awaits Jesse Kongos who drums not because he feels duty bound but because, as member of this band of minstrels his role as timekeeper serves to keep us all awake and focused on communal revelry. Ah, the words are the thing so let's see what KONGOS has whipped up for us. Right off the bat KONGOS speaks in a tongue that no sane translator could piece together with a straight face. How exactly do you reconcile "I talk of six while forgetting five." Six is the number of half dozens, useful in assembling baked treats but The Jackson Five would be lacking something without that fifth wheel. Onward we go to "Can't even taste if my food's alive. Hint for you guys. If it's still flopping around on the plate I'd say you have an awesome fish platter at your disposal. Yes, I am Mr. Literal at times. But wait it gets even more psychopathic. Feast your ears on "I'm watching music that I can't hear." So turn the MTV back up then. Nope, that won't work since reality TV absconded with the music in favor reality TV pandering to the masses. Seriously Dylan, get that audio visual kink worked out. No good will come from status quo. The sonic acreage taken up by "Take Ir From Me" amounts to a nice little spread complete with a joyous controlled burn smack in the middle. Johnny Kongos slips keyboards underneath the bedrock to make sure this flower blossoms to its fullest potential. So what mood best describes this enigma basting inside a conundrum? Rattled but not in a manner where your logical mind is already calling the police before your emotions have a chance to register a suitable response. There's loads of fooling around on the cutting room styled humor to be engaging in. Super-imposed heads, boardroom smart backdrops. The director didn't allow KONGOS to go anywhere close to snob appeal chest puffing for this effort and we're all the better for it. We as Americans have been accused of amusing ourselves to death. While the jury may be somewhat out on that damning finger wag KONGOS puts the suggestion out there for us to think about in the fourth verse. KONGOS has succeeded in pasting together rock that isn't stand-offish. The result might be an increasing number of heads turning in its general direction.

No Boredom Problem At Blink 182's End

When the soundscapes billow you know you have the makings of a rocker that wants to talk about things exceeding "Hi" and "Bye". In this case Mark Hoppus wants to discuss how crippling boredom can be psychologically. In the doing he brings with him a panorama of what amounts to be unabashed resignation. He is fading fast so don't waste your breath trying to save him. He's the man for whom a Patron Saint of Lost Causes was formed. He lets the prickling irritation pass through him with the help of Travis Barker who thumps away on drums, cosmically connected to what his brother in arms is going through. Said beats are sympathetic rather than a call for Matt to shake the cobwebs off and get on with his living. Adding to that Matt Skiba pencils in guitar lines that don't exclude any facet of his instrumental range. If "Bored To Death" sounds like a dance with nihilism you'd be justified in making that claim. Matt's walked down a rocky path far from the supposedly carefree stanzas of "All The Small Things". Remember the devil may care posturing in the video? Yeah, I miss those days to. The acoustic riffs Matt starts with in an A-chord shroud of sorts set us up for the bottom of the barrel musings that follow. Matt insists nothing about this life means anything to him. One suspects the shuffling style of gait has less to do with running to than running from. Matt we hope has tried every conceivable outlet before setting up for a stay at Desperation Station but, true or not, here we stand. Travis Barker's thoroughbred style gallop only adds to the quickly shortened rope Matt has led himself to. The whole "nightmare from a dream" visualization demands shivers of some sort elevate on your spine. Is this waking dream or the nightmare Matt's powerless to awaken from. The punch brought into this song's overall speed introduces the glimmer of hope that Matt might not be as trapped behind locked mind as he sounds but only cautious optimism holds sway. Now, it's not physiologically possible to die of boredom, however it does have you agonizing over how to rescue a faceless night and imbue it with some sorely needed personality. Matt has it in spades. If only he knew his own strength and how to apply it to the best of his knowledge. Therein lies his Achilles' Heel. Matt has this longing for seventeen, an age the picked on nerd crowd would be only too happy to vacate. Waxing in the chord of fond remembrance is no new trick in the rock world but, to hear Matt tell it remembrance amounts to the lone string he's grasping at. In summation "Bored To Death" won't leave anybody in full on yawn mode. If only we could get Matta reliable therapist though.