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.