Good Charlotte Salutes Good Living

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

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

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

No Better Heart-Tugger Than Hozier

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

Say Hell No To Ingrid Michaelsen's Disposable Pop

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

Thrice's Black Blast Stings...Literally

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

Phantogram Employs a Wicked Electronic High To Set Off Sparks

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

This Avatar's Eagle Soars High On Heavy Metal Wings

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

Blink 182 Has A Bright Future In Its Sights

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

Breaking Benjamin Escorts Us On a Precious Trek To Eden

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

Gojira Goes Ballistic With Astounding Results

Those sneaky Frenchmen. Not just a croissant and Jerry Lewis worshiping bunch, huh. From that land comes Gojira, a technical death metal outfit that can thrash as hard as any American outfit if "Silvera" presents both proof and pudding in equal measure. Guitarist Christian Andru came to incite revolution believe you me. Not a noted sans saliva spitting out from between the teeth. What we have here is a classic case of rapid fire metal that refuses to play nice with anybody. As luck would have it, the bridge shows Gojira has its combined buzz saw sting turned up to maximum thrust. This band gets how to stand a historically non user-friendly sub-genre on its head and let it out to play among the throngs who, up until now, only associate French with baguettes. If "Silvera" had a speed limit I'm guessing we're talking somewhere in the vicinity of 95 MPH, maybe slightly more. "Magma" sends this lead cut spiraling towards the jugular, no apologies, no looking back. Joe Duplantier serves his countrymen well through no bones vocals that stop short of preaching. Not that the French were ever brusque at any time during their history, right. Turn to the lyrics, folks. There's where you'll observe Gojira insisting you sprout some balls, quit whining about change, and be part of the fomenting revolution. The line first gets drawn at, "Quit moaning about fate and change. Stand on your feet and rise. With every fall you get the pain, you learn the lesson. Start now, open your eyes. Dead bodies falling from the sky. We are the ape with the vision of the killing, a rain of shame that fills the mines. No other blood in me but mine." Nice train of thought, not one soon to be derailed in the near future. Mario Duplantier brings his skins to the skirmish. He hammers away doggedly, as if each beat held life hanging in the balance. Proper intensity to match the words. I get off on the nice sequence where the electricity gets granted a dimmer switch while the group's combined tonsil flashing advances to center stage. In the video you'll surely get nightmare fodder of the highest order. Only French art can deliver such shivers on a colossal scale. Jean-Michael Labadie tromps through on bass like he owns this turf. He's the pair of devil may care feet kicking sand in your face at the beach while all you can do is protest the cruelty in vain. What it boils down to is this band has relentless writ large all over their foreheads. I'm not sure if references to genocide are going to win over many converts stateside but they have guts right down to the soles of their shoes. The video's through line speaks of violence of the most gut-wrenching variety, individuals in terror's path struggling to know how to escape harm's way, dignity intact. You get this impression you're headed towards an unforgiving cliff really fast and the outcome doesn't bode well...for anyone. One piece of advice that you may take in the spirit of the francs you had to part with in order to receive it. Focus on the technical superiority. If you get caught up in the stomach turning content you won't have the best possible listening experience. That would be one strike against you because Gojira should have your respect, at least in the short term. "Silvera" leaves a commendable scar you won't mind showing off to others.

The Strumbellas Get Into The Spirit

Folksy to the marrow definitively describes Canada's The Strumbellas who know what it's like to get into and stay in the spirit throughout "Spirits" You'd be well served using this number as a solemn send-off for a dearly departed comrade. Not that "Spirits" gets glum in the lay you out flat sense. In fact this octet keeps the flame of lightness admirably lit. Vocalist Simon Ward plays up the endearing country neighbor card to the hilt and, guess what, that makes you want to follow him on his journey, fair or cloudy. Jeremy Drury does a smashing job of letting his drums talk a little, then bringing them back to subdued mood. David Ritter's keyboards lend glitter to what is basically a stripped down affair. The pace matches the mood. We're letting our words fall out deliberately, movingly, so the gravitas burns right through. "I got guns in my head and they won't go" are words that hit you like a ton of bricks. They also let you know that maybe Simon Ward could use a good therapist or three. He's hearing things in an off-putting manner. "Spirits" does have that ghostly pallor about it. The shuffling countenance cannot be denied. This toned down track benefits from how slow it goes because it gives you, the listener, a chance to soak in the details full on. Simon doesn't covet the never ending life, a thought Bon Jovi gave flower to in "It's My Life". Not new poetry in the music realm for sure, but the message bears repeating as often as possible. So much easier not coveting something the universe isn't in position to give you. Good for Simon for telling us his love for being a dreamer is a lifelong proposition. Were that we were all so willing to let the inner child score his fair share of victories. Simon very much lashes out against loneliness and won't spend another night in said state of affairs. The Strumbellas are just the cold brew hoisting associates you'd want wiping the tears of sadness from your eyes. They have the band cohesion thing down pat. When it washes over you as a total package, the results maintain a likable, rooting value off the chain dignity that aims to leave you seeing stars. You'd be cutting this song short shrift if you chalked it up as a past our prime funereal dirge. Make no bones about it, even this storm like impostor does give winks to you that give away its silver lining. The chords don't come gift wrapped in somber minor notes. Simon merely aims to speak his brave truth, no more, no less. You'd be looked upon admirably if you chose to witness "Spirits" as a testament to what healing power there can be if you look close enough. Finality doesn't have to be a solely somber proposition. Deep down we do have the capacity to feel relief for the departed no longer having pain weighing him or her down. That way the wonderful memories rise back to the surface, untainted, unsullied...forever. The video has plenty of funeral imagery to thrust visions of mortality dancing in your head but, by the same token, it's imagery cloaked in fond remembrance as you can tell by the objects placed on the coffin. The Strumbellas seek not to pour salt in open wounds. They seek to, in their own no frills style, plant the seed suggesting all we be well in the end, even if we mortals can't see it clearly from our vantage points. "Spirits" sports its humanity like a badge of honor. That's a badge well earned.