Pissed Jeans Whip Up a Romanticized Entanglement

It's no mean feat being able to turn noise rock into something where one can follow the logic without being caught up in the sonic fog, Allentown, PA's pride and joy Pissed Jeans pull this off with one of the tracks from their "Honeys" album, "Romanticize Me" Bradley Fry's menacing rumble on guitar stares you down. You're waist deep in red alert mode. Vocalist Matt Korvette defends his laziness as being "laid back". He's not shy about turning a negative trait into something that would almost be seen as an asset. Sean McGunness is a ballsy force behind the drum kit. That's impressive given this track doesn't even clock in at 2 and a half minutes long. Randy Huth deepens the sea of organized pandemonium with bass playing that not only asserts his presence but allows Matt's verbal jousting to more often than not hit its intended target. If you want a sound not treading the time and sales-worn path, Pissed Jeans can offer a strangely captivating opening view through the jagged looking glass.

The Foals Dial Up a Snappy Number

If there was an ideal time frame backdrop to The Foals current single "My Number" it would be just as the sun has set over London. The nightlife buzz is just starting to rise from the streets. The controlled pandemonium of downtown life is gaining some momentum. The various social cliques are reconvening to swap stories, talk trash, or whatever else this batch of locals sees fit to do. "My Number" carries through the noise an electricity, a need to see what kind of legally sanctioned trouble can be gotten into. The song's lyrics deal more with independence from the nonstop drone rather than wishing to fit into the faceless blob. Yannis Philippakis defiantly declares that the streets are dragging him down. He's more alive adopting a loner posture, being of the city but not submissively a product. In most big cities there's maze of buyer/seller activities. We the consumers wander through the seductive maze fending off temptation with one hand, taking a deep sniff of the affluence with another. Jimmy Smith fends off the mass consumption spirit with the cat-like readiness of his guitar.On his toes throughout he conveys the coked up state of mind of someone trying to find his way to a somewhere where the universe's parameters won't chain him beyond the scope of human dignity. Edwin Congreave plinks away at the keyboards, a sort of elfin spirit supplying timely jolts of antsy energy for the escape pilgrimage. Jack Bevan thumps the drums with admirable judicious restraint. His beat closely resembles the whip at one's ear, demanding unyielding focus on moving on. Walter Gervers bass is the mellowed out ticking heart for the song. Time is of the essence for the boys. That urgency translates into all purpose with no wasted movements. The "Holy Fire" project stands a fine chance of taking up residence in the wider popular brain pan on the heels of snappy nuggets like this. You'd be wise to give The Foals the chance to gallop their way to mainstream victory.

Coheed and Cambria Deftly Mix Light and Dark Backdrops

There are certain albums, upon reaching their conclusion, that have the ability to make you ask, "What just happened here?" You are so caught up in the secret language that you lose track of time, space, relatives, dinnertime, etc...Coheed and Cambria easily pull this out of body experience off with their new album "The Aftermath: Descension. There's a Jekyll/Hyde dynamic at play. The open cut "Prelethal" is merely an amuse bouche for the supercharged supper which lies ahead. Claudio Sanchez has power to spare in his vocal range. He isn't singing in the name of macho rock bombast. His is a probing gift which only gets better when his bandmates bring the game to higher and higher levels. I'd run out of superlatives quickly if I was to limit my analysis only to "The Hard Sell". Lyrically and musically this is a continuous right to the jaw. Being pummeled by super hard rock never felt so satisfying. I'm in awe of tell it like it is lyrics such as: "Selling out to be in" and: "Not enough cool for everyone. Travis Stever's guitar's got some major league growl. Josh Eppard serves up epic drumming to match the lethal weight of Claudio's words. It's songs like this one that get me to Amazon.com really fast so I can snatch this kind of material up for repeated listening. The impression it leaves on my cranium is one of those "you had to be there" kinds of one for the books experiences. The song is a wicked slap in the face to anyone without the cojones needed to stand up for their core values. "Number City" has madness in the urban downtown sector scrawled all over it. This landscape has Zach Cooper's slick bass to thank for lending it a nastiness that is part and parcel to the hullabaloo of big city dwelling. The bass sounds as good as fresh brewed coffee smells. "Gravity's Union" keeps this album blasting ahead in the Hyde persona. All players have their marksmanship cranked up to eleven. Losing a huge swath of the electricity at the 4:50 mark takes what's already a rock tour-de-force and makes you remind yourself that, yes, this is certainly an out of body trek you've made. Past the midway point of the album Hyde leaves the building and a tranquil Jekyll assumes control. The rest of the tracks aren't quite so conflicted. "Away We Go" is downright sun rays and puppy dogs. The "beautiful undertow" referred to doesn't sound scary at all. In fact regardless of which sex you are you'd definitely have reason to grab Claudio's hand and trust his benevolent instincts. "Iron Fist" the title is far more threatening than "Iron Fist" the finished tune. "God damn" gets uttered a bit too much but, even that, in the context of the whole rip roaring riff ride is nowhere near a liability. They managed to make a swear word sound mellifluous. The great ones know how, I suppose. There's enough flavor to the song that your appetite is appeased. None of the heavy handedness hard rock/heavy metal has a occasionally jocular reputation for ladling on. "Dark Side of Me" is sharp at all the right angles. Claudio's torment meshes neatly with the swirl of theatrics his bandmates conspire to pull off. "2's My Favorite 1" reintroduces the familiar lover's reconfiguration of anatomy, namely the two hearts beating as one. This closing wave of slightly sweetened rock goodness sends "The Aftermath: Descension out on a spangly note. However it may also leave you breathless at how Claudio could summon up the strength to go from heart on the sleeve dripping wounds to "let's race towards the great beyond and see what wonders await". It's just brilliant. I'm a music fanatic for reasons like this. It's time ideally spent every time. Never a heavy sigh to be conveyed. Coheed and Cambria again demonstrate why culling inspiration from The Amory Wars Claudio's ambitious foray into creative writing, yields an embarrassingly rich payoff.

Speaking About Queensyrche's Guitar Godliness

The electric guitar has claimed a permanent place in the hearts of headbangers. In certain cases a sorcerer's mastery of the instrument turns a metal song into a transcendent experience. One of my all-time favorite metal songs is "Speak" by Seattle's Queensryche. This song can be found on the psychologically provocative "Operation:Mindcrime". "Eyes of a Stranger" and "I Don't Believe In Love" got some love from MTV, but "Speak", to my mind, is far more penetrating than those other songs. We all owe a debt of gratitude to ax man Scott DeGarmo for infusing "Speak" with the carnival thrill ride of emotions. From the first moments of acceleration, you find yourself in the hands of an ax maniac who knows he's at the height of his power and isn't afraid to let you know he's plenty confident. Listen to the first ten to fifteen seconds. I can sense anger, defiance, empowerment, and even giddiness behind those notes. The song itself plunges into the world quite similar to what's unfolding in the opening passages of the 21st century storyline. The rich control media, government, and law. Vocalist Geoff Tate shouts from the rooftops how imperative it is to have educated masses. Otherwise the power balance stays decidedly slanted towards the extreme "haves". Scott DeGarmo channels venom from everywhere on the metal compass. Every location he gets it from is like a bullet to the heart. Geoff, drummer Scott Rockenfield, bassist Eddie Jackson, and additional lead guitarist Michael Wilton all feed off the blistering energy Scott lays down. The saliva essentially drips off Scott's drum kit. Geoff's already straitjacket worthy voice just gets even more impossible to comprehend. The icing on the cake comes in the last five to ten seconds. Here we have an avalanche of instrumental savagery. Who's at the epicenter? Scott DeGarmo, of course. His work is what fuses the voices, the subject matter, and the overall pacing into one inescapable time bomb Goose pimples for everyone. "Speak" is my #2 all time metal song favorite behind Whitesnake's Zeppelin-esque "Still of the Night". Queensryche has earned a reputation as being the thinking man's metal band. But after one listen to this little tooth chattering explosion of ideas you won't ever forget that they also know how to bang heads like there's a zero hour urgency to the proceedings.

Nothing Pedestrian About What Frightened Rabbit Has To Offer

Scott Hutchison, the lead singer for Scottish indie band Frightened Rabbit is one of those guys, if his lyrical content is any indication, that you'd like to cloak in a wool shawl and reassure that the dark moments of his life won't be around to bother him forever. That's kind of the good thing about moments in time. Whether it's ecstasy or agony the cosmic channel changer's working all the time. Robert Burns would bow his head in respect for what these five lads have pulled from the hat known as "Pedestrian Verse". Long on thought-provoking lyrics. Equally long on   entrancing song structure. Be warned that this band doesn't exactly hang its hat in the sweetness and light district. "Housing (In)" has to be one of the only songs where you don't sense Scott isn't weaving yarns revolving around some inches from rock bottom soul who could be blown towards total oblivion by one solid gust of wind. Scott rollicking in being on the metro liner headed for home, starchy food and the soft familiarity of bed. Brother Grant's drums don't seek to overtake him, merely set the stage for a winning reentry into his native home neighborhood stomping grounds. Track 1, "Acts of Man" merits brownie points on the basis of its unhindered honesty alone. Do you want to accuse this foursome of not packing enough shock factor into its lyrics when Scott opens his lips to expose the dickhead who's giving wine to his best girl's gloves? Have you ever gotten acquainted with a knight in shitty armor before? Guess that's what happens when the shine morphs into rust. That's full frontal disclosure on a collision course with your cerebellum. Bassist Billy Kennedy amplifies the nothing left to the imagination storyline taking shape."Backyard Skulls" ignites a nails on the blackboard attention getter in the form of soap opera melodramatic keyboards. There's a racing heart not sure whether it is better served leaping out of the chest or hiding in a protected cranny. The focus is in those secrets that have buried yet not buried deep enough to provoke an unsettling reverse peristalsis haunting aftershock."The Woodpile" is right on target for those amongst us who just want someone to be fine with the warts and all not quite complete version we're all fighting to become, some maybe more so than others.You'll likely identify with the burning building. You'll cheer the notion of having a chum with whom you can speak in secret tongues. Most of all your jaded stare at the world could be softened a little by the bright hope glimmering from Scott's flashing tonsils. Like I said, Frightened Rabbit usually wouldn't get tossed in with the poppy rainbows for days crowd of tunesmiths. Want another slice of evidence? Listen to "Nitrous Gas". If you manage not to slide over the edge of the waterfall then you're made of sterner stuff than I. Nowhere are Scott's words more depression inducing than "Suck in the bright red major key. Spit out the blue minor misery. Hand me the nitrous gas." If Scott was a member of A.A. Milne's Hundred Acre Wood he'd probably be the second coming of Eeyore after the original offed himself because the storm cloud over his troubled head just wouldn't stop producing flood waters.Still, Frightened Rabbit must be given all the credit for exposing their angst-fueled arteries to the public at large. There's not a single track in this set that isn't at least somewhat compelling. Their lyrics prove they are a brainy outfit. They dare to venture into choppy waters because they know they have the grit to pull back before they get washed out with the tide. Believe it or not there's also a pinch of humor as the final curtain descends. "The Oil Slick" is another reason to give them high marks for ballsy truth in advertising. Scott proclaims: "Only an idiot would swim through the shit I write." He charges that he has a voice like a gutter in a toxic storm. And we're coming full circle back to my suggestion Scott needs some hot chocolate to warm up the lifeless places or at least a well intentioned "There, there". On the modern musical menu, Frightened Rabbit isn't an empty calories feast of Sodom and Gomorrah proportions. It's a bountiful cornucopia of iron rich brain revitalization. You won't find fifth gear in the words. You get it from the band's commitment to pouring out facade cripplers from the heart, brain and, quite possibly the loins. These Scots are worthy of your attention.

Tegan and Sara Key In On Both Sides Of the Romantic Coin For "Heartthrob"

Agreeable is a word which can describe a warm bubble bath, a cone of vanilla ice cream or a glass of Chardonnay. Canadian sister act Tegan and Sara embody this adjective throughout "Heartthrob", their seventh studio album. Whether playing up the magical properties of love as they do on "Love They Say" or kicking a defective romance to the curb with "Goodbye, Goodbye" the two women forge an alluring centerpiece for the drama. You'll be sensing visions of Human League's "Don't You Want Me?" or a Flock of Seagulls "I Ran" upon crossing this threshold chock full of the ultra sterile keyboards many an early '80s act used as bread and butter conveyor of ominous "all's not well in Kansas" love complications. "Love They Say" exudes tons of good intention. Tegan and Sara rattle off a what's what of description others have called upon to explain what love is. Love heals. Love is blind. Love is magic personified. These keys pull off the feat of drawing us in instead of keeping us at an aloof distance. "I Was a Fool" is a forceful cold light of musing broaching the subject of why a woman stays with an iffy man so long. The rhythms of drum and keys are bracing. The tempo chews on each nanosecond of implied anguish."Shock To Your System", from the word go, should take credit for creating the largest '80s keyboard flashback, complete with towering frizzy hair. Loneliness is the center stage topic here. It's probably for the best that the keyboards assembled here descend with a gut punch thump. "Goodbye Goodbye" is deceptively chipper for a song about declaring "Good riddance to rank romantic rubbish". Girl power endures. Tegan and Sara can shape shift from dizzy heights to heartbreaking lows in the blink of an eye. Following "So They Say" on the track list is "Now I'm All Messed Up", a real gut wrenching concoction in a spirit that's polar opposite to "So They Say". From ebullient praise for love we get a worrisome question like "Whose life are you making worthwhile?" The keyboards take more of a menacing approach. If I sound somewhat slanted towards the positive in summing up Tegan and Sara's talent, forgive me. In addition to being sisters they're also Canadian. Having visited their homeland numerous times I've found little if anything to dislike. Tegan and Sara prove themselves capable of holding your ear's attention much like a hanging mobile captures an infant's. Special credit goes to both Joey Waronker and Victor Indrizzo, the beat keepers presiding over Heartthrob". They contribute physical strength to Tegan and Sara's emphatic declaration of both the falling in and out of love. Since "Love They Say" in my opinion, is one of the top three best tracks on "Heartthrob" it bears noting that bassist Chris Carter plays a huge role in amplifying the splendid autumn color the song conveys. "Heartthrob" is agreeable. Whether pro-romance or pro-mental house cleaning the sisters aren't a bad duo to share stories with.

Device Was a One-Hit Wonder Band Worth Having a Heart Attack Over

I believe the world of pop music would be rice cake bland were it not for the presence of that crop of artists known as one-hit wonders. These no less gifted musicians burst onto the scene with their Andy Warhol styled 15 minutes of fame and then mysteriously (or not) vanished back into the ozone never to be heard from again. A well performed one-hit wonder song brings a smile to the face. It can bring sweet tears to your eyes. Best of all it can help us all overlook the corporate monopoly certain artists decade by decade have had on the charts. The 1980s were pretty much dominated by the likes of Michael Jackson, Madonna, Hall & Oates and Phil Collins. Musical trends shift. The decade started out focused on New Wave/New Romantic styles and then, by the time 1989 rolled to its conclusion every hard rock/glam metal band with a sensitive guy ballad orchestrated to bring teen girls into its core audience managed at least one big smash single. One-hit wonders are the quiet calm in between waves of corporate playlist makers telling you what you're going to like whether you really want to or not. In 1986 Whitney Houston was the supernova star on the rise. Madonna had already surged from the launch pad. Bands from other time periods like The Rolling Stones, Heart, and Starship (fka Jefferson Airplane/Jefferson Starship) were still managing to score hit songs. New wave had essentially crested and Bon Jovi was propping open the hard rock/metal door that Def Leppard would kick in the following year. Buried under all that tumult was Device, a power trio which achieved its hour of glory with "Hanging on a Heart Attack". Thanks toYouTube I got the chance to heard this forgotten gem over again. I'm on the side of all those people who feel this song should have received a warmer reception at radio. It only peaked as high as #35 in Billboard. Nothing on the radio at the time sounded that intense. It really does sound like part of the soundtrack to cardiac arrest. Skull pounding drums are only one of the song's assets. Lead singer Paul Engemann who would later go on to replace Paul Wadhams as lead male singer in Animotion ("Obsession") is neither hard on the eyes (the video for "Hanging") proves my point nor lacking in the skills needed to carry a tune. Another indescribably cool element in this group was Holly Knight, who earned no small measure of credibility either writing or co-writing songs for a plethora of top '80s artists. Tina Turner owes her a debt of gratitude for "Better Be Good To Me", one of the songs which allowed her "Private Dancer" comeback album to soar.It takes a singular writing talent to fuse rock teeth with mainstream sheen. Holly also had a hand in writing Heart's "Never", which allowed the Wilson sisters to avoid teetering off the brink of musical irrelevance. That track peaked at #4, one of 4 songs to hit the top 10. As "Hanging's" vid shows Holly is a vision and knew how to gyrate and sprinkle facial expressiveness with the best of them. Gene Black was Device's guitarist. His guitar solo at the bridge made the song tingly exciting. True to the times of '80s videos the hair was well teased, the fashion was ridiculously overdramatized, and the goofiness of the camera angles and shot selections were chuckle worthy. However, "Hanging on a Heart Attack" was a roaring clap of thunder that was necessary at that juncture to quiet the commotion at the locus point between Dream Academy year New Romanticism and Cinderella year glam metal. Sometimes brilliant art doesn't get its due until many years have passed. Device crafted a one-hit wonder for the ages. The adrenaline surges on and on and on. If you listen to this song often enough those tiresome extra pounds will flop to the floor like shed hair follicles. If you like music that races up and down your spine "Hanging on a Heart Attack" is a fine place to drop anchor.

Ra Ra Riot Overdoes the Synth On "Beta Love"

I am appreciative of synthesizers. They were hard to avoid in the '80s. The instrument gave a wealth of songs from that era a detached human contact deprived aura that still managed to give me chills in the right places. Ra Ra Riot, an indie band out of Syracuse, had been more known for baroque pop but has embraced the synth, perhaps a bit too much, on its new single "Beta Love", the title track of its third full length release. This song is a curious choice because it supposedly focuses on resisting a robot heart sensibility in pursuit of romantic connection. Wes Miles has a solid vocal persona, but with the overload of synthesizers you wouldn't be able to tell. I'm taking a stab that the icy cold synthesizer piles are there to send the message that a cold sound can't scare away passion when it's on the verge of igniting. Kenny Bernard plays drums but again, his skills get upstaged by synthesizers. Judiciousness is all I ask. One only need take a brief flashback to 2009 and La Roux's retro '80s smash "Bulletproof" to be reminded of how a synth can star in a song's show without hogging the portion of the spotlight the other players deserve. Newbies might be able to approach this song with an open mind. Unless of course they're jaded enough listeners to find synthesizers have been to death. Ra Ra Riot's devoted core would be best served being patient. Transformations aren't necessarily easy. The jury's still out in terms of a long term verdict.

Bad Religion Points True North In An Exhilarating Direction

On many cuts from punk stalwart Bad Religion's "True North" the ride resembles what a rodeo competitor feels once the gate opens. Non-stop built for speed pandemonium. To Bad Religion's credit it doesn't get so caught up in acceleration that it fails to come through with well-reasoned points. Sometimes, as with "Fuck", the takeaway is simply how liberating it can be to drop an f bomb. After all the intention of the user, not the word itself, determines how "bad" the bad word  is. "Dept. of False Hope" makes disillusionment seem like an approachable obstacle instead of an insatiable lust for self-medication. "Past Is Dead" doesn't suffer navel-gazing Goth depression gladly. Its drums ruggedly gallop through dusty entanglements Greg Graffin grabs his audience's focus with an unrelenting grip. He's one intellectually sound front man. "Hello Cruel World" stops to smell the angst-laced coffee. It plays up the ongoing drama of how individuals can be together in the world yet disconcertingly alone. Short bursts don't mean cutting room floor rejects. "Vanity" wags the finger at our tragedy mocking world, explodes from high notes to low notes, then bows out gracefully, all in just 62 seconds. "Robin Hood In Reverse" nails corporate greed to the wall and leaves it helpless like a bug on of those stretch limos. The recurring theme of "True North", at least from a sonic vantage point, is of a bucking bronco tossing you, the rider, around in the stirrups, waiting to see if you fall off. You'd be wise to resist any temptation to crack under this pressure because Bad Religion's four decades long hold on the punk rock stratosphere shows no sign of letting up. Brett Gurewitz, Greg Hetson, and Brian Baker rip into their guitars with demonic fervor. Brooks Wackerman bashes the drums at such a feverish pace you'd think the band's girlfriends were triple parked in the lot outside the recording studio. This outfit knows punk, at its roots, is about no holes barred attitude. However, what sets them above the fray is the messengers know how to deliver the messages without that menacing sneer blocking the clearest path.

The Joy Formidable Is An Exquisite Delight

Most of you have likely had one night in your life swapping stories with an old friend whose focus is solely on you. Nothing else matters. This friend's details seem vivid. His storytelling transports you to unique places, sights, smells, sounds, and tastes. Ritzy Bryan, Rhydian Dafydd, and Matt Thomas, the trio which comprises The Joy Formidable, know how to reassure you of your importance as a music consumer. Each facet of this North Wales band crackles with the halfway surreal note of individual storytelling that brushes limits aside. Guitars rumble. You aren't scattering in fear over this earthquake. More like pausing in awe to marvel over the scope of the debris. "Cholla" is one of the best, most shimmering jewels lifted from "The Wolf's Law". As a singer Ritzy Bryan's supreme gift is pulling you in with her beguiling notes while pulverizing you with the way she attacks the fretboard. Up and down the plethora of chords she goes with little reason to catch a breath. As for Matt he deserves consideration as one of the most impressive drummers of the past 20 years. "Cholla" shows his knack to flattering effect. "This Ladder" is an excellent opening track because it's where you get a sense Ritzy's singing to you instead of through you. "Tendons" consists of savage guitar held together bone for bone by Matt shifted into fourth gear. "Little Blimp" begins bouncy but plots its course towards a savory gumbo of keyboards, guitar, and Ritzy's soul penetrating voice. It's a credit to the band's flexibility as a unit that on some occasions they'll keep you guessing at what speed their collective imagination functions. "Maw Maw Song" is the kind of loose-jointed rocker in which each band member's strengths hit full flower. Rhydian Dafydd's bass represents the solid firmament that makes this down and dirty grinder possible. Ritzy's guitar assumes a soft position at both front and back. "Forest Serenade" swats away loneliness through Ritzy's sumptuously resounding display of vocals as beckoning lover characterization. She's up close, personal, and driving home the drama. Late in the proceedings "The Turnaround" embodies wide-eyed wonder. Layer upon layer of complexity elevate it to legendary status. "The Wolf's Law" is an all-around treat minus the cavities brought on a by a bona fide sugar rush. You'll likely lick this plate clean and demand seconds to boot.