Extreme Was (And Is) Extremely Talented

Hi everybody. Since I've had one of those days where the craziness quotient has been off the charts I'm going to level with you. I was all set to offer you a review of the latest CD from Darius Rucker titled "True Believers". Had the tracks lined up. Was going to check YouTube to see if all the tracks were available to sample. Already had a thing going for "Wagon Wheel". So what happened? Why are we not backing away from the terminal on our way to a countrified flight with the dude who had been more about Hootie and less about honky tonk? For the same reason many parents are more than happy to pop in a video when their kids are driving them past the brink of insanity. 'Cause it's the fastest way to dope up my nagging headache and keep my from jumping off the ledge. So...on to tonight's assemblage of thoughts or, unnecessary word barf, if you don't particularly fancy where this voyage is going to end up. Boston has given us many culturally wonderful things. 'til tuesday springs to mind. Aerosmith better be on somebody's Beantown Hall of Fame list. That the five of them haven't dropped dead of drug abuse qualifies as a holy miracle. For one baseball season during the 2000s, even the perpetually cursed Red Sox got to raise their glasses, chugging down a chalice of victory. The Boston product that leaves me yearning for more is Extreme. Let me settle your hash for you right now. Anybody who dares think Extreme is just another one of those pretty boy metal bands that spent more time on Aqua Net and less on constructing admirable songs can take a long walk off a short pier. Even though lead singer Gary Cherone claims the song embarrasses him, "Kid Ego" was a much needed wag of the finger to arrogant people. Seeing as how I was experiencing the full flower of one during my high school days I completely appreciated someone using recorded music as a way of telling me: "Peace out, mate. We have your back." The aforementioned song originated from this band's 1989 debut. By this time glam metal had essentially oversaturated the market. Extreme's entire output makes Warrant look like, well, Warrant. "Cherry Pie". Hmmm...Jani Lane himself said he could kill himself (shoot himself, words to that effect) for having written that song. All Extreme did was strip it down, strum it up and max out on the harmonies for "More Than Words". Big #1 hit. Nothing fancy pants. The video looked like it cost all of $20 to make. At times the simplest ideas are the best. Loved "Pornograffiti". "Get The Funk Out". That's what I is a' talkin' 'bout. Great bass riffs from Pat Badger. Gary's layin' down the law and then, oh Nuno Bettencourt you incorrigible devil you. The sorcery he unleashes with his guitar during the bridge. Anybody wanna test his pee? The boy went up down here there and somehow managed to hook up again with the body of the song again. And those horns. Gettin' all Las Vegas sideshow review on you, slapping you upside your huge melon heads, and makin' you like it. And how could I forget Paul Geary. He ain't the drummer boy these days but in '91 he was vicious. On "Funk" he was copping an incredible attitude. Start to finish a autopsy report worthy killer kut...I mean cut. I would've loved to have been privy to those recording sessions. "Hole Hearted" was the sort of song that managed to be youthful and vibrant but, at the same time wouldn't make your parents get all moral majority on you. None of the barnstorming of "Get The Funk Out" but no less an irresistible force. Okay so we got the appetizer and then the soup/light entree course. To my way of thinking the most dazzling delicacy in the Extreme culinary canon is "III Sides To Every Story". This is their "Pet Sounds", their "Rio", their "Thriller". If there's an act out there that had a magnum opus, let's shuffle this beauty right up in its bizness shall we? The first half contains a murderer's row of hard rockin' booty whoopers such as "Rest In Peace", "Peacemaker Die" (complete with excerpts from Dr. Martin Luther King's "I Have a Dream" speech) and "Cupid's Dead" where once again Nuno displays both his mind-defying skills and marathon racer stamina. Crazy is as crazy do. These tracks are assembled under the heading "YOURS" this hints at the notion that we the people in order to buy a more perfect album would prefer a healthy dose of rock right up front, no money down, no beginning of no beguine. The second half is grouped under the heading "MINE". The songs in this section are more sensitive, huggy, kissy, smoochy, let's get our awkward trouble causing feelings out there so they can be stomped on. Only joking. No stomping. However there is a "stut-tut-tuttering p-poet." in "Tragic Comic". So cute you want to pinch its cherubim cheeks. Gary wears the coat of hapless romantic well. The song I gravitate towards again and again is "Seven Sundays". That's art, folks. The harmonies here sway back and forth like palm trees in Palm Springs. The piano work is breathtaking. I want this song to take me in its arms, whisk me away from my corporate dungeon, and show me up close what Eden is really like. Right down to the last "plink" it's a revelation of prime fusion songcraft. It enraptures me every time. Then there's "The Rest of the Story", that closes with "Who Cares". Highly ambitious project and very underappreciated at the time. By 1995 grunge ruled the landscape. Still "Waiting For The Punchline" did have its singular moments like "There Is No God" and "Evilangelist". Haunting effect. Not a big seller, which may have more to do with the music climate than with its relevance as an artistic endeavor. By 1998 Gary had stepped into the wing tips of David Lee Roth and Sammy Hagar, becoming (not too succcessfully) the third lead singer for Van Halen. As rock marriages go this union should have been annulled right at the start. Was thrilled to see Gary pop up because, as this column hammers home with the subtlety of a tire iron to the skull, I am a big Extreme backer. However, Gary had no business being pushed into that spotlight. Wrong mix. Not a taste I'd like to experience again. Ten years later Extreme was back from the not quite truly dead with "Saudades de Rock" along with a highly capable new sticks slinger named Kevin Figueiredo. Admittedly I wasn't as smitten with it as the rest of the catalog but a worthy return nonetheless. I'd tell you which tracks cut my mustard but, it has been awhile since I listened front to back. Point is I'm a loyalist for these Beantowners. If they drop a new record in 2013 I'm all over it like Ted Nugent at a rifle lovers convention. Extreme spits on your hair metal mush. Spits on it. Polishes it. Makes it suitable for polite or beer swilling company and then shows real class by refusing to belch in your face after the meal is over. Them's bona fide palpitations. Each flutter well-deserved.

Which "Radioactive" Isn't Total Waste?

Now and then the chart stratosphere contains the inspiration of singular talents who come up with distinctly different ideas but, use the same title to sell them to what they can only hope and/or pray is an eager public. Today I'd like to stage what, by all accounts is a "same title showdown" The point of this exercise? To decide which song best represents its signature title. Bear with me on this one. If I haven't lost you in the thick forest, I'll consider that a victory in and of itself. In the red corner we have The Firm, a British supergroup that can lay claim to having Led Zeppelin rock god Martin Page amongst its personnel. His "corner mates" are Paul Rodgers who is best known to classic rock enthusiasts as a former member of Free ("All Right Now") and Bad Company ("Bad Company"), Uriah Heep ex Chris Slade, and Tony Franklin who, if Wikpedia is to be believed, doesn't have any notable past classic rock affiliation. This curious foursome scored one, count it, one Top 40 hit with "Radioactive". According to dictionary definition radioactive material can damage living tissue. Does this brand of "Radioactive" do the sort of cosmic damage that can rattle grandpappy's peacemaker, send young girls swooning, and bring the riot police to full alert? Um...not really. I'm honestly relieved the song doesn't even last three minutes. What we have here is a full fledged one off jam session by a bunch of guys out to prove they haven't grown long in the tooth since Led Zeppelin signed off at the front end of the '80s. Paul Rodgers does still have the pipes that stare deep into your vulnerable zone. The lyrics he has to work with are not as corny as an episode of Hee Haw but nobody should be pointing fingers at someone else's thinly veiled sexual probings.Take stanza two for instance..."There's not a fight and I'm not your captive. Turn me loose tonight 'cause I'm radioactive." Do those words make you want to grab a box of condoms and screw like the world's about to expire? If you said "no" then wonderful, you've just restored a fraction of my faith in human intelligence. Stanzas three and five are contradictory. The third one claims: "I want to stay with you. I want to play with you baby". Fast forward to the fifth stanza and we're told: :I want to stay with you. I don't want to play with you. I don't care if you were an influential part of one of/if not the most influential band in hard rock history. That doesn't give you the right to be the Y-chromosome version of a shameless flirt. Do you want to play with her or don't you? Either your body's prepped to be in the hang loose and unlocked position or it isn't. If you guys think the lyrics make you look like bad boys you need to find some other brains to inhabit because mixed messages aren't the right way to a woman's heart. Tony Franklin does okay keeping the bass pickings just a notch above subdued. Think of a steady drip of water that doesn't manage to distract you from those other things you have to do. It's a reassuring presence but won't linger long after the fade out. Chris Slade uses his drums to keep the trains running on time. You won't find any clever stick change-ups here. Given how sexual the song threatens to be I'm surprised. Even when Jimmy Page does a little playful scrambling here and there that doesn't push the needle of approval all that far from "Snore" to "Identifiable Pulse". I'll level with you. I own the 45. I'm not saying that it's the worst song ever hatched by a member of the human race. I'm just saying the messages we're privy to amount to all blow and no show. No need to sound the doomsday whistle. A pot of strong coffee will erase the memory of this feather soft lightweight platter. In the blue corner, coming to us from one of America's most shamelessly unapologetic gambling meccas, Las Vegas, Nevada, I give you Imagine Dragons who, right off the bat deserve a fist bump for what I feel is a refreshingly cute name. It's all about standing out in a historically crowded marketplace. So...is Imagine Dragons grasping what it means to be "Radioactive"? Well, I'm still not pissing my pants scared but, I have to give them the nod because their "Radioactive" isn't so much a rock song as it is an unsettling invitation to relive the visions of a fifty-foot woman stomping down the corridors of some helpless metropolitan area, each step infused with equal or greater malevolent intentions than the one preceding it. If you're involved in a radioactive disaster situation what you want more than anything is a clear headed alpha dog who is capable of guiding you out of the darkness. Dan Reynolds is steadfast. We're talking slice through creamery butter audible. Ben McKee is guiding you with a bass that won't allow you to forget that self-doubt isn't an option at this point. Dan Platzman's drums come crashing down step by step. He's the thunder to Wayne "Wing" Sermon's fret board lightning. Lyrically, these guys have a better grasp on what a newly minted radioactive person ought to look like. Our hero is adorned with these markings: "I'm waking up to ash and dust. I wipe my brow and I sweat my rust. I'm breathing in the chemicals. Sounds like Homer Simpson on any day of the week not beginning with "S". We're greeted repeatedly with: "Welcome to the new age." Continuing on in this peptic acid unleashing vein we hear: "I'm waking up, I feel it in my bones. Enough to make the system blow." The storyline unfurling here hints at what might have happened had we reached nuclear war with the Soviets. "We're painted red to fit right in" pushes words like "glastnost" and "detente" to the front edge of my frontal lobe. In this mano a mano tilt between classic radiation and a more recent gradation the arms raised in victory belong to Imagine Dragons. It's too early to tell if the Las Vegas tribe will be the latest teen rock fad or sprout enduring chart legs. At the very least they appear to have learned that if you're going to put "Radioactive" on your song list you'd better not piece together a performance that conveys to the masses that your creative juice is stuck on DefCon 5.

Journey's Message Heard Loud and Clear

Journey has an abiding energy resembling the Energizer bunny. No matter what the decade the boys seem to crank it up for their multitudes of adoring fans. Even though Arnel Pineda does a commendable job as the current vocalist, it's Steve Perry's gymnastics that made the band such a mainstay on the concert circuit. The '80s and '90s found the guys going off in different directions. Whiz guitarist Neal Schon and keyboardist Jonathan Cain proved they could be successful without the Journey brand name backing them up when they joined up with Ricky Phillips, who had been Jon's mate in The Babys, John Waite, whose biggest solo success came with the tormented mid-tempo "Missing You", and Deen Castronovo who holds a special place in my musical Rolodex in my brain simply because Castronovo is a last name worthy of either a mob kingpin or the stud who just delivered your pizza, to form Bad English. Surely someone out there considers "When I See You Smile" one of their 1989 guilty pleasures. Meanwhile bassist Ross Valory, one-time Journey keyboardist Gregg Rollie, and drummer Steve Smith joined forces as part of The Storm which had only one mid-range hit, "I've Got A Lot To Learn About Love". Moving back on message, "message" being the key word for this post, The prime hit making Journey line-up (Perry, Schon, Cain, Valory, and Smith) reunited in 1996 for "Trial By Fire" an album that proved with its adult contemporary smash "If You Love a Woman" that creative embers were still very much set to sizzling hot. The first single from Side A was "Message of Love" an apt song to celebrate the anniversary of the first Morse Code message being sent way back in 1844. By the way said message traveled from Washington DC to Baltimore. "Message of Love" gave me reason to think all the old wounds that had cropped up in the '80s had healed. The song opens with what's the rock equivalent of a symphony orchestra tuning up. There's a synthesis of notes at play. Before you know it, bang! Steve Smith demonstrates he hasn't missed a beat. His work is aggressive beyond the pale but not screeching "Look at me! Look at me!" he's more than capable of keeping up with Steve Perry's impassioned story of how one minute he's in the dark, love by his side, the next the king of fools alone in the shadows. Steve's finest hour comes at the moments of chorus repetition. With Neal and Jonathan's voices to spur him on, the results are incredible. This is the outfit that reached the pinnacle of success between 1981-1983. There's one passage at the bridge where Jonathan's keyboards bear a striking resemblance to that on "Separate Ways (Worlds Apart). What separates the two compositions is in "Message" Jonathan doesn't include that last highest note. All five of them have a track team's way with timing. Drums rumble underneath guitar. Keyboards glide down from a place in the heavens. Journey knows what fans like in a Journey record. This song lost none of the studio sophistication which made '"Frontiers" such a heart stopping record. Somehow they managed to recapture the extra pep from the early '80s era. No kowtowing to the middle of the road, tail end of alt-rock/dregs of grunge period for them. There's enough room for all five of them to demonstrate what makes Journey last and last and last. Steve Perry's pipes occupy a top shelf spot in the pantheon of legendary. Neal Schon blazes dynamite trails with a guitar that hasn't failed him since the smoking Santana days. Jonathan Cain illuminates the band's suave mystique with keyboard touches that keep one foot on the gas at all times. Ross Valory's bass is the deadliest of weapons. Steve Smith, as was mentioned earlier leaps right out of the starting gate, a stick toting thoroughbred who can't wait for the race to get going. As "Message" pulls to its freight train speed of sound defying conclusion on the wings of Perry's echoing query, "Do ya' hear me?" you come to appreciate how this band is skilled at the fine art of taking all that pent up passion, unleashing it in just the right places, and then politely figuring out when they've said what they came to say. Anybody who's had to sit through a tune of any genre where you're struck by the fact said tune is about 2 to 2 and a half minutes too long to be a worthy listen knows that knowing when to say when isn't just an important facet of alcohol consumption. Heavy handed songs can give you a nasty hangover, too. Unfortunately, this fab five reunion wasn't meant to last. Steve Perry injured his hip in Hawaii while preparing for what was to have been the "Trial By Fire" tour. Impatient the other band members insisted that either he have surgery to fix the problem or come back with the band for the grueling stint on the road. Steve balked so they walked. In his defense I can see why surgery is one of those personal details that doesn't necessarily fall under the umbrella of "group decision". That probably will always be one of my deepest regrets as a music aficionado. Journey had managed to make its fans forget there was essentially an eight years plus absence by uncorking an album where none of what made Journey a special band (at least to the listening public) had rusted with age. "Message of Love" sends an abundantly clear message. "We're Journey." "We strut our stuff better than anyone." "We give you the heart stopping goods time and again." Zero argument coming from me.

Speaking The Language of Guitar

In most bands not named Metallica (Right, Mr. Ullrich?), the guitarist assumes a royal position of importance. The identity of the band is wrapped up in what incredible feats a guitarist can bring to the table. Would Motley Crue's "Wild Side" have sounded quite as dangerous without Nikki Sixx and Mick Mars plunging fans into a seedy underworld of violence? How about Limp Bizkit's "Rollin"? Fred Durst wouldn't have come off as quite such a menace if Wes Borland hadn't pieced together the image of a bad boy revving up his Harley Davidson, hell bent on leaving his imprint with the masses, both male and female. In other cases the guitar can leave audiences less unsettled, more enchanted. The Dave Matthews Band, which is to contemporary music what gumbo is to New Orleans cuisine, left me feeling "cuddled" by the opening riffs of Dave's guitar on "So Much To Say". It was extremely limber, the warm up for a cosmic fusion of horns and drums. The Dave Matthews Band's core identity would appear to be find Point A in the road and let the quality of your supporting musicians carry you to heights airplanes at peak altitude can't get to. "Crash Into Me" does sound like waves crashing onto a venerable beach. Again, Dave deserves kudos for picking up his musical paintbrush and putting the finishing touches on a masterpiece of understated fret work so convincing you can smell the surf, watch the pigeons amble along the shore. There are certainly records where the more the guitarist gets a chance to showoff, the larger the payoff gets for both listener and artist. I'd like to present two hard rock classics as examples. "Hot For Teacher" is, in my opinion one of the all time great hard rock songs. Eddie Van Halen more than earned his living legend status based on the creativity he exhibited. The song could have easily allowed VH's core fan base to become easily spoiled. It's not enough Alex Van Halen pounded out one of the most sinfully breathtaking drum solos I've ever had the privilege of hearing but then here comes his brother unleashing an equally spine tingling set of snarling notes that came off like a miniature roller coaster ride. You couldn't believe the first twist just got surpassed by an even more logic defying twist. He essentially took his guitar and shoved it up the petard of anyone who wasn't yet convinced Eddie was a wunderkind. To make matters even more astounding he laid down a second blistering ear electrifier at the bridge. I'm especially impressed by the juncture where Alex's drumming serves as the backboard for the volleys Eddie slams against the wall. Then there's "Rock You Like a Hurricane" by The Scorpions, one of the best things Germany ever shared with us. This band knew what heavy metal was supposed to sound like, ridiculously bombastic but with an insane sense of forged in steel musicianship.Make no mistake, Klaus Meine is one of the A-list lead singers but Rudolf Schenker absolutely set the rock world on fire with his piranha fang guitar efforts. You couldn't possibly call yourself a diehard metalhead if chills weren't doing an Indy 500 style race up and down your spine. It's nice when artistic contenders triumph over pretenders. Rudolf killed. Not just a guitar but a relentless surge of intimidation that never stepped away from fourth gear. That there is an ideal time capsule moment of rock life in the early '80s. The second decade of the 2000s does have at least one commendable example of a guitar meant to stun, here in a ponderous salute to enjoying it when your man roughs you up a bit. Politically  incorrect? Quite possibly. Mad right down to the tips of its toes? As if you had to ask. The band in question is New Jersey's Halestorm. Their single "I Miss The Misery" makes the notion of rough sex sound more playful than pugilistic. Not only is Lzzy Hale one of the most attention commanding female hard rock vocalists in recent memory (Her portion of the recent remake of Lita and Ozzy's "Close My Eyes Forever" was a winning tribute to a superb hard rock ballad) she knows how to sink her teeth into her instruments, both voice and guitar. To make "I Miss The Misery" sound convincing, those notes have to take you into the middle of Lzzy's domestic battlefield where you believe her when she claims to favor fighting with her squeeze over a tranquil night in front of the TV. The pistol smoke is still warm by the time this domestic slice of warfare is over. While there's no pool shark showing off on this track, Lzzy makes her point by biting down and refusing to deal with her veil deprived hostility issues. You really buy the idea she likes it rough. In cases like the bridge featured in Olivia Newton John's workout orgy "Physical" this guitar manages to crank up the provocative overtones even higher than before. Olivia already had spelled out her intentions. The playing that followed only accelerated the machinations of the sweat glands even more. Music has a sensational history of a guitar employed to spectacular effect. This instrument is the engine driving many rock vehicles. Next time you settle in for a new or old school tune, remember why the hairs on the back of your neck are saluting. I know many of my most memorable music moments hatched due to a guitar being given license to fly.

The Brothers Johnson Pen a Letter For The Ages

Good evening, fruit aficionados. Today is Strawberry Picking Day. It's for this reason I want to revisit one of my all-time favorite old school R & B jams which comes from The Brothers Johnson. The song is called "Strawberry Letter 23". I'm spellbound by how sparkling the arrangements are and also by how there's a compelling mixtures of funk shadings. Your musical palate isn't overwhelmed by any one flavor. The way they come together in a takes your breath away carnival of coolness still sounds stellar some 36 years later. For starters the keyboard notes at the beginning and end sound like they were plucked right out of a little girl's music box, the type where, if you opened it, a ballerina in full pirouette might start twirling for your amusement. As was the case with a lot of top '70s R & B classics, bass isn't just nudged into the spotlight, it gets treated like royalty. The drumming is inserted in just the right spaces to promote a celebratory atmosphere that hardly seems to touch ground. The backup chorus keeps all moods at an elevated positive level. Then there's that guitar passage at the bridge. Wouldn't that sound extremely weird on LSD? Pity you if you try because it's one of those marquis musical moments that deserves to be fully appreciated without being too self-medicating. The chords seem to bathe themselves in various equally captivating rays of pure sunlight. I myself enjoy this song because it takes me back to my kindergarten days at Casis Elementary. Love the school both then and now. Lyrically how honeysuckle sweet can you be? Where else could you be privy to "sunshine pink and blue" or "playgrounds will laugh if you try to ask 'is it cool?' 'is it cool?' or "yellow candy screen". This is one of those songs that really does have the power to soothe you to sleep. You're desensitized as if you'd just entered a whirlpool bath. There's nothing that beats you over the head and says, "Love me or I'll die of emotional malnutrition". Subtle is admirable. All the frills come in the songwriting and those are stripped of any signs of worldly angst. Again, let's hear it for a ditty that doesn't seek to change the world in some before vs. after way. There's a place for that. There's a much hipper place for "Strawberry Letter 23". That place is in the sweet spot down your spine where hanging loose is, is they say, easy peasy. 1977 became a niftier year thanks to the succulent taste of this darling "Strawberry". No matter what time of day, it's ripe for the picking. If you haven't dropped by this strawberry patch, I invite you to have a sample. It's berry nice.

Be Sure to Say Hello to Lady Antebellum's Goodbye Town

Lady Antebellum proved to me they know their way around the country-pop hybrid territory with their bittersweet jewel "Need You Now". Equal parts unguarded moment and comforting strumming it earned its title of country and pop radio mainstay. "Goodbye Town", the second single from the trio's new "Golden" foray possesses the wistful lilt of romantic finality. Charles Kelley's ache is undeniable. He's the voice of a million people who want desperately to get out of Nowheresville USA and make a fresh go somewhere where the teeth marks of an unfriendly past aren't so unbearably fresh. Dave Haywood tosses his Lipton soup mix bounty of sensitively applied guitars to this dance. After he's seen fit to shine the light on piano then this song's earthiness quotient improves by leaps and bounds. Make no mistake, Charles excels at producing a wounded animal aesthetic that is a testament to his discipline as a vocalist. He's in tatters over the woman who's going to be sorry when he moves on. He's tied up in knots over the prospect of having to leave the town he's grown accustomed to accepting, warts and all, yet he knows if he's ever to know what standing on his own two feet instead of following in the footsteps of another, he must move along. As usual Hillary Scott's vocal contribution is curvy in all the right places. Music strikes a recognizable chord when it focuses on the ever necessary escape from whatever evil form reality has chosen to assume this time. This town is well worth the cosmic "gas money" it takes you to load it on IPod. Very delicate treatment of subject matter that's never easy to wrestle with. Lady Antebellum has forged a solid reputation for making it look easy.

LL Cool J and Friends Make Some Authentic Wordplay

LL Cool J and the hip-hop crowds go hand in hand like peanut butter and jelly. "Whaddup", the latest single from Ladies Love Cool James's new set "Authentic" is sure to please not only the hip-hop camp but also the rock and pop/rock faithful too. That's because L put out the call to Blink 182's drummer Travis Barker and he answered with the backbone that's responsible for this track's swagger. Trip-Z is on hand to inject some undeniably fine scratch action behind the turntable, a feat that this master of his corner of the arts pulls off with heightened aplomb. Then there's the venomous guitar stylings of Rage Against The Machine's Tom Morello. His band is already endowed with the license to go guns blazing into any topic which gets its fancy going. Still, this is LL Cool J's baby and he hasn't lost his touch with hammering down maximum street menace topped off with the stage presence we all knew he carried around as preternatural talent since the "I Need Love" days back in '87. This man's gone every possible extra mile to make his rap fantasies turn to platinum, double platinum, and yes, triple platinum. Fellow rap pioneer Chuck D from ball busters Public Enemy is an enviable touch but even if Chuck was called away on similar old school business LL Cool J owns those streets as if he bent over and personally graffiti tagged each one. You bet he doesn't settle for the silver nor has he been so caught up collaring the baddies on prime time TV that he forgot the side his bread has largely been buttered on. Maybe he sports a thicker layer of studio polish but his edge and flair for spelling out the naked truth of his world remains a viable cultural force.

Golden Earring Knows Its Way Around The Twilight Zone

It's not so easy for groups with a decades-long history to pass through the rinse cycles of changing tastes without losing some artistic credibility along the way. For example Jefferson Airplane started out as one of those outfits where you could smell the drug inhalations on tracks like the ubiquitous "White Rabbit". When the '60s bled into the '70s and the Airplane got revamped into Jefferson Starship it added a contemporary rock sheen that didn't compromise the original mission of what the Airplane set out to do. In the case of "Dreams" the band even landed a top 5 seller. Exit the '70s "Me Decade". Enter the '80s  in which having it and flaunting it got comically ridiculous. The early '80s saw Jefferson Starship still maintaining its dignity. I confess YouTube is what I have to thank for being able to revisit the fist in you face toughness of "Stranger", which came out whilst Aynsley Dunbar was still the drummer. I drool in awe at how jacked up his work was. His sticks jabbed you right in the mush until, like a journeyman fighter, you came to like being belted. By the mid-'80s Paul Kantner and Grace Slick's discordant legal dust-up left both that marriage and the Jefferson Starship name compromised. Paul fought to slice off the Jefferson half for himself. What remained was Starship, an incarnation of the once integrity-rooted band that caused a pretty profound wave of reverse peristalsis (chunk blowing) when it unleashed "We Built This City" on a head-scratching public. Personally I think that song is a harmless adult contemporary single. Is it the pinnacle of the band's career? From a chart standpoint I'd be tempted to say yes. The artsy purists would likely say they collectively opted to stick 45 caliber pistols down their throats. Unshakably sanitized it might be. The apocalypse realized? Not so much. Like Jefferson Airplane, Golden Earring's career got its humble start in the '60s. Yet another example of a band whose fortunes were, for however brief a time, kick started by submitting a vid clip to MTV. In the band's defense, its 1982 goose pimple promoter "Twilight Zone" could've delivered its sizable punch to the masses without demonstrating to the media circuses it could juggle style alongside substance. In 2013, the band's appeal has been relegated to its Dutch home turf. The gifts they've left American audiences are twofold. "Radar Love" sounds like wind at your back. Harley Davidson torque under your fanny. Bugs in your teeth. In essence, just the kind of greasy long-haired morsel of subtlety devoid rock machismo that the '70s had in spades. "Twilight Zone", which peaked at #10 in Billboard Magazine in 1983 is to this day a chilling experience. From the second Rinus Gerritsen checks in with those macabre keyboards you know you just left the security of your warm bed. Fasten the seat belts. Be really sure of who and where you are. Your life's about to get ghoulish. It's no understatement for me to say that every note is a nonstop descent into undiluted madness. One long roller coaster ride of rampant nervousness, vulnerability, and prevalent fear. Nothing like peeking in on the psyche of a man who doesn't know where to go now that's he's gone too far already. If "Soon you will come to know (ka-boom) when the bullet hits the bone". isn't a hall of fame musical sentiment then the bar for excellence needs to be given complete examination. If I knew the trade secret for what makes a tantalizing pop/rock single I'd bottle it and become snobbishly rich. I'd have to think it's about having the horse sense to know where each piece of the jigsaw puzzle ought to fit and combining that with the pitch perfect timing that studio coordination can offer. Rinus's bass breathes down your neck with each loop. Danger is on your tail and it's going to get its due whether you're prepared for it or not. Vocalist George Kooymans masters taking listeners on a vicarious trip to the epicenter of his unreliable heartbeat. If you're coated in his sweat after listening, don't say I didn't warn you. Cesar Zuiderwijk drums with a series of malicious thuds. At the bridge his skins echo the peril of thunderclaps in a driving storm, which is fitting given that's just the sort of weather Austin had last night. Sawed off. Nuisance enough to prevent you from nudging even one rung away from red alert. Barry Hay, the other tonsil flasher at this demonic dance, sings with an urgency to match George's. Both Barry and George mesh flawlessly during their respective turns on guitar. If it's possible to unearth a kernel of rock raunch from within this flood of fearfulness they've turned the trick. An even more impressive trick is that "Twilight Zone", while undeniably (to me anyway) an unsettling voyage through a crypt-littered looking glass, doesn't succumb to the bombast hair metal bands could make an enviable living staking their reps on. Restraint is commendable (Yes, that means you Nicki Minaj) whether in the creative lifespans of divas, country boys, or, in this case, veteran album rock radio yarn spinners. Golden Earring knew when they'd maximized the throttle. Once you've got your audience by the scruff of the neck, don't strangulate them. Lesson learned. The reward for the band was their final trip to the American top 10. For us it is the friendly wink that comes from knowing where all those goosebumps came from. This concludes my salute to Twilight Zone Day. Feel free to towel yourselves off upon noticing the house lights just came back up.

Various Edgy Quirks Bring Character To The Neighbourhood

When you wake from sleep a readjustment process kicks into gear. You're blending back in with the relative safety of your bedroom and its various accessories. Reality's harder edges come back into focus. The common thread throughout California indie-pop's The Neighbourhood's first full length CD "I Love You" is an enticing bank of musical fog draped over globetrotting man of mystery plot devices. Numb is captivating on all songs. That's the polar opposite reaction you'd have to pre-sleep lethargy, the physical stimuli of your day to day as soft and non-confrontational as it's going to get. Vocalist Jesse Rutherford deserves kudos for his uncompromisingly molded windows into numerous prickly sentimental questions. For example "Alley Ways" delivers a hefty hunk of childhood nostalgia that doesn't commit the sin of being ladled on so thick that you can't taste the bare bones of the composition. As for "Everybody's Watching Me (Uh Oh)" the pea soup fog rolls out with undeniable fervor, particularly at the end where Jesse's journey towards an escape valve scales the rungs of precariousness. "How" ponders Supreme Being existence within the parameters of an eerie, ominous playscape. Bryan Sammis is no lightweight on drums. Jesse stumbles after the answer to how he could be labeled "great" if the she in his life spits on him. Jesse's thwarted conversational closure merits repeated listenings. "Afraid" similarly charts a course in which Jesse's lyrical bravado isn't (O, the irony) afraid to violate its adversary's discomfort zone. "You suck anyway" rates as pretty scathing dismissive exchange of idea. "WDYWFM (What Do You Want From Me)" peels back the raw wound incurred by wobbly male-female attempts to break through ice. Jesse's left presuming he's the something wrong in that relationship. Seeds of doubt seldom blossom into a beautiful flower. The wobbly note progression is apt for this arena of war games with one's own psyche. Hip-hop intelligence rears its nappy head during "Staying Up". Not necessarily what you'd expect from a song opening with a retro toy piano pattern. Though The Neighbourhood is tagged as indie-rock "Staying Up" possesses a wordsmith's wizardry with as much business scratch factoring as likes of a Jay-Z or Lil' Wayne. These lyrics hint at wildly misplaced priorities. The man's got no food to eat. He's in his basement crankin' out rap beats. His marquee question is: "If I can't dream how can I sleep?" Ideal graveyard hours poetry. Existentialists rejoice. "Float" has your million dollar pearl of wisdom, namely the statement: "Life only means partly anything." What a magnificent bolt of rock lightning again decorated in voyeurism worthy intrigue. This is one neighborhood you should visit. So much character.

Commander Cody and His Lost Planet Airmen Salute The Big Cheese

Boy howdy, do I have a treat for you. In honor of International No Diet Day, today's menu consists of "Two Triple Cheese Side Order of Fries." You can thank Austin's Commander Cody and His Lost Planet Airmen for that musical mouthful. Cheesy? Yup. Campy? Um...maybe a little. Riotously funny? Never a doubt. At the church of the unholy cheeseburger, Cody's the high priest and you know somewhere in your sinful side of the brain you want to get thee to that church as often as is humanly possible. When I was a wee lad McDonald's played a major role in my eating universe. I've had not one, not two, but three birthday celebrations there. So what I'm saying is I'm already a charter member. The video looks like it was made on a K-Mart sized budget but that doesn't distract from its inherent lovableness. What other video's gonna show you ketchup drippings all over a guitar? What other video's got the stones to show a cute black dog as a joking connective reference to what goes in the beef patties? In the dining hemisphere nothing says let your hair down quite like cheeseburgers and fries. Country star Charley Pride figured that out. Margarita swilling Jimmy Buffet got the message. Everything about "Two Triple Cheese Side Order of Fries" carries a combination of spandex tight harmonizing and goofy lyrics. I'll have to trust them on the Velveeta sticking like glue part since I to this day have never had Velveeta as a go with for any culinary attraction. The guitar work is hairpin turn chilling. The drums tap out a morse code of munch magnificence (Yes, I know. speak of cheese what about this nerd's alliteration?). Every time the band's impeccable chorus line delivers the titular tastiness the subliminal lure grows even harder to resist. Why don't they just scrawl that on people's forehead and have done already? Grease dripping down one's thighs? Absolutely a deal-clincher. Commander Cody and friends cooked up one for the books with this savory treat. It's worth loosening the notches on your belt.

French Alt-Rockers Phoenix Demonstrate How They're Not Creatively Bankrupt.

Care to sample the cosmopolitan world of European jet setters? You'll get your fill and then some with "Bankrupt!" the latest installment in the artistic lives of Phoenix, the Versailles, France four-piece band that dates back to 1999, a year when Ricky Martin unleashed the ultimate party anthem "Livin' La Vida Loca" on America's eardrums. Why the tangent? Because Phoenix offers exotic suave masculine pleasures in its own right. How about a quick hike to China? No budget for the real deal? No problem. "Entertainment", the opening track is a respectable substitute. All it needs is imagery of Kung Fu movies with godawful voice tracking. You know, where the lips don't match the speech. Laurent Brancowitz and Deck D'Arcy sprinkle out the seasoning from their keyboards as if they were Iron Chefs unafraid to test the boundaries of what makes too zesty an appetizer. If sluggish is your recurring nightmare, how about a slug of "The Real Thing". It plays off as Mr. Innocent but zooms from zero to explosive in a heartbeat. Thomas Hedlund, although not a credited member of the band, deserves due praise for the grunt work he puts in behind the drums. Chunky impressions between your ears are a foregone conclusion. If you really miss the forbidden fruit, earthy sensations of college rock radio from the early '90s, then "SOS In Bel Air is comfort succor indeed. Most alt-rock playlists would lap this riveting delight up from the start. Kudos for how touchable "Trying To Be Cool" is. By touchable I mean it's not so exotic that few programmers would touch this baby with a super-sized baguette. It's on this track where vocalist Thomas Mars gets to lean in a little closer and project every ounce of his man of mystery Euro persona all over listeners. Seduction is the key activity unfurling. The bass and alto guitars both crook their pinkies and offer the love-starved the hard-ons they crave most.Thank Laurent and Christian Mazzalai for that. Here the pacing is reasonably subdued but not so much so that you can't grab suitable whiffs of Mr. Mar's magnetic cologne. The playfulness is only underscored by a dizziness keyboard bombardment which gets itself organized to form a tight, electrifying acceleration of moods. Keys also star in the Phoenix parade during "Chloroform" which is too lively to merit that moniker and "Don't" which as an option for leisure listening is a surefire "do". Mr. Hedlund's drums chug along the Phoenix track without a hint of first gear ascending to dominate as the reigning speed level. Phoenix is to be commended for  its commitment to large scale, primary color, rock experimentation that refuses to muzzle itself. If creative bankruptcy is a commercial sin, then Phoenix doesn't have to kneel before a higher power anytime soon. The flavors are bold and hold up well long after the last drop slides down your throat.

Peter Schilling Scored a Major Hit When He Blasted Into Deep Space

Time for what I hope will be an out of this world post to honor Space Day. The late '70s-early 80s time frame was fertile ground for creative geniuses with an outer space fixation. The Star Wars juggernaut got its start in 1977. Space Invaders became an arcade phenom late in the decade. Other video games like Asteroids, Astro Blaster, and Galaxian hit their marketplace strides. MTV kept the space theme soaring with "Video Killed The Radio Star", a song by The Buggles which happened to be the first vid MTV played. One early '80s song that had paranoia written all over it was "Why Me" from Tony Carey's Planet P Project. If you want some goofy low-tech creep factor fun I urge you to YouTube the video. By today's standards it's pretty innocuous but when MTV first got rolling this clip was more than a little spooky. Synthpop artist Peter Schilling threw his space cowboy hat in the ring with 1983's "Major Tom (Coming Home)". Spine tingling fun across the board. You're thrust right into the outer space mania of the song right at the start. Pete's synths grab you by the lapels without asking you if you've buckled your safety belt. Essentially the song takes us through the titular hero's pre-flight prep for launch into the great unknown. The ship and the instruments in side are ready for take off. Tom's trying to get comfy inside the capsule. Twice Peter uncorks that familiar "4,3,2,1" countdown which leads up to the somewhat triumphant declaration of "Earth below us". The synths competently match the unstoppable enthusiasm of one man's mission in space. That includes the slot after the second countdown sequence where the synth sounds like it's on a helmet on supercharged race to the highest ceilings of the galaxy right there with Tom. When issues start arising on ship, there's plenty of worry to go around. No response from Tom after the go to rockets are full. After Tom sends a missive to his adoring wife, the line goes flat. The synthesizers convey the muddled layers of confusion that race up the spines of Tom's nearest and dearest as well as casual onlookers. Though sparingly used bass guitar takes a gritty place within the inner workings of this flight. Make no mistake though, it's Peter's synths that keep the drama at a fever pitch with a splash of thinly concealed madness. You wait for the ship and the dreams that went with it to explode into a million pieces but Tom's assurance that: "I'm coming home", lets you know everything in its bizarre fashion worked out as it should. "Earth below us. Drifting. Falling." There's an athletic conqueror lurking in those sentiments. Peter succeeded with "Major Tom (Coming Home) because his contribution to the fascinating aural wallpaper spread out throughout 1983 did what in my opinion a whole passel of 1983 hits did...take listeners to exotic worlds that reminded them there really were breathtaking frontiers beyond their front doors. "Major Tom (Coming Home) aspired to take us away from it all. The result was singularly impressive. Unfortunately Peter's chart successes didn't extend past the one song. I very much enjoyed his 1989 effort "Different Story (World of Lust and Crime). Perhaps listeners thought Peter had no business foraying into more dance pop territory. I appreciated the diversion. In any case if Peter is only to be remembered for "Major Tom (Coming Home)" that's no small legacy for future music lovers to feast their ears upon.