Pages

Saturday, January 31, 2015

Halestorm Proves Its Mind-Blowing Mettle With "Apocalyptic"

I'd hate to be too close to Lzzy Hale when she gets pissed off. Fair of me to make that claim after having listened to her band Halestorm's "I Miss The Misery". She likes life on the ragged edge. Not much has changed upon close listen to "Apocalyptic". If you like your hard rock served to you with added crunch that's really great news. Elizabeth's vocal intensity could melt walls. Shame on you all for thinking only the guys could sing with that level of bite. Lizzy's had it up to her with the guy who hasn't proven himself worthy of her affections. Put up or shut up time is drawing close. "Love me apocalyptic!" she demands. Liz completely gets what in the moment living means. Now or never, babe. Lay your cards on the table or cash in the chips. Searing, heat stroke inducing off the bat, through the middle frames, and headed straight for home. Halestorm's mean driving machine stops at detours for no mere mortal. Not only that they've developed a keen sense for what makes a video a true ball breaker. Your heart goes through the Cuisinart slowly, cunningly, with scant little breathing room for the mercy you'd like to be gifted by. Halestorm embodies team effort here. Lizzy wouldn't come off as half the guns blazing vixen she is without brother Arejay's concise yet no less electrifying work behind the drums. Bassist Josh Smith lays down his virtuosity thick, sturdy concrete mixer style. Meanwhile Joe Hottinger strums newfound passion into every stroke. As backdrops to final verdict lovemaking go this relentless nape grabber seeks to make you smirk less unabashedly the farther into the track you go. Not much of a subtlety fan? Halestorm won't subject you to such niceties. I do recommend you don triple ply underwear as you listen. Some of those stiffer edges are bound to make you wince with delight down below your Mason Dixon line. Arejay uses restraint as he hammers away. So though Liz's message comes right out and declares itself, Arejay doesn't use sis's animal ferociousness as an excuse to pounce off the porch in his own right. He knows when to forge ahead and when to let sis take the lead. The lyrics confirm "Into The Wild Life" was a sage choice for a title for their new album. Liz wants Romeo to do unspeakable things to her such as bite her on the neck. True love a la vampire. A little eerie but whom am I to quibble with what apparently works for other people. She wears her nine inch heels to bed. That's for her mother to fret over. "Give me a red hand print across my ass." I'm imagining therapy wouldn't come anywhere close to helping this woman to be closer to all right in the head. That's marvelous fortune for us hard rock lovers. Mental sanity doesn't tend to run hand in hand with being a hard rock tradesman. Where do you think that certain extra edge comes from? Throw me against the wall? Death wish much? She's not complaining so why should any of us mind? "Apocalyptic" doesn't fly into beast mode like "I Miss The Misery" but don't mark that as a demerit. "Apocalyptic"'s slightly slower mentality allows Liz to let her intentions, wants, and desires to be known clear as the proverbial bell. Here we have an example of message music that had better not leave anyone asking questions of what's going on. Lizzy has emphatically cleared the air to the point where your sinuses will never be clearer. "Apocalyptica" fires on all cylinders which spells trouble for you would be Romeos out there who might find yourselves going from "loved" to "lost" before you even have time to know what hit you. Pain and passion merge into one with saliva surging results.

Tuesday, January 27, 2015

Don't Skip Kelly Clarkson's "Heartbeat Song"

What peppiness you have Kelly Clarkson. All the better to make us think she dipped her vocal paintbrush into the ready made Katy Perry cheerfulness aesthetic. Either that or she's done her homework on slickly produced '80s harmonies. A constant among Kelly's recorded output would definitely be her tough girl mystique. "Since U Been Gone" rocked hard, grabbed guys by the testicles and dared them to mess with her. Conversely "Because Of You", another Kelly classic I like, albeit for polar opposite reasons tosses Kelly into damsel in distress mode. The layers of unresolved issue are there but without Kelly's in your face choice of octaves "Because Of You" could have easily dropped to the level of forgettable button pusher. Jumping ahead to January 2015, "Heartbeat Song" deserves credit for being upfront about what it's providing its audience. Be prepared to get warm fuzzies unlike anything she's unveiled before. It's her heartbeat song and she's going to play it. The arrangements stick to the script rather than rove about from bottled rage to lightning bolt between the eyes like "Since U Been Gone" or milk the angst cow like "Because of You". You'd be forgiven for suspecting "Heartbeat Song" stands out as Kelly's most processed sounding vocal performance to date. That shouldn't stop anyone from enjoying Kelly's pure spunk taken in another direction. What decade has she landed in? Not very important. Say you're in the middle of one of those days at the office that doesn't want to let its tentacles off of you. Nothing goes right. Spilled coffee all over the boss. Your current odds of getting promoted are slim to none and slim just left the room. "Heartbeat Song", when played on iPod, far away from the disapproving glances of co-workers, can restore your even keel to like new pristine in...um...a heartbeat. Of course you could slam Kelly for not insisting on an adventurous first cut from "Piece By Piece" but no malice was or is intended. The song's fun. Chorus does tug hard on the repetitive side of the pleasure spectrum but the fact it's too bouncy to be believed saves it from treading into migraine enhancing territory. For an artist of Kelly's caliber it's vital that the musicians playing with her or for that matter that programmed beats buoying her are worth the cosmic energy Kelly's throwing in there. Well played, record company. Perhaps the time was right in Kelly's steady career for a palate cleanser that divested itself of the amplification, electrical, or relationship that is usually part and parcel to what Kelly brings to the dance. Sexually provocative yet accessible to anyone staking out motivation set to an undiluted hook "Heartbeat Song" seldom skips its chances to endear itself to us. I'd like more hands cranked to fourth gear in future singles but "Heartbeat Song" earns the right to be respected on its own merits.

Saturday, January 24, 2015

Simply Put, Guster Works Magic Stressing the Light-Hearted

Don't be fooled by Boston band Guster's song titled "Simple Machine". There's precious little simple about it. As cosmic soups go this one doesn't sit in your stomach too heavily. As a matter of fact "Simple Machine" possesses the quirkiness of several tunes from The Cars, an old school Boston group. As was true for their predecessors in Boston-based tune making, Guster winks at you as if to communicate, "Yeah, we're not taking ourselves too seriously either." If you miss the '80s in all their keytar new wave goodness then "Simple Machine" is made to order. Anchoring the track you'll notice a drum set to metronome like precision timing. It isn't until much later that the aesthetic changes to where programmed drums hand the floor over to a tropical island thump that tells us the guys aren't resting on their alt-rock laurels. No shortage of bounciness allows the song to mold itself into an ideal fit for what co-lead vocalists Adam Gardner and Ryan Miller are sharing with us. Speak of the word game time to open up the hood and see what constitutes the engine within. Upfront I can assure you Adam and Ryan measure their poetry, thus allowing us space to inhale it as deeply as possible. "Static, steady, plastic, motion." Kind of random dictionary talk like "Mouthwash, jukebox, gasoline", three words lifted from Beck's "Devil's Haircut". Not unlike Beck I'm getting a pretty fair impression these mad geniuses know exactly what they're about and why they're about it. To continue we next hear "Lights flash, beating, almost, breathing." In each case the words tap dance hand in hand with the keyboards Adam's applying. You weren't expecting a grade school vocabulary lesson set to an impishly cute rhythm but sometimes the unexpected becomes reality in all its warped glory. Adam's voice intimates he's not voyaging to any one spot in particular. Wherever he winds up, he's pleased as punch to make it there. "Simple Machine" revels in its oddball status which allows us to rise to the same level of raw pleasure it's already arrived at. Amid the many scattered supposedly unconnected vocabulary words, Adam bares his soul in confessing he'll never find his way back home. So are we to surmise the random word speak amounts to bread crumbs that have been eaten by pigeons as soon as he's laid them on the ground in hopes of finding his way out of the underbrush should he become entangled unwittingly? Could be. That's a Guster secret I imagine. Separate from dashed off nouns and not at all boring to put under the microscope arises one uniquely spun line in particular. We're used to hearing defiant contemporaries sure of their footing convey "I will get by on my own." In Guster's realm that's been jiggered to read as: "So just forget about me. I will get by on myself." Were they trying to flip flop "on" and "by" as a dyslexic does as a matter of the condition he or she suffers from? Maybe not but the speculation game alone is worth the trouble of asking. Blink and you'll miss the piano support Ryan adds to the mix. There does come a point where we wonder how much paint thinner this foursome has been ingesting. Need proof? How about "Wise up, scarecrow, this is treason." Mumbling of someone not too dissimilar to the wacky head trippers who mumble their way home on the city bus. You want to know who the kook's talking to but not so much that you want to meet the business end of his knife blade. "Simple Machine" gets the job done on the adrenaline pumped from percussion, keys, and voice box working together to gift us with the sum of its parts plus something extra for us to remember the sojourn on the ride home.

Wednesday, January 21, 2015

Starset's "Carnivore" Worth Sinking Your Teeth Into

There's something ominous about rock outfit Starset's "Carnivore"...and I think it turns me on. I'm moved from various angles. Delicious move to start with a little orchestral bass strings. But don't get too comfortable with that arrangement. Drums and guitar round the bend to kick your butt's butt before you even know what's coming over you. If you're going to delve into a little science fiction uneasiness you've got to have in your grasp a vocalist who brings it when the chips are on the line. Dustin Bates plays that role well. Starset has been classified as cinematic rock. Can you deny them the title with the swirls of production value penetrating each rise and fall of the harmonies. Apparently changing the world's one of those impossible bets where the deck's already stacked in your favor before you sit down at the poker table. Dustin warns the young that they can't change the world, that nobody wants to hear their words. The chorus doesn't leave anything to the imagination. Dustin basically asks the carnivore to swallow him whole. Talk about throwing in the towel and sticking the fork in yourself before the coffin lid has a chance to shut. The principle behind the band's Starset Society lies with posing the question "What if you had the power to effect monumental change?" The meaty guitar hooks convey the big imagination behind that question. Drum wise enough power packed in to grab, maintain, and reorient your attention. As a unit these guys do earn their cinematic rock stripes. You need only add popcorn and Twizzlers to obtain the full Starset experience. The underground den of hopelessness they've transported us to reverberates mightily. No chord progressions forget to bring purpose along for the ride. Upon opening listen you aren't sure what voyage you're buying into but you'd like to think it was and will continue to be time and money well spent. Adam Gilbert works up a full gratifying sweat behind the kit. The music's the message and Starset's drives him to amp up his intensity level. Brock Richards puts the meat in this carnivore cacophony by going for the jugular at picture perfect moments. The state of Ohio has reason to rejoice. Some hometown hunks are threatening to make good as rock seeking to bring originality back into the lexicon of music language. At least the concept, the sub-genre, and the marketing pasted together to launch this puppy are unique. You know how programmers shudder to steer away from formula if formula brings cash to the operation. Carnivore brings meat to the slaughter but doesn't leave you the rock audience stuck with the off-putting stringy grizzle in your teeth. This clever diversion from the rank and file rock offerings leaves me craving a second act to this drama. Dustin has the emotional heft to pull off future greatness with his hands tied behind his back.

Sunday, January 18, 2015

Sophia Grace Friendly Enough But Too High On Cuteness Factor

Many of you who watch Ellen on her talk show are likely familiar with the so cute you'd get an instant sugar coma tyke named Sophia Grace. Get ready to say you presided over the dawn of the cuteness empire that launched Mary-Kate and Ashley Olsen to riches most of us can only dream of us. Each inch of "Best Friends" is flooded in cuteness. That smile causes you to consider reducing your candy intake by 100% or more. Her dancing gives saccharine a bad name. She succeeds in being friendly so no quibbles there. As you might have expected from a good girl attacking the bad boy turf of rap there's an overdone boys in the hood rap grit pulsating in the background. Make no doubt about it Sophia's being marketed in the most effective way possible. Every angle's played up for maximum adorableness. Sophia's got your back and she's not shy about reminding you about where her dedication lies. At the top her silky utterance "It's my number one girl" sounds like it was blow dried within an inch of its life to obtain this beautiful people cred. Little girls can be the most devoted buds when they set their minds to it. We're talking BFFs forever. One question. Why is it that Sophia and her girl squad go googly-eyed in a KMart. Possibly some kind of Ellen approved marketing tie-in. I realize their excitement stems from the brand spanking new toys they intended on spiriting off with but KMart? That's the place I'm usually happy to run screaming away from but that's just me. "Best Friends" constitutes one would-be homegirl's rap-tinged frolic through the wonders of adorableness. She has your back for the long haul. Boys be warned you're dealing with a females only club here. Sophia's eyes twinkle in a fashion that puts on a rare plateau that only the Olsen twins in their '80s conglomerate heyday could have come anywhere close to. In the video, Sophia and her friends show off their...um...friendliness in numerous quaint styles. Be it in Sophia's home, at KMart or on a cheerleader appropriate sound stage, big hugs and all, the girls send us their simple message but it's sent our way devoid of affectation. From that stance cute's their lone trump card. You can tack on inner city bad boy rap synths as a means of making the little girls come across as playas but you'd have to be suffering from blunt trauma to the head not to get how high gloss salesmanship is driving this train. It's not Sophia's fault. She's only following the money trail. Who amongst us wouldn't take that bet. I'm hinting that it's wise not to confuse "Best Friends" as a track that supposed to be absorbed as anything other than a cute girl cashing the cuteness check all the way to the cuteness bank. "Best Friends" is a better than average example of how style has got substance in a hammerlock. If you're cool with that the song could serve a laudable purpose as a mood lifter. Otherwise it's only amiable fluff not designed to do anything other that turn those digital streams into a mighty river.

Friday, January 16, 2015

Kid Rock Pours Out a Thunderous Slab of Rock With "First Kiss"

Oh...Lordy...be. Kid Rock's unloaded the most melodic accessible pedal to the metal rocker of his entire career. That's what's called stepping up to the three-point stripe and swishing it like nobody's business. "First Kiss" doesn't abscond with the Detroit bad ass you've come to know and love. Only thing that's happened is his gruff exterior softens so you can clearly make out the honey dripper underneath. There's not a disparaging word I have to impart about this. His backing band on this effort plays freewheeling. Each of them is fully invested in what he's doing. The drummer connects righteous rhythms again and again. Over on guitar we've got a gentlemen who's verve matches Kid Rock's chops. Our hero (or is that anti-hero?) has himself caught up in a nostalgic stir. Allow me to demonstrate. He flashes back to vintage memories focusing on his old Cheyenne truck, Jenny Clayton (his first girlfriend) listening to Tom Petty on the radio. There's a shot of whiskey blowing on the wind no doubt. Kid glorifies having only time to spend being that he was flat broke. I'm impressed by how he seems to float on the wings of all those flashbacks as if he could get to the moon and back and not even break a sweat. Leave it to him to breathe new blood into the whole remember when concept. It's been done to death more times than I can count but he grabs a hose, wipes the engine down and proceeds to have this concept sparkling like nostalgia was invented by Kid and Kid alone. Here the video gleams backwards and forwards. You know these bros take pride in strutting their stuff. My hat's off to the photographer. He captured the footloose euphoria down to the last frame. Whether he wants to cotton to it or not, Kid's matured in a major way. "Bawitaba" was the work of a cocky young buck (and yes, I liked it immensely). "First Kiss" wins the war because it is in no way excluding anybody from the party. Kid's never lacked an ability to captivate someone's attention after he's laid claim to it. He copped the street tough vibe on "Bawitaba". Time has mellowed him and make no mistake he's not a weaker man for doing so. Mellowing in his case does not mean growing lame. He'd likely beat you down for assuming such a thing. If his harder edges have been soften the asset revealed here takes the form of his giddy enthusiasm shining through without a glare peeking through his shades. Does he maintain ready stamina? You better believe that's the case. First note to last he keeps the jamboree hopping and disappoints absolutely no one. The guitarist skitters up and down the fret like he's reliving the sunny times Kid's drawing reference to. Add a col' beer and you'll be in eighth heaven because seventh heaven's too watered down to measure up to what Kid and crew are dishing out. "First Kiss" hopefully won't be the last outstanding track culled from this rebel's album. He's thrown down the gauntlet to any rock artist out there who dares to leave an even bigger imprint in the memory bank in this infant stage of 2015.

Tuesday, January 13, 2015

Glass Animals Leave Us Lost In Their Gooey Mess

What is it? Oxford's Glass Animals leave me that nagging question upon listening to "Gooey". Do any of you out there (I could likely count the answer on one hand) remember the NutraSweet commercial that told us the best way to tell you what NutraSweet is is to tell you what it isn't? For my money the best way to tell what "Gooey" is would be to tell you what I think it isn't. It's isn't a guitar enthusiast's masterpiece. Too much of a delicate soft peddle going on. It isn't going to satiate your cravings for drumming that should be illegal in developed countries. It isn't going to appeal to young mens' masturbatory fantasies either although the video might be capable of proving me wrong. A little too TMI for my liking but that's one carbon based life form's opinion. There are others equally valid. I'll cut right to the chase in my assessment. "Gooey" presents itself to me like upper crust wallpaper. There's really nothing that's going to leave me eager for a follow up after I've left the keyboard. "Peanut butter vibes" described the entire gist of "Gooey" splendidly. Not sure what they are? Given the lyric follows hot on the heels of "...you just gonna cry" I imagine thick snot weeping figures in prominently. Don't quote me. It's a thought. "Gooey" merely leaves in its a wake the mess regarding how to categorize it. Glass Animals hangs its collective shingle out as an indie rock band. Based on this one song I'm tempted to shoehorn them into the art pop category. Dave Bayley has a feather light vocal touch which adds to the artistry but doesn't put any meat on the bones. It isn't electronica. There are too many ingredients stirring this soup around. Joe Seaward claims the drum title but its processed pounding at best, blends into the background without so much as a whimper of begged for acknowledgement. Drew McFarlane apparently plays lead guitar. I'm confused. Where's something resembling a guitar here? Must have been so quiet I could hear the proverbial pin drop at the back of the room. How about Edmund Irwin-Singer? He plays bass but it's MIA. Really, I'm not going out of my way to fake stupidity? My brand's USDA certified when it's out there. I honestly can't sniff out guitars. This entire enterprise levitates in the air with the occasional synth amplified mysterious stranger cuteness reminding us these are serious artists poised to set our perspectives askew. Early on keyboards glide into frame. Come on guys. Level with me. Is Merlin back there wielding a wand that makes these baby soft sounds come out? It is nice to hear Glass Animals give Winnie the Pooh continued minutes in the spotlight. Of course given the small piece of fluff in his air I question whether the honey loving golden ball of sweetness could even tell he was being recognized. All the same, Pooh's a gentle soul, and gentle souls need to be remembered whenever possible. I don't think I'd want these guys lingering in my neighborhood since they coined words like "Fresh out of an icky gooey womb a woozy youth dopes upon her silky smooth perfume." Nice use of assonance but man is this weird. Two showers at least maybe three to make sure the stench has worn off enough. Don't misunderstand me it's great when an artist of any genre plumbs the dictionary for new concepts and bold choices. I didn't know there was such a thing as a "summer smile". I have a notion that's a pretty warm affectation. "Gooey" itself is neither hot nor cold. Tepid fits fine. Tepid like bath water you've inched your way into supposedly to alleviate your hemorrhoid problems. Not that this market deserves slighting. "Gooey" feels frothy. Not a recipe for continued success. I don't have any problems with gooey the adjective. If I'm eating a sandwich or a Rice Krispies treat I'm a happy man when it's sent my direction like that. For a newbie rock act parameters need to be set. "Gooey" is not tethered to solid ground enough for any of us to glean what their parameters are. It would help their career prospects if they dropped the enigma label post haste. Surely there's a defined sound behind the mask.

Sunday, January 11, 2015

G-Eazy Means What He Says...Which Doesn't Say Much

We may be presiding over the dawn of a new sub-genre of rap, call it anal retentive white nerd rap if you want. G-Eazy and his buddy Remo are poised to be the flag bearers on "I Mean It". Its accompanying video possesses the creative spark that the single doesn't. Unsettling hearing "I mean it" spring from the mouths of various disturbed looking individuals, G-Eazy included? You betcha. Still in its own perverse way it merits chuckles. On the positive side bitches don't hog up the entire lyrical real estate. In fact the bitch is merely used to hammer home the point that...well...he means it. I suppose I was a big league moron not to think "I Mean It" would be anything other than a crazy house head scratcher. Its background flow gets populated with programmed filler that's apparently been beamed down from outer space or a mysterious galaxy man has yet to get his hands on. G keeps up the tradition entailing rappers throwing their swagger everywhere. Note how he tells us if we're angry with him doing as he pleases that's out cross to bear. Pussy gets passed around like fondue at The Melting Pot. The haters wish he were dead but too bad for them 'cause G's above ground getting paper. Have too many instances popped up where jiu-jitsu can be found on a lyric sheet? G-Eazy can be proud of has position as standard bearer. In the video he plays a creepy newscaster using his middle-American rhymes to tell everyone how his star is rising, what came before is fading, and we'd better get used to it. Call me premature curmudgeon but "I mean it" isn't a sentiment that merits bringing to another's attention in a rap song. This symbolizes what novelty is about. You pull in for a closer look to get a clearer sense of what the fuss is about. Moments later you drive away and get on with your life wondering if you would be making clearer sense batting a clock with a sledgehammer because that's what you did to your precious time. Any musical craze can score short term points on the curiosity factor alone. "Macarena" got so annoying in 1996 that it felt like everybody on the planet was plugged into it. "Walk Like An Egyptian" had the whistling charm of one Debbi Peterson to recommend it. So what's "I Mean It" got going for it that will enable it to have more than twenty seconds of lasting power. G adopts a detached method of uttering "I Mean It" that would make a hardened life sentence serial killer prison inmate soil his jumpsuit. Outside of that we're getting only a whiter than Wonder bread reassembling of a message we could all chant in our sleep. He's in a better place getting better head? Please...No less than Eminem already inserted head into his wordplay for "Without Me". Yes at this stage comparing G-Eazy to Eminem is like comparing a cobra to a common garter snake. Really G doesn't deliver better "head" in his rhymes. Watered down maybe, but better? There's nothing culturally astute hopping above the froth when G-Eazy discusses the head. You want funny? The cast of characters "I Mean It" comes out of presents the amusement value. You don't want to belittle the plight of an elderly woman in a hospital bed but if you can get her to say those three words you're stuck tamping down a guffaw. If the shock value card was played it was played fiendishly well. "I Mean It" doesn't mean enough to invite repeat attention. Grin if you must, place him one rung above Rae Sremmurd in the rap chain of evolution and go find something of actual benevolence to spend your time on.

Thursday, January 8, 2015

Sia's Entrancing Ways Make "Elastic Heart" Beat Fiercely

Before you cast judgment too severely please don't base your opinion of Sia's "Elastic Heart" solely on the video featuring troubled actor Shia LaBeouf and two time Sia video star Maddie Ziegler. I don't explain artistic license. I am but a lowly blogger trying to blog his way into your hectic lives. "Elastic Heart does make one think Tarzan Jane primeval state. Peter Gabriel would certainly have dove in headlong to the background sounds. Lord of The Flies unease to strip naked 'round the fire to, if that's the way the wind shifts for you. This outing shows Sia's aware we never have gotten quite too far away from our simian ancestry. I respect that Sia has conceptually done a one eighty from the insanity brought to full technicolor rendered by "Chandelier". In that hit she was learning how party girls do get hurt, that pushing it down accomplishes nothing. What wisdom does Sia impart for her art in "Elastic Heart"? To be honest she pushes the scorned female empowerment button to impressive effect. There's no end to the weaponry based imagery. Rubber bands and blades are at the top of the roost. She contends: "I may snap and I move fast but you won't see me fall apart 'cause I've got an elastic heart. Her vocals are nuanced, not courting madness as "Chandelier" did so expertly. What a trouper. She'll walk through fire to save her life. Who amongst us hasn't been pushed to that brink previously? I suppose Freddie Mercury smiles wherever he is at the lyric tip of the hat to "Another One Bites The Dust. He strikes me as being theatrical in a Broadway sense whereas Sia uses other paints to bring the art on her canvas to life. That Shia and Maddie are wrestling in a cage during the video suits the song's purpose. Its rhythms are calibrated not exerting too much sweat. This jungle warrants you not be content to gawk mouth open, eyes glazed in uncertainty at what exactly is unfolding. "Chandelier" holds intensity on meth up to the light and lets us scratch our heads in bewilderment whenever the mood strikes. I play these comparison games to show proof that the title and the music it is connected to are smartly paired off. "Elastic Heart" to the naked eye hits you with a limber playfulness. Sia gives justification why she's poised to be the fascinating mysterious performance artist of the decade. After all she's already getting attention I'd bet because she performs with her back to the audience. There's usually a niche for performers who use pushing the envelope as a key element of their stage panache. Confessedly Sia has had to apologize for the stink she kicked up with the accompanying video. I don't know why. A little weird maybe. Shia's no stranger to putting himself in oddball situations. His last name translates as "Thank God for beef". Parents can be so cruel. Sia may not have succeeded in birthing a single that's going to make it well past passing fancy but if she was out to snatch people's attention on the basis of shock value alone than she scored a touchdown big time. "Elastic Heart" has bounce, snap, and sting working in its favor. Not time to put Sia on the discard pile just yet. This trick comes out of her sleeve with curiosity factor to burn.

Monday, January 5, 2015

Nickelback Executes a One In a Million Guitar Hedonist's Dream

How far them there Nickelback boys have come from the "How You Remind Me" days. That now sounds positively geriatric compared to the boosters set to launch hurl into the sun posed by "Million Miles an Hour". If you've been spending your days in pursuit of the perfect dumb guitar jam your journey could end right here. Chad Kroeger gets right down to the nitty gritty of it. His orbit gorges itself on an aura of invincibility. Oh what the right drugs can do for your perspective, the lenses through which you view your life. Wouldn't it be outstanding if rock's big 'ol slice of Canadian bacon Chad could let us have a whiff. Breathing walls doesn't bode well for one's long term health but at the time the high feels too awesome to pass up. Many's the teen who's likely claimed he did the crazy things he did because he felt bulletproof. Again, the crazy ass things drugs have you believing. I personally can vouch for the hard truths of "Insanity is setting in. Reality is getting thin." Been there, done that, am desperately trying to see the rainbow obscured by the family tree. I'm going to be forever grateful for the work-around. It's like the universe never give a lick of thought to genetic compatibility. It has us all in this broth trying not to strangle each other before we reach the other side. But digression means regression so onward I go. Chad goes ballistic with his guitar. His steely gaze firing off one unreal riff after another. Forget about chord changes and the luster they can add to any musical offering. Usually I'm riding that bandwagon like I'm the one who successfully made the last down payment on it. On "Million Miles an Hour" legend spawns from the madness of Chad, his frenzied fingers, and the demonic sounds oozing from within. Nowhere does he shift from A to F to G, and so on. This drug haze gone wickedly wrong derives its enslavement from locking in to one super amplified setting and letting Chad's bravado do the rest of the work. What a difference eight years make. "Savin' Me" barely dents the hard rock enthusiast's palate. Meanwhile "Million Miles an Hour" rips the palate off the tongue and takes a wicked piss on it. Any of you with broods to be concerned about make sure they don't read that last passage. If I'm accused of corrupting minors how's that going to affect my karma? Not too damn nicely I suspect. Some days artistic license needs revoking or at the very least could use a stern talking to. The bread and butter is guitar. That's why I can't speak to much innovative or clever. Nickelback makes that moot. Damn how ingenious the boys are for getting away with it on a grand scale. Chad shouldn't get total credit though. Daniel Adair hammers away on drums, a man possessed, a man whose machinations go hand in glove with Chad's drugged out delirium. Mike Kroeger dumps in some fine bass, stirs the pot, and voila...not exactly like Mom uses to make but a worthy fill-in. I salute this standout track from "No Fixed Address". "A Million Miles an Hour" exemplifies escapism bound to transport you a million miles away from your cares or the obligation to express the emotions demonstrating you have any in the first place.

Saturday, January 3, 2015

The Weeknd Earns His Soulful Stripes

You've been put on notice, fellas. When the lights go down on Valentine's Day for a screening of Fifty Shades of Grey, your special lady's going to have a hard time not being distracted by some juicy R&B emanating from its soundtrack. Want a scapegoat? Go ahead and blame The Weeknd, known to his family as Abel Tesfaye. This Canadian powerhouse hits each note spot on. What's the ace up his sleeve? His shirt ripping prowess guarantees you'll have night, month, year, or decade to remember. Surely, if you're going to go strip down to the bare bones mode you'd need foreplay fixings. "Earned It" goes that extra mile. Not good for the prolonged life of the tire tread but ideal for rolling around in the sack and making gorgeous music of your own. Backing The Weeknd comes an orchestra primed for the kill. How does that boatload of intensity spring to the surface from one lonely little tap on the drums? Call it saying so much with as little exerted energy as possible. Making these proceedings go down even harder there's the orchestra quotient. String section aplenty, an innovation not for the squeamish. Classical music has at times earned its stodgy reputation. Employed here with such a nasty, cold blooded stripe running down its back you appreciate the great lengths it takes to master this genre. On to The Weeknds' voice. Beefcake personified enhanced with the maximum sweat dripping from his brow. His lyrics don'r rise much above a one man admiration society but that's okay. It's awfully hard to find fault. Sincerity in delivery counts for a whole lot and that's what he's selling to the interested masses who'll have him. How could you not see panties and briefs flying everywhere? The Weeknd's foray into moist bedroom gamesmanship earns its stripes because unlike too many dotting the R & B landscape he doesn't shove copious booty in your face expecting you to drop to all fours and howl like you were in heat. What a concept this whole not demeaning women thing. Somebody remembers that despite historical examples pointing to the contrary women are actually people with ten fingers, ten toes, and a fully functioning beating heart, not toys to be played with and then discarded when the moment fades. The hook portion of "Earned It" puts woman on pedestal in bedroom terms. She's perfect, always worth it, and has earned his respect. Weeknd and femme try to negotiate romantic waters high on tumultuous. He claims he knew theirs would be a tragic hookup. Hence we've got two amorous souls anxious to spark flames from a lonely night. Given that they felt a rush, possibly their human brokenness that betrayed them, that the chief problem in the relationship stared back at them in the mirror. The Weeknd turns the pages of this steadily steam enriched story like he was the first one who ever truly knew what love was, or had the presence to tell the tale about it. "Earned It" promises to earn your admiration. But fellas, get the special lady back on your team with the biggest pink heart shaped box of candy you can manage. Then you'll have earned whatever she's got planned for you in the boudoir.

Thursday, January 1, 2015

Fall Out Boy Helps Make Things Alright

As its career has progressed Fall Out Boy maintains its impressive level of fire in the belly. Better still in the case of the new "The Kids Aren't Alright" these guys know how not to overwhelm listeners with their cresting intensity. You can tell Pete Wentz is in his masterfully defined creative zone on bass. He strums slowly, surely, confidently. Fall Out Boy could have phoned in some mischievous whistling and asked the record label to start pushing some of the royalty checks their direction but that's not exactly how these joes operate now is it? Patrick Stump allows the poetry of his lyrics to transcend the everyday realm of idle chit chat that pops up so regularly in our usual daily races. Lots of symbolism leaping off the page. "Former heroes who quit too late" could refer to any one of a number of athletes who kept squeezing out doses of creative juices long after the odometer reached zero. Iconic movie scenes grab center stage in my head when I see the words "Empty your sadness like you're dumping your purse on my bedroom floor." Remember that scene in The Breakfast Club where Ally Sheedy's character dumps the contents of her bag all over the place and suddenly, the sullen loner begins going into detail about what constitutes the ins and outs of her stratosphere? Fall Out Boy shows off how it can create a song where all you need to do is listen and use your imagination to tell whatever story appears most apt. It can be claimed that books hold an advantage over TV in that you have to create pictures when reading whereas TV hands you the imagery. Fall Out Boys rocks hard cosmically...not technically. There's a pronounced degree of subtlety at play here. The guitar playing pulls on the reigns to demonstrate some control over super charged content that could have otherwise come pouring out of the scorching cauldron in undiluted form, waiting to pounce on an unsuspecting victim. Andy Hurley's an essentially a behind the scenes player behind the drums. Not once does he attempt to monopolize attention with vulgar displays of power. That's the mark of someone comfortable in his craft. 10 years running one suspects the honeymoon phase might really be over. The whistling which gets "The Kids Aren't Alright" rolling tends towards the spooky. Patrick's lyrics complement the ick factor divinely. I've never heard of dirty sadness before. In fact I thought grief was supposed to be called upon as some sort of cleansing agent designed to make even the most unbearable of human miseries tolerable. I believe dirty's more of a general reference to life's slings and arrows. Grunge rock from olden (not highly olden but creeping that way) got to be a little tiresome in the way the purveyors of the genre seemed content to stare at their shoes and maintain a "Life sucks" take on their worlds. Patrick's reference to wanting to sit around and gaze at his shoes hearkens back to that genre's age. "And it's our time now if you want it to be" alludes to getting out there and owning your patch of space on the globe. As a rule the pacing keeps itself sure-footed, unrushed, giving you time to let these words sink in and maybe offer you the opportunity to figure out where to go from here. "The Kids Aren't Alright" very much displays the sheen needed to linger in a listener's brain long after the fade out. Fall Out Boy's relevancy in the second decade of the 21st century need not be questioned. These "kids" are doing quite nicely thank you.