Silversun Pickups Barely Flicker Throughout "Nightlight"

Silversun Pickups knows how to generate sexual heat. Their discography shows this writ large. "Panic Switch" electrified. "The Royal We" played to vocalist Nikki Monninger's forte, namely her mysterious, prominently suggestive retro luster stage presence. The new "Nightlight" wouldn't have any intrigue to show for it were it not for the dazzle of the accompanying video. You never enjoy fingering a band as guilty of phoning something in but Silversun Pickups rely too much on past glories and then assume newly converted and faithful alike are simply going to melt from the initial note to the climax. If the hook's not prominent your audience won't have much reason to stick around. Rest assured signs of a pulse are visible in "Nightlight" but not of a jump right out and grab you nature. I'd say "warmed over" serves as an adequate description. Nikki's chops haven't rusted. Would that she had saucier material to put it in practice. Blissfully cryptic lyrics are part of this outing's playbook. "When the wind, behind our eyes swell. Starring down all, who generalize well. A chemical change of the spirit will be the exchange for our visit". (Insert head scratching noises here) I'd say you had me and then you lost me but I'm not sure you really ever had me. Despite this the mystery's highly appreciated. Nikki's at her best when the chorus is going full tilt. This passage speaks to the anthem aficionado in all of us. "If we say that (WE WANT IT). We only want it with the lights out." I'd be more merciful if the energy level was as high amplification like this consistently throughout the song. What does any of us get out of a rock number if the participants aren't plugged in completely? You can hear Brian Auber's guitar playing but there isn't the insignia of a guy who's fully wedded to his instrument. Chris Guanlao does the best he can with what's he's been given. Again, the theatrics outweigh the technical skills. "Well Thought Out Twinkles" had the perfect dirty wind in the hair sound for a ride on a long California highway. That's what I call an easy sell. "Nighlight" goes for the blood and discomfort of modern motion picture. Videos these days are in every sense of the word the mini motion pictures MTV likely had in mind when videos first the airwaves. Joe Lester should be saluted, or cursed, depending on which side of the fence you're focused on, for giving "Nightlight" the motion picture cheesiness that begs us not to take it seriously. The key concept is "energy". When Silversun Pickups remember not to be stingy with the chemistry they can really draw you into their world. "Nightlight" blew a fuse before any of us had the chance to get acquainted. Best this foursome regroup and make sure their next cut happens to be...dare I make this awful joke...illuminating.

Ghost Scares Up Some Diabolically Genius Metal

When you think Swedish music ABBA isn't far from your head. Europe, the band which either graced or cursed us with "The Final Countdown" depending on whether or not you needed your fill of closing seconds NBA drama in your record collection. Ghost hasn't been around for a decade but if "Cirice" is any indication a fleshed out career of multiple decades may be in the offing. I can't think of too many reasons to jump on the haters bandwagon. I'd like to be able to inform you of the band's names but those apparently are under strict lock and key. Their skull mask wearing leader goes by the moniker Papa Emeritus. Much of the scare factor originates from him. This chorus lays back into classical theater influences. Not that Ghost lacks impetus to mix up really strong hard edged guitars with the slightly uneasy elements of their musicianship. The musicians are referred to merely as Nameless Ghouls. A little mystery in life suits the voyage fine. The flavor Ghost tosses into this mythological foray won't be denied a pulpit to preach from. Early on Ghost has you assuming you'll be presiding over a hard rock grind it out slice of heaven. Towards the middle sedation works to the band's advantage. After all you don't have to oversell the point to get it across convincingly. Not unexpectedly ghostly apparition language froths forth from the cauldron. On the edge of you seat are we? Not that this ghost is unfriendly but it has this knack for knowing which hairs on the back of your neck to plug away at. Verse one hints at illusions surrounding a ghost, unresolved issues galore. He is heard but is not allowed to hide in the shadows. At the chorus unsatisfying conclusions to affairs of the heart receive their reference. Inner turmoil gets its comparison to a raging storm, thunder and all. What would a ghost story be without flickering candles? Ghost understands that's one detail you wouldn't want to make the mistake of leaving out. Ghost could've phoned in its performance by relying on classic macho power chords but when you have your audience spellbound by macabre theatrical flourishes onstage and in the studio why meet the devotion halfway. Each band member comes to the stage in Halloween worthy garb. How convenient for the time. Ghost doesn't skimp on spooky whether with the slight drums giving way to a startling bang or guitars that can barely contain their monstrously wicked intentions. Papa Emeritus presides authoritatively over the beastly din he's encouraging. To me breaking away to a piano, bass, vocal tri-pronged attack makes the guitar sequence that follows even more imposing. We're not talking about some 1980s throwaway hair metal trying to resurrect itself. What's before us is doom metal that'll make the little ones shriek because they know wickedness has descended. Ghost ratchets up subtle scare factor on "Cirice" and that's sure to leave you with wonderful chills you're not itching to dismiss easily.

Sevendust Deserves A Big Thank You For This Riff Heavy Romp

"Thank You", the latest from Atlanta's own Sevendust, stares you down and dares you to be the last one to blink. Doom settles over the machine handily. Lead vocalist Lajon Witherspoon keeps his growling to a minimum. That's why we get a snack mix platter with a dash of metalcore but predominantly clearly audible words from a man confident in his own skin who bears his soul gallantly. Closure's a key factor in the opening verse, namely how pinning it down in our lives gets ultra complicated. No sooner has the song gotten cranked up then drummer Morgan Rose springs into action. He goes to the rat-a-tat form rather than trying to get explosive too fast, too hard, too soon. As guitarist Clint Lowery owns ferocious licks. To add to that Vince Hornsby's bass has a nasty look that defies reasonable explanation. This army tank of a rock joint keeps right on lumbering ahead until inaction insures your destruction. You can try running all you want but the angst here's apt not only to catch up with you but eventually overtake you. If "Thank You" were to be compared to a weather pattern ominous gray clouds would be front and center. The sky prepares to open up so you'd better patch together whatever cover you can scrounge up. As a music lover it's been my experience that minor chords have the power to evoke the sharpest response in a listener. "Thank You" delivers plenty of those top quality goods. I want to thrust attention back to Clint for a moment. When he gets his electricity going here he'll run down whatever darkened corridor suits him. You'll be hard pressed to make out any lights, fantastic or otherwise. Panning to vocal duties, as if Lajon wasn't laying down enough of an icy blueprint here comes an echoing effect you wouldn't want to bump up against in a sleazy alley. The ending ought to be backdrop for many a nightmare in the weeks to come. All working parts gel beautifully. "Thank You" lets the uneasiness seep throughout your spine slowly a la Mrs. Butterworth's syrup on flapjacks. This band isn't claiming any survivors. Where's the crescendo you might wonder? The entire tune amounts to one long, measured crescendo. Lajon's itching for his reason for being. His search doesn't stray from a feverish level. Waiting around for an explanation's not going to be very useful it would appear. Lajon's urgency, combined with his aggressive periodic teeth gnashing, sets the stage for an effort that never veers that far from impending upheaval. Lucky for Lajon, Sevendust has filled the role as outlet for his twisted genius for a few decades. It's about release folks. The faster the better. As rock enthusiasts we should be thanking Sevendust. The boys have poured out their genre's version of a hard stiff drink one can knock back repeatedly despite the fact your tolerance for the hard stuff may have been eclipsed hours ago.

Bring Me The Horizon Approaches Friendship With a Bite

Seethe much Bring Me The Horizon? There's not much calm and serene behind the brand new "True Friends". To the band's credit each note is maximized for long term effectiveness. Drums explode resoundingly. Vocals scream untamed vengeance. Guitars thrash around mercilessly. This bunch lets its impressions be felt upfront. On the lyric sheet you'd swear Oliver Sykes had never heard of turn the other cheek. Confessedly I have never heard of being stabbed in the front before. Big cheers to Bring Me The Horizon for laying claim to something nobody else has done before, at least not to my knowledge. As usual love gone terribly wrong takes its turn in the spotlight. A profound case of coulda, woulda, shoulda runs rampant over the lyric sheet, specifically "It's kind of sad cause what we had well it could have been something". Naturally you need your drummer to lose his inhibitions at the door if you expect romantically spiced wordplay to take flight to an appreciable degree. Does Matt Nicholls ever make good on his end of the business arrangement. Lee Malia's guitar playing meets and then exceeds expectations for awesomeness. Nothing about "True Friends" bides its time in the slow lane. Oliver quickly points out the object of his rage has plenty of nerve but no spine to speak of. I'd like to introduce the idea that this concept of "nerve" vs. "spine" hasn't popped in contemporary song spinning before. Ollie uses hate as gasoline to fuel his dreams. Sounds like a move lifted from Eminem's playbook. Flame has been stolen so be on the lookout. Of all band members contributing Matt serves up the loudest bang on the Richter scale. Pound for pound his banging matches then exceeds expectations. Thankfully the video runs to the straight low tech end of the spectrum. I claim thankfully because were "True Friends to embrace a stage concept video the fury might be too much to tackle. Oliver refrains from Cookie Monster vocals, the kind metalcore employs to grizzly effect but he does sniff out air space in order to screech out his discontent. Rhythmically the soup stirs to a rolling boil. You could contend it's worth a pronounced sniff. Not much room to come up for air because the vitriolic salvos come hot and heavy. No doubt about it...friendship runs low on the tonality chart here. Riding alongside "True Friends" reminds me of trying to catch up to a sled that's already rolling down the mountain at breakneck speed. The song should light the fuse of rage for all scorned romantics of both sexes. "True Friends" has that enemy's glare in its eye and that's what will keep you shivering long after the track concludes.

Muse Shows Us Some Mercy and The Results Are Pulse-Pounding

I kid you not. If I was stranded on a desert island and could pick only one band to take with me Muse would definitely be in the running. I seriously need to toddle over to Amazon.com so I can obtain my copy of "Drones". "Mercy" is the new single from that album and it conjures up great memories of "Starlight" the amazing track from "Black Holes and Revelations". They have intensely theatrical mindsets in common. Not that this next reveal is any surprise to me but I'll reaffirm it anyway. Matthew Bellamy sings as if the wounds on his beating heart were perpetually getting ripped open. His is an ever heart rending plea for the cosmic shit storm to abate. "Mercy" places him at the top of his angst riddled game. Nobody hits those masculine upper register notes quite like he does. Dominic Howard dishes out some of the most compact, driven drum sequences of his entire career. You'd be unwise to shift your gaze too far afield from what he's cooking up. And what about Christopher Wolstenholme. The bass strikes with the malevolence of a restless python. Matt's no slouch on lead guitar either. Stem to stern Muse has succeeded in going above and beyond the call of gifting us with a mere rock song. Theatrics have brought them very far in their venture as polished musicians. Muse can regularly be relied upon to bring the goods. The amps ramp up to ten. The harmonies crack, pop, and smolder. Muse has crafted a body of work that most of their contemporaries would give their right arms to say they have. If you want your cranium given a strong workout Muse surely will oblige. Matthew doles out large scale spiritual analysis right off the bat in verse one. The anguish inside pays him a heavy debt. His efforts to be a game changer have fallen flat and his unrequited self actualization looms heavily. Verse two shows Matthew giving us a none to subtle hint as to what he's finding fault with...the powers that be. Chrissie Hynde kind of tooted that horn in one verse of "Back On The Chain Gang" when she brought up "The powers that be, that force us to live like we do." Matthew isn't team playing team concept on this record. He's Daffy Duck self-preservation mode. Matthew fancies himself not in alignment with any supreme being. I suspect that's a part explanation why verse three opens with "absent gods and silent tyranny". Matthew doesn't follow blindly. He questions when the opportunity arises. Muse earns its stripes as a thinking man's band. Matthew merits much credit for that. The band changed tempos nicely, swinging from "Dead Inside" which possessed a stealth juiced motor under the hood to "Mercy" which plays as if the band forgot to feed the meter during the recording session and took it upon itself to speed jam. The cherry on this sundae just so happens to be that lethal concluding note. You combine that with the video's nerves rubbed raw imagery and the results inspire awe on the most fundamental of levels. Muse showed mercy and then some. This is one mercy rule worth following to the letter.

Chris Cornell Didn't Forget To Go Orchestral

Chris Cornell has managed to distance himself from his Soundgarden days on his latest single "Nearly Forgot My Broken Heart". Kudos for the highly orchestral flavor. I'll never forget Chris for unleashing "Spoonman" on the world in the mid '90s. That song had tribal war dance zing aplenty. On this solo effort Chris dons the troubadour tights gracefully. The harmonies usher in a "Come here" gesture so as to invite you onto a complex voyage with plenty of mind blowing twists and turns. The lacing of individual parts results in a whole that you'll have a hard time putting down. Chords run the gamut from bubbly warm to cool and detached. The manner in which the musicians shift in and out of beautiful possibilities gives one pause to reflect. Chris comes across as highly content to keep exploring his artistic canvas, widening his horizons as he traverses wounded heart terrain. He's not beneath asking the "What does life on Earth mean anyway" question. I'm supposing this because of one lyric in particular..."Trying to take a picture of the sun. It won't help you see the light." "Nearly Forgot My Broken Heart" isn't the mammoth undertaking of the likes of "Black Hole Sun" but it's certainly carved out a niche of its own as a sweeping theatrical production. You'd think we were back in Shakespearean England judging from the video. Nice how Chris opts for something beyond grade school booty chasing and instead gives our minds the aerobic workout it so richly needs. Chris has a voice where the pain bleeds off his lips in shriek form. The wound stays fresh but he and the band play on. Verse four draws heavily on blood. The blood signifies a kiss he won't miss. Words make cuts where blood pours out. The man knows how to sweep the ladies off their feet, doesn't he. Working in Chris's favor his new effort doesn't involve much effort from a time standpoint. For a song delving into the romantic commitment forum there's not much commitment to be had from the listener side of the spectrum. He packs a sizable quantity of pathos in under 4 minutes. He gives us a blow by blow and that, to say the least, isn't for the faint of heart. Want a convincing statement made to that effect? Verse two doesn't hold back on any details. If you want to get Biblical about things how about "When you came along the time was right. Pulled me like an apple red and ripe. Wasn't very long you took a bite and did me wrong, and it serves me right." Going forward in Chris's career I foresee the biggest challenge is going to be distancing himself from the Soundgarden brand name to become a musical force to be reckoned with in his own right. "Nearly Forgot My Broken Heart" remembered to remind us Chris can command the rock stage given the right material. His heart's into it from word one.

Beartooth Nails The In Between Slot For Coherent Metalcore

Metalcore can be a real head trip to observe up close and personal. It leaves the famous (or infamous, depending on which side of the pro/con camp you shake out on, Cookie Monster vocals, those tonsil flashings so cartoon like and brutish it makes you wonder what's eating that guy. Hailing from Columbus Ohio, Beartooth succeeds in demonstrating that metalcore need not be a sonic screech fest via "In Between". At the chorus segments I can clearly make out lead vocalist Caleb Shlomo's words. I appreciate how he considers my feelings as an audience member. He wants me to have a visceral connection with his band therefore screaming doesn't crowd out his gritty use of language. Taylor Lumley brings ample flavor to the guitar. He matches Caleb stride for stride in the bouncing off the wall energy department. Brandon Mullins steps up to the plate to deliver a rollicking series of inspired drumbeats. Oshie Bichar lights a match under the carnival with nifty bass work. But back to the chorus. That Cookie Monster and Caleb exist within the same body truly gives me cause to be highly impressed. At first you think he's going to take your head off but then this no less aggressive but equally potent chap enters the picture. Drugs and rock 'n' roll have been dance partners for as long as anyone cares to remember but Caleb's the first soul I know to utter the sentence "Life can be such overdose." He shoots off universal sentiments like "Life's so dark when everyday is a struggle." Sounds like truth to me. In addition he poses a choice that you'd have to be a robot not to be affected by, namely, "Speak right now and make the choice to grow." For a good many people, myself included, growing up is one of the most unabashedly tough things we'll ever be asked to do. It means daring to open up to someone, knowing somewhere down the line your heart is bound to get broken. Summoning up the courage to love again takes brass. But the big prize is, if you're lucky you emerge from the wreckage a better person with a greater capacity to love and be loved. But enough music psychology. "In Between" displays a gymnast's agility in jumping from metalcore raw to studio ready polish. Beartooth doesn't alienate either camp and actually makes a case for how it's carving a niche in both genres. Caleb isn't one of your high showmanship front men. What he brings to the table is undiluted enthusiasm. In the rock scrum that can and often does get you brownie points really fast. Beartooth earns respect as a tight unit in lyricism and melodic juice. Caleb professes to know how harsh it can be getting lost in the in between. Leaping from Cookie Monster to Caleb and back again proves Caleb hasn't been dragged down to the in between by any stretch. The video shows how pepped up this foursome gets when it's in the zone. "In Between" offers metalcore without the monster. Such versatility bodes well for Beartooth's future prospects.

Atlas Genius Scattering Molecules To Questionable Effect

We each got two feet. I say dance on 'em if ya got 'em. Aussie alt band Atlas Genius summons up energy reserves to create "Molecules" which has the stuff to put feet in motion and keep feet in motion. That's something to be proud of. The questionable portion to this equation involves the lyrics. That's very philosophical material to put before a crowd that simply wants to cop the perfect buzz. I suppose free will versus predestination shall surface time and again as a topic so long as there generations of humans shuttled onto planet Earth for the opportunity to grasp their Sportscenter highlight reel moments. That said is it a quirky Australian thing to attempt deep subject matter while the band plays on or did it just work out that way this time around? From the start Atlas Genius comes across like an affable bunch of dudes. The chord of "Molecules" never steps over into minor key territory which, I don't know about you guys but, that would depress the stuffing out of me. The pace is agreeable. Like Goldilocks when she happens upon the porridge of choice, it tastes just right. Pardon me if label the message of Atlas Genius somewhat mixed. Do they want to go deep, unshackle our way to the dance hall or are they honestly supposing they can multitask, doing both things with equal ease? There's some optimism behind the suggestion that mistakes aren't mistakes at all. More than once mistakes have been looked upon as opportunities and can remain so, if one keeps one's heart open long enough to seek them out. Keith Jeffery really mines the bigger picture territory when he pauses to declare we're all fragments on a great collide. How very Sheldon Cooper ponderous. I can't begin to understand what exactly the video's trying to communicate. It functions nicely as something to captivate an infant's attention in much the way an overhead mobile does. Pity the band itself doesn't show up anywhere. Keith's brother Michael keeps the party going with a drumming style meant to serve as a drawstring on any inhibitions that could be holding us back. It's true mysteries of the universe fodder set to music makes for a break from weight of the world nightmare scenarios but is it in good taste I wonder. "Molecules" floats around but doesn't offer substance that other bands haven't put on the table to more convincing effect. The Atlas part is well represented but there's not much lasting genius to be found.

Starset's Halo Glistens From Start To Finish

Ohio group Starset bills itself as cinematic rock. How appropriate for the summer movie season where white knuckle, big budget eye candy essentially hijacks the screen. Starset doesn't lack for action from start to finish throughout "Halo". The guys do away with first through third gear altogether. That's where the firepower is at its most intense. Adam Gilbert deserves his share of the credit for juicing up the momentum because his drumming applies sizzle to the stove top and doesn't let up until the last note slams into place. For a real treat and insight into how stupendously this band functions as a unit give the bridge a good strong listen. I'm flat out floored. The aural tastes rising from the broth leave me wanting seconds if not thirds. Lead vocalist Dustin Bates nails the spirit of what soundtrack grade rock's supposed to sound like. His pipes cut through any and every drop of clutter imaginable. Ron DeChant and Brock Richards lend their own vocal skills to this epic track. Keep your core audience engaged and it will follow you wherever you happen to be travelling. Starset didn't forget to apply that knowledge. Their intensity stays ever present so the crowds can really work up a sweat. As this blog has amply demonstrated I give props to those employing steady chord changes. Starset doesn't go overboard but doesn't sound stuck in one slot on the stage staring at its collective navel, pondering the worn out life sucks dynamic. If anything that much needed exuberant zing pops up over and over. I feel the entire tribe can lay claim to equal parts octane. The accompanying video seeks to show you what Starset's concept leans towards. There's intrigue, pathos, and yes, outer space action. One thing Starset gets right is taking full advantage of its turn in the spotlight. "Halo" comes right at critics and casual listeners alike with bombast where it's necessary and technical flourishes where those are called for. Better still, they don't go overboard in presentation. You're given a nibble but not expected to gorge on the whole entree. "Halo" may not be straight edged but the twinkles it gives off are undeniably, if you'll pardon the cosmos related wordplay...stellar.

Black Key's Side Band The Arcs Outta This World

Since I don't have a readily available identification of who's playing what in Dan Auerbach's side outfit The Arcs I'm going to experiment this evening. This is free flow creativity giving the finger to how badly this may or may not suck. The drumming hypnotizes like an old-fashioned old pocket watch. Back and forth playing sinister games with your head. You've really got the sensation that one could manage a fair lot of pot smoking using this as the background. You don't have to dig very far to note the guitar playing pays homage to old school greatness. Is The Arcs "Outta My Mind" a decade defying juggernaut. Let's just say the tools are in the kit ready to be applied by the right steady hand. Dan's won over plenty of rock devotees as member of The Black Keys so nobody's likely going to give him much grief for opting to sashay into a made with love side project. There's much chord vitality at work. You and I get to wring out maximum bliss from each octave because The Arcs don't speed race through the technique. What draws me in is how smoky the attitude is. Dan's lyrics lean towards the perils of fame, one man who alienated everybody but he "made it" in the modern parlance, soul sold but pockets lined with baubles. His self control took a powder but everything he did just went and turned to gold. That sounds to me like an indictment of the record industry that doesn't even try to hide the contempt with which the industry is viewed. Grit predominates on this single. Can you smell the Dutch Masters smoke rings? Dan's to be lauded for incorporating some psychedelic haze into his overall body of work. The Keys forge straight ahead with their rock artistry. If "Outta My Mind" is any indication, The Arcs are apt to go on many winding, skull expanding side trips, each one captivating in its own way. Hearing the tune in its entirety I can't shake Lava Lamps. Everywhere in my cranium oozing, comfy, focus establishing liquid harmony. There are snacks scattered in this tightly wound tribute to inhaling for sheer pleasure. All signs hint at pretzels, chips and, yes, beer nuts. This demands (well, maybe) that the question be asked "Is 'Outta My Mind' a party record? Only if what we're celebrating is willingly being corrupted by a music industry happy to take no prisoners, give no quarter. Dave fancies himself a button pusher who does so to save his sanity. His Black Keys work errs high on grungy. The Arcs use the narcotic inspired backdrop to hydroplane smoothly across the lyric sheet. "Outta My Mind" gets into the vulnerable head spaces and jiggles as if its life were in the balance. Dan's extra identity serves to keep him relevant as the Black Keys cool their jets a spell.