Volbeat Deals Out One Hell Of a Smashing Track

Long live the mighty Danes Volbeat. They sure know how to lay down the lumber for a crushing metal cut. The brand new "Seal The Deal" gnashes its teeth and begs you to stare it down without blinking. Rob Caggiano's guitar licks are nothing short of skull crushingly potent. He's the thread that makes this garment hold up so magnificently. Of course you also have to have an authoritative vocalist holding court. Michael Poulsen fills that bill beautifully. You can taste the acid dripping off his tongue. What's more Jon Larsen's drumming doesn't take first gear for an answer. He pulverizes the skins as if they wronged his girlfriend in a major league unpleasant way. There is a storyline at work behind the lyrics. Reclaiming one's soul appears to play a key factor in this little yarn. Testosterone looms large, as the chorus refrain proudly attests. Michael's aching for a fight. He wishes to seal the deal and then start the fisticuffs all over again the next day. That "Seal The Deal" goes at a champion horse racer's pace is testament to how much Volbeat respects metal's history and carries its torch proudly into the future. You get the sensation of being on this roller coaster ride for which screaming over the side rail would appear to be mandatory. Thrills and chills are the order of this day. "I get groovy" beckons to memories of disco balls and Studio 54 with its various excesses. Not exactly Volbeat's native tongue but that does throw us off enough to think, "You know...that's artistically confusing therefore it's defiantly metal. The guitar licks swerve up and down the spine, both from the instrument and the part of our body. Kaspar Boye Larsen moves in behind the proceedings in motorcycle rev fashion. His role is to get Michael's ballad some extra torque so the machine flows super smoothly. Michael warns pearly gates aren't in the cards in the end so you'd best stand up for your rights while you are able. Volbeat isn't flying the power metal flag so much as draping it proudly across itself like a budding Miss Universe showing off her feminine wiles. The sense of confrontation underscoring "Seal The Deal" is palpable. Michael certainly drives the point home resoundingly and the results get goosebumps into the mix. The guitar work descending upon the bridge never fails to raise many a roof. It excels at reminding us what made us metal enthusiasts in the first place. It's sort of the bone rattling palate cleanser which follows the crux of a well-prepared main course. You need something purifying to get that T-bone aftertaste off your incisors, canines, and molars. "Seal The Deal" knows what line to sign on when it comes to finalizing a contract steeped in the brand of metal purists crave.

Kings of Leon Doesn't Waste a Drop of Energy

Kings of Leon has returned. Cue the thunderous applause. The new "Walls" album hits stores, iPods, and most other forms of musical conveyance on October 14th. "Waste a Moment" delivers on the raw punch followers of the Tennessee natives have relied on for years. Wasted moment indeed. From the get go nobody on team Followill settles for less than exemplary effort. Caleb lays out some of the strongest vocals of his career to date and, given this song is a mere three minutes three seconds in length that amounts to far more than a tiny hill of beans or two. Were Jared's bass licks to go AWOL "Waste a Moment" wouldn't possibly have obtained this level of greatness. It pours all over a listener's ears like warm water emanating from a gaping bath tub. That's where the soul gets much of its juice from. Meanwhile Matthew inserts some lead guitar that hits the right aesthetic notes and then some. As usual Kings of Leon use grand use of the video art form to plug their product. Add a zinging bite of mystery and you've captured this family foursome back at doing what it does best. The tempo gets into a nifty glide space and refuses to take its teeth off the throttle. One roller coaster ride packed with wall to wall enthusiasm. The words do get somewhat odd contextually but we don't expect brilliance so long as the cohesiveness of the band stays intact. Mission accomplished there. The first line alone informs you Kings of Leon aren't your conventional wordsmiths. Austin's brand of weird stacks up nicely compared to not so tossed off band lines like: "All the way from Waco to WeHo with the rabbit on a chain." Who says that in this or any other space in time? Kings of Leon don't have any qualms about engaging in brain/vocabulary expansion. This band also knows how to pile on vivid characterizations as "Sex on Fire" made pretty plain not too many years ago. The backdrop gets set courtesy of gems like: "Sexy was her boyfriend with no kin always running from the law. Every other weekend, weekends with his back at her claw. I don't think any added visuals are necessary. Back to the main idea of this story, "Waste a Moment" loads up on vim and pulls off the power surge with authority. Follow Caleb's lead and the results are usually splendid. I totally admire the underlying urgency Kings of Leon brings to the table. That elevates their game past the pinnacle that most bands on today's scene will be lucky to reach in their prime. This effort uses the D chord to blistering effect. Once atop the horse not a stumble arises. "Waste a Moment" will never be accused of being a waste of anybody's eardrums. Kings of Leon has earned the right to reclaim its piece of the rock throne.

No Need To Pray For Sixx A.M....They Have Their Shit Together

Sixx A.M. employs no small measure of theatrics to foist "Prayers For The Damned" upon us. From the start vocalist James Michel gets to the previously impenetrable truths about how second chances loom large in the healing of our pasts and the hoped for revival of our futures. The overall instrumentation flies from the convulsing pit, ready to attack the sensitive spots of your psyche. I applaud Dustin Steinke for his otherworldly drumming. His head of steam trumps that of the runner-up contenders. Listen to his multiple strokes piled one on top of the other and you'll discover that Nikki Sixx knows how to bring high talent into the fold. James Michel employs his own brand of sorcery on keyboards. He brings lightning to complement Dustin's thunder. As a one two punch you'd be forgiven if your eyes were to roll back in your head a shade. The bluster cannot be denied. You're in a corner with nobody there to free you from the mire. Storms are brewing and you forgot to get your umbrella to give you any hope of shelter. The skies ply their dark gray menace. Nikki further unsettles the situation via a bass onslaught that isn't out to play nice. Lyric hint at end of the rope territory. James appears set to allow the fast drop to oblivion to consume him body and soul. Hope resides in his claim that maybe we're not alone. Many a person, deeply spiritual or otherwise has held fast to that hope in the ages past. We by and large sympathize with being afraid of our own ghosts. Ghosts from the past are the price of admission on this mysterious trip around the sun we all undertake, wanting to get somewhere but ending up nowhere fast. Later in the word sheet James already cottons to a nothing to lose attitude since he has already lost everything. "Prayers For The Damned" sounds like the hail-mary pass a desperate QB would throw up with one second left. I don't mean that in a derogatory way either. That football play commands attention. All eyes are on the pigskin slinger as he tries to bail his butt out of a sling. James succeeds in not overselling the pain he's combating. All you need is a touch of spice and the soup has the fire necessary to work its way to the top of the request list. Let's talk smoldering guitar solo shall we? DJ Ashba pulls off the equivalent of being prone on a massage table letting the masseuse work his magic hands up and down the pressure points. The wider his demonic instincts stretch, the greater the vicarious thrill we share. Make no mistake though...this is James' therapy session and we have backstage laminated passes as proof. "Prayers For The Damned" specializes in keeping us off balance. That makes us ready candidates for the doctrine James wants us to heed. We do crave the chance to pull James away from the cumulative effects of his chasm of despair. Alas, all we can do is hope the rain lets up in short order. However I'm not begging for the tap to shut off too soon. "Prayers For The Damned" reaches deep and pulls out an explosive style of pathos that's hard to shake, harder to deny. Sixx A.M. can happily get up from the altar rail. This is one prayer worth an enthusiastic response.

Five Finger Death Punch Need Not Apologize For Its Honesty

Judgment Day. Many a metal band has made reference to it. Ivan Moody and the rest of the folks in Five Finger Death Punch spend quality time taking a really close look at it throughout the new single release "I Apologize". You have to, in a sense, be impressed with his whistling past the graveyard , a joke of sorts on my part since Ivan's uncorking his manly rage from the bowels of, you guessed it, an actual graveyard. Anyway, strking a commanding D chord, Ivan screams out how he's guilty of being such a fool for not keying in on the difference between wrong and right whilst the world passes him by, for listening but not exactly learning. One day Death's shadows will catch up to him and then it's time to face the somber music. Kudos go out to ace guitarist Jason Hook for throwing down a wicked guitar solo at the bridge that'll take you back to any one of a number of top '80s fret slayers. You can very acutely taste Ivan's dismay at the bind he's locked himself into. If Life's one giant classroom, then he's guilty of pushing the snooze button a little too often. Brash best describes the combined grittiness Five Finger Death Punch puts on full bugs in your teeth riding along on the Harley display. The gents give the message room to sink in nice and slow so the gravity of the grave isn't lost on listeners. Drummer Jeremy Spencer contributes where needed and when he does, the smoke on the pyre rises higher. He leaves the showboating to Jason so folks can better admire Jeremy's workmanlike gifts. This number barrels over whatever wall of defense you may have erected, hell bent on allowing you to look in the mirror and summon up a little self-reflection time of your own. Chris Kael delivers on the foreboding facets of "I Apologize", and given the video shoot locale, what's a little extra bite between friends, or enemies for that matter. Zoltan Bathory'a rhythm guitar poses as a show stopper in and of itself.Ivan could melt faces on the basis of the slightest stare. He's intensity personified. He gets how easy it can be to miss the boat as the universe laughs at your humble efforts. Forget about melody and slap the bib on at once. "I Apologize" no doubt will leave red meat juice for hours and hours to come. Sledgehammers and subtlety don't go together very well. Five Finger Death Punch got that memo early on. Ivan's rage settles down right as Zoltan's rhythm guitar drops in the last bits of burial sod. So you see, a controlled burn rules the roost in the final assessment. What fun we had reaching it though. "I Apologize" examines how you'd better accept yourself, warts and all because, in the end, you're the only you you've got. The gloves come off in a big hurry and the outcome leaves no survivors in its wake. Blessed is the band that apologizes for nothing it's achieved artistically. Contrary to what the title would hint at, Five Finger Death Punch has nothing to apologize for. It's whipped up an indelible wedge of 21st century gut turning metal musing.

Gavin DeGraw Knows Which Woman Lights His Fire

He's got the reputation as being Mr. Sensitive Man and for his latest, Gavin DeGraw unfurls his tempura watercolors to pay homage to a one of a kind woman who has this habit of violating fire codes with her incandescence. "She Sets The City On Fire" ought to strike a chord for anyone chasing the unattainable Venus De Milo of their deepest fantasies. Guided by a metro snazzy keyboard and enough manufactured drum filler to enable the song to reach a nice cruising altitude, DeGraw muses about this woman and her million cigarette lighter combustibility. He has a dynamite photo lens trained on her so far as his overall evaluation of her temptress leanings are concerned. She's a perfect ten, the epitome of what a man should want from the opposite sex. You ascertain that as this effort progresses the aura of undeniable charm reaches pronounced heights. The keyboards dig their talons in deeper. Gavin's witticisms rise to the task. He at times posits this notion that it's the ghost of a siren he's chasing instead of a flesh and blood attainable beauty. Give him credit for sticking to his loyalties no matter what the outcome turns into in the end. We get a variation on the Woody Allen valentine to New York City as Gavin declares its sun doesn't get much brighter than the comely femme in question. Mr. Allen would wholeheartedly approve of the sentiment. Of course Gavin doesn't wallow in the mire like the noted film director does so this message proves itself to be infinitely more palpable. Gavin's the guy you want to see grab the girl and run for the finish line since he comes off earnest in his songwriting delivery. Plenty to recommend in the hand clap department, particularly after we eclipse the ten second mark. That's when that big sky starts to open up and Gavin's free to wax poetic on how this lady he paints the picture of would be tailor made as a perfect fit for his bed. "She Sets The City On Fire" possesses a very genuine spark that sets bad moods to good in record time. You're not flying over New York City's well-established skyline as much you glide over the higher skyscrapers on Gavin's ever ample wings. In the video we're treated to a grid version of the Big Apple's urban core, not knowing where the next twist is going to take us. I think it's a modern miracle how the processed drum playing doesn't get in the way of Gavin's authentic audio presence. You might say that it borders on the transcendent. Artistically I wouldn't say that any fertile new ground has been broken, but "She Sets The City On Fire" suits the purpose for a well-rounded coffee hour at Starbucks, or quite possibly a coffee shop which is homegrown and not steeped in franchise potential. The fire has been nobly lit, Mr. DeGraw. For that no small amount of pride appears merited.

Zakk Wylde's Sleeping Dogs Growl Loudly For His Latest Effort

Meek isn't in metal wild man Zakk Wylde's nature. However for the brand new "Sleeping Dogs" he does stop to get contemplative, as the mid tempo beat can attest. You sort of sense this effort goes nicely alongside a backdrop which finds you floating downstream, paddling a canoe, listening to the wise man unfurl what he knows. His chords are high level mellow which is a far cry from his Ozzy Osbourne days where his attitude level was off the chains. The drumming here doesn't stray too far away from its boundaries. Nice, contained, and in full service to the message Zakk's trying to send out. The lyrics point to how difficult it can be to attain peace of mind. That battle often suggests hard fought victory to attain a level head. In the opening stanza the protagonist, lamentably doesn't manage to get to the bridge where hectic leads to calm. Bitterness becomes his companion riding in the side car, rubbing in how incomplete a person he ultimately became. Zakk picks a chorus refrain to end all chorus refrains, a truism that shows he hasn't lost his snarling way phrasing entirely. "Gone but not forgotten. You cut me down just to watch me bleed." What mercilessness this implies. The protagonist isn't exactly letting bygones be bygones. Later on in the song he swears the last word represents the last thing that will be taken from him. The way the ambience stays at one defining level with an occasional shift into a chord that adds additional beef to the brew puts Zakk's ability to meld hard and soft textures on delectable display. As for his voice it's got the swamp fog lingering quality that isn't at all out of place beside the subject matter, very thick and at some forks in this road, mysterious. Zakk already has many disciples courtesy of Black Label Society. How they would feel about "Sleeping Dogs" stands as an argument waiting to be explored thoroughly. But, back to the platter in front of us. Zakk digs neatly into his vocal register and pulls out the kind of attention grabbing consistency reserved for the Tom Petty level of storytellers. Beat by determined beat Zakk allows his presence to be clearly felt, the moral of peace in one's own skin as the grand prize unmistakable. Too bad the lead character in this psychodrama never got to that rewarding destination. Zakk's ace in the hole artistry wise comes from not moving this heavily weighted canoe down the stream so fast that others can't digest the broad scope which allows Zakk's brushstrokes to effect the creation of a moving canvas of artwork. His time spent on VH1's That Metal Show didn't force his sensitive side to get tangled in the underbrush. Rather, he takes his man pill, rolls up his sleeves, and gets down to the business of adopting the Aesop cap, proving that at least in this scenario, age and wisdom do make an exact match. Zakk has come a long way from the "No Rest For The Wicked" Ozzy Osbourne days. He's a man who's seen his share of the seamier side of the world and has the bruise marks to prove it. "Sleeping Dogs" stands poised to wake up any hard rock fan who thinks Zakk Wylde's sharp teeth aren't still biting in the creative heft sense of the word.