Queens of the Stone Age Sit By The Ocean With Moodiness

I must say Queens Of The Stone Age know how to drain the life out of love. "I Sat By The Ocean" goes the extra mile in the breathtaking arrangement area. Both the bass and electric guitar are a dreariness coated disfigurement,wobbling from one point on the chord scale to another. Michael Shuman gives us bass that has no qualms about flexing its muscle. Meanwhile Josh Homme's guitar drops in that much needed angst crucial to making the song a curiosity you have to stick around for even though deep down you're saying to yourselves "Whatever predicament this man and woman are in it can't end all that well." That the universe of the song doesn't stay in one place staring at its navel makes it that much easier to want to care for the two people involved. There's this understated crescendo that builds as Josh flits from note to note. The end of the storyline arc is so satisfying. If I was to connect a weather condition to this song I'd say steady rain with precious little chance of things clearing up any time soon. These two are like ships passing in the night. Sympathy? Don't bother giving it to him. The potion he drinks to erase her doesn't achieve the desired result. Crying isn't going to cut it either. I guess the central leading man is as far away from content as one can be. Eventually the passing ships crash. The open flesh wounds bleed out. The Titanic of meet cutes this most definitely is. Jon Theodore doesn't put much strut on display behind the kit. His version of skin bashing is familiar to the interaction between an overwrought soul and his friend who isn't sure how close to come before he's unintentionally making the agony worse. "Time wounds all the heals" is a notably sinister warping of the old "Time heals all wounds" saying. In Josh's way of putting it Time rips open all signs of psychological closure. As breakup songs go this beauty isn't too far away from downbeat violins which are loathe to leave minor chords. "I Sat By The Ocean" is suitable for those lonely nights when basic brooding won't cut it. The Palm Desert, California group's current "...Like Clockwork" album could be deemed heavy rock on the basis of this track alone. Check out the rest of the set only if you have enough reserve energy left following the futile yet needed cry you're bound to have after reaching out to these fractured folks.

A Little Slice of Heaven From Boston

Certain bands have a signature sound. With the changing decades certain bands like Heart and Foreigner traded in '70s open highway appropriate blasting off the speakers rockers for the more polished '80s studio engraved way of making music. As is true with any art form it's comforting to know some outfits stay as true to their core essence as possible. Nobody's gonna tell them how to make their music on their terms. Boston is one such group. Since the 1970s car stereo classic "More Than A Feeling" erupted into the stratosphere this band stays true to its guitar oriented rock. You could easily contend what Boston gives the audience is comfort food for the ears. "Heaven on Earth" the first single from "Life, Love, and Hope" promises to satiate your rock urges in the space of 3 minutes, 38 seconds. You know you're getting smoldering, manly vocals to go along with riffs that would sound right at home in 1976. The lyrics summon up yet another mishmash of lover's angst. You know the type...that whole "I thought love would be enough for me in this life" sort of theme. For good measure we're treated to the image of a tormented soul out in the rain who's so desperate for the need of his woman's touch that he doesn't even feel the rain. The song's framework doesn't incorporate any widespread outbreak of cutesy tricks either with guitar or drums. No matter who's called in to service as musicians of the people, bands that dish out nothing more than a solid belt of FM radio goodness don't fade away as the trends twist this way and that. Boston has something in common with that other big time Beantown band we know as Aerosmith. Aerosmith's sound has and always will revolve around Steven Tyler's weather beaten voice and Joe Perry's blazing guitar. Although Brad Delp's rocking out with the heavenly arena goers at this point, his influence on "Heaven on Earth" can't be denied. Curly Smith does the drummin' thing admirably. He's a prime example of a guy in a band who's not trying to blow the other members off the stage/out of the recording studio. He's a role player comfortable with the shoes he has on. One can reach for optimism and hope the rotating roster of members doing vocal duty on the album, one which apparently began its journey from newly hatched to full grown adult back in 2003, works in the bands favor. Not only does founder Tom Scholz take a turn at the mike but so do Brad, Tommy DeCarlo, Kimberley Dahme, and David Victor. "Heaven On Earth" smartly follows the hard rock formula of success. Give the audiences enough juice to bring them to the edge of their seats but don't forget you're nothing if not workmanlike in how you work the crowds into that lather. There are definitely times that, at the end of the day, all you want from your rock is meat and potatoes. Grab a sturdy knife, guys. Dinner is served.

More Power To Britney's Sis

Don't expect to hear the same sort of slick pop or dance stylings springing from the lips of Britney Spears' sister Jamie Lynn. She's opted to travel the country music trail. Looking at the video for "How Could I Want More?" I have to giggle a bit when Jamie sings because the face is very much in the Britney mold so it's forgivable I would think for me to half expect "Oops!...I Did It Again" or "Toxic" to push forth. The woman does come from Kentwood, Louisiana, which makes her choice of genre easy to fathom. The voice is pleasingly delicate and, for a woman merely 22 years old, it's got a worldly wise sensibility to back it up. The lyrics come complete with the drama you've come to expect from her more famous sister. There's the usual "Maybe I should let the poor man go, like a caged bird that needs to fly." The man sounds delicious. He treats her like a princess. He hangs on every word she says. Bonus points if she's a boring conversationalist. The problem she's having is she still seems to want more. In other words, if he sounds too good to be true, he probably is.The arrangements for the song are admirably dialed down. All it takes to light this fire is a delicately strummed acoustic guitar and Jamie Lynn's honky tonk poetry. She suspects there could be more fire and feeling than what he's letting her take a peek at. I've always been convinced that, at the heart of country music there's this simplicity of sentiment, a lack of ladling on so much bullshit that there's more show than show me. At this stage of the game I have to say that Jamie Lynn's done the right thing be giving her audience, potential and established, a little taste of what she can bring to the table in more reliable quantities on down the line. The love him but am sorely tempted to leave him dynamic is well played in Jamie Lynn's hands. There's no lack of youthful vivacity either. If you like precious snapshots of life you can hardly top "lying in the green grass underneath the blue sky". Simple pleasure winning the day. Thumbs up to Jamie Lynn, whether her management team decided for her or if she consciously voted that way, for not deciding for the easy string of hits route big sis Britney raked in the dough with. It gives us all a chance to watch her career blossom on her own terms. We won't be dealing with the saga of the dueling Spears pop tarts. Jamie Lynn's her own woman. No problem with that whatsoever. "How Could I Want More?" demonstrates Jamie Lynn is more than just Britney's sister. She's a performer whose star appears poised to rise.

Enrique's "Heart" Is In The Wrong Place

The new single from Enrique Iglesias lacks heart. That's saying something considering the name of the song is called "Heart Attack". It's not his vocals that have me scratching my head. Relax, ladies. They're still swoon worthy. I could have done without the pandering voice modulation tricks. Even if Enrique is a spicy young Latino there's no need for him to Benjamin Button has artistic bent back to the late teenage years. The other major gripe I have is that this song is apparently supposed to lean heavy on the unrequited passion side. Yet the general aura permeating through the song has me wondering "Since when did Enrique Iglesias compromise his ethics in a bid to scoop up the Neon Trees audience?" To better grasp my meaning flash back to "Bailamos". That sounded true to both his Latino heritage and paternal bloodline. Now listen to Neon Trees "Animal". If you listen closely that sound and what Enrique's given his spirit over to are alarmingly identical. And another thing, given that heart attacks are one of the top exterminators of human beings, why are the rhythms so chipper? Heart attacks usually come with dry mouth, weak legs, and nausea. That's not exactly a thrill ride of the upbeat variety. Yet there's Senor Iglesias getting all mega sensitive ultra emotive on us while a peppy beat races behind him. Can you say awkward? This is a heart attack in the relationship context but that's hardly grounds for the brand of foot on the gas tempo this song gives us. Enrique plays wounded lover to the hilt. Tall drink of water that he is, the role fits him nicely. Said heart attack is motivated by the girl who left him. Living in a world without her is the ultimate agony. What's agonizing to me is hearing Enrique try to thrive using a musical toolbox that doesn't match his full-bodied artistry. Any one of a number of twentysomething flavor of the month bands could've been enlisted to put their spin on this theme using deceptively playful key selections as their paintbrushes of choice. That Enrique did the honors instead leaves me fearing that he's becoming the latest artist forced by the record industry to phone in a sure thing hit prospect instead of showing us his genuine persona. Pop radio may devour it but I'm not planning on coming back for seconds.

Wrap Yourself Up In Kelly Clarkson This Christmas

One of the biggest challenges for any artist covering revered, or repulsive (depending on how you view the season) Christmas songs has to be breathing fresh life into a catalog of songs that often grows tedious by about the third time you've been forced to listen to it while going shopping through Wal-Mart, Best Buy, Marshall's, or any one of the number of other U.S. retailers that descend upon us, begging us to buy like there's tomorrow with money a lot of us in this country don't necessarily have. Kelly Clarkson steps up to the plate for said challenge and knocks one out of the park and onto the unsuspecting windshield of someone's newly bought automobile from start to finish of "Wrapped In Red". There are so many highlights I'm not going to do you the disservice of attempting to do justice to one and all. For the purists out there for whom some chestnuts crackle more resoundingly than others I can tell you right now the Texas native does "Silent Night" proud. Her pipes are strong in all the right places without failing to drop in a little hint of respect for tradition. It's not the by the book church organ ditty you're probably accustomed to. "Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas" sparkles as an evening of gently falling snowflakes might. If you'd rather the rock octane pop starlet make an appearance, no problem. "Run Run Rudolph" reminds you of the Kelly with fangs from "Ms. Independent". She's always been a cut above some pop songstress. I wouldn't claim she's on the rock end of the stick but her grittiness lends itself well to that genre. It's not inconsequential fluff. "My Favorite Things" is an unabashed delight. Even during a peak hour last minute shopper's meltdown it's highly unlike hearing this song piped in over the Macy's speakers will contribute to unfurling the Grinch that holiday stress feeds on. Kelly's reintroduction to those whiskers on kittens goes down magnificently. The musical ensemble backing her jazzes up the proceedings whether with stylish piano or an electrifying brass section. All you really need to do is insert close friends or curious children and you've got the makings of a fun background collection ideally suited for trimming the newly copped Christmas tree or having a catch-up meeting with the friends you haven't laid eyes on in what seems like forever. You won't be let down by the pep brimming from "Underneath The Tree". The title track possesses a romantic bent that lights a candle, then lets the latest batch of memories burn as a featured attraction in an evening lousy with what one only hopes is undiluted love. "Wrapped In Red" merits consideration as a first class stocking stuffer for the yuletide audiophile in your life. For that matter it would make an excellent reward for your having crossed off all the people on your list, be they easy to buy for damned near impossible. Three cheers to Kelly for not phoning in a project which lends itself to a round of "Just cut me a check and let me get back to actually perfecting my art since these songs are just creaky old cobweb gatherers." Kelly Clarkson doesn't do anything halfway. "Wrapped In Red" proves that goes for Santa stuff as well.

One Direction's "Midnight Memories" Too Easily Forgettable

If there are any One Direction fans out there in the blog reading audience I beg you please don't go postal after reading this review. The newest batch of boy band wonders has a new album "Midnight Memories" in the pipeline and its title track doesn't amount to much more than some peppier than usual wallpaper. Sure the harmonies are agreeable but there isn't any extra firepower to make me want to add it to the repeated listening pile. For the uninformed it is Niall Horan, Zayn Malik, Liam Payne, Harry Styles, and Louis Tomlinson who make up One Direction. They come to us from London. Who knows if they'll ever inspire hoards of screaming girls the way The Beatles did in their day. Yes, I know. That's kind of like comparing a trike to a moped but we shall see if the One Direction followers outgrow the fivesome. On the lyric front all the trappings of the pop star high life are evident. There's the plane to new hotel Point A to Point B. Harry's responsible for providing us with this glimpse into their orbit. Louis then chimes in with the claim that he's at the age where he knows what he needs. Truth be told he's all of 21 years old, street legal to put that in slang term. I went on a vacation trip to New Orleans. I was into my first year of classes at Austin Community College. I definitely did NOT know what I needed backwards and forwards. The strutting tactic I'm sure goes over well with the youngest of the young ladies. The chorus focuses squarely on the titular midnight memories. Young man and young woman stumbling in the street. Then Liam pops in with the eye popping description of his ladylove. She's "five foot something with the skinny jeans". He wants her to follow him rather than looking back. Niall doesn't care how much money gets spent. Tsk tsk...No retirement worries for you lads? Methinks not and, besides, why yuck up a picture of adorable bliss with something as wretched as reality. Ah yes, being with the best buds and fueling the economy. That's what it's all about. On the plus side parents everywhere aren't likely to launch conniptions upon getting wind that their daughters are listening to a delicate truffle like this. On the other hand they won't likely sense the emotional growth of still somewhat impressionable young minds. "Midnight Memories" is cotton candy light on the musical tongue. Too bad it, like the common circus show candy, fades away in the breeze quicker than a song in the library of a momentum gathering 21st century boy band should. The pop music game is all about staying front and center in the public's imagination. I'm afraid One Direction doesn't cut the mustard in that department.

Avril's Not Too Grown Up For The Room

If you miss the skate punk Canadian Avril Lavigne who blasted onto the musical world stage with in your face teen scream standbys like "Sk8er Boi" and "Complicated" you'll be happy to learn from me that the now almost 30 year-old's latest collection holds no shortage of that natural fiery spirit. Only several seconds into "Rock 'n' Roll" and already you'll be able to rest reassured that, regardless of whatever twists and turns have entered her life she hasn't forgotten to return to her feisty roots. "Here's To Never Growing Up" already has proven itself to be as footloose as any ditty playing up the wonder of youth and the fierce determination to hold onto it as the years pass. "17", the number that for the teen scene usually symbolizes drama it is apex as high school graduations draw ever closer, long time bonds grow apart, other bonds move in to lessen the sting, displays Avril's unexpected ability to tell a story so concrete in imagery that you'd be hard pressed not to smell the cigarette ash, to own the fizz from the soda pop cans in the corner store. Avril'a ace in the hole is that she's never been an artist who veers past being PG-rated family friendly. The Marilyn Manson aided creepiness of "Bad Girl" aside, Avril won't alienate the scads of fans who got her where she is today. The just mentioned track does hint at the close that you can tell Avril was having fun goofing around with the '90s era shock rock titan. That's the cutesome laughter of a young woman who was merely humoring her urge to let her wild side come out to play. I classify that as PG-13 but nothing that would give Grandma a coronary and make Mom wonder what she could have possibly been thinking of when she agreed to conceive the demon child who considers this suitable children's entertainment. "Hello Kitty" is weird, but I don't say that disparagingly. It's more of a benign whisper soft free fall through Avril's gentler side. "You Ain't Seen Nothing Yet" supplies a reinforcing shot of Avril, strong twentysomething powerhouse, reminding us that there this chamber of heart that's going to remain eternally young no matter what. She is chomping at the bit to show her faithful what she's worth, and how even more valuable she could potentially be in the future. All that "Sippin' On Sunshine" really needs is a sandy beach. Of course cocoa butter suntan lotion along with the special someone who makes your heart skip beats couldn't hurt. "Bitchin' Summer" encapsulates all that is perpetual motion about a group of youngsters counting down the seconds until the freeing of their academic institutional chains. I don't think it's right to crucify Avril for keeping herself enmeshed in territory that teenagers find infinitely palatable. I do wish she hadn't uttered "Mutha fuckin' princess" during "Rock 'n' Roll" because that strong declaration of self already reared its head in "Girlfriend", one of the heavy hitters from her earlier "Best Damn Thing" set. I know six years is a veritable lifetime's gap in the product demanding music business but she could have kept that zinger in the scrapbook until the nostalgia factor perked up a little. One type of song you won't find here is the enormous epic a la "Keep Holding On". If anything that demonstrates Avril's more committed to affairs of the heart and letting your self loosen up than she is gifting her followers with ready made inspirational wisdom. Fellow Canadian Chad Kroeger, he of Nickelback, the group people either adore fervently or want to tear their hair out upon a fresh listen pops in for "Let Me Go". The steam between the two is loosely contained. This is no octave spiraling contest. His huskiness and her pop princess character play off each other well. "Hush Hush" ends the spunky collection on the finality of a relationship that at one point seemed destined to go places but at this advanced juncture appears headed for the scrap heap. Avril's career certainly isn't earmarked for the realm of yesterday. You can cry "artist development relapse" all you want. I see a shrewdly marketed female who nobody had to force to wear this particular assortment of hats. Perhaps a Behind The Music episode will one day tell us all how poor Avril wasn't happy playing the riot grrrl who wasn't allow to let her teenage history drift into the rear view mirror because her record label saw nothing but dollar signs when she played that part. I prefer to focus on a young woman who isn't so grown up that she's willingly deposited her most loyal fans in the garbage while on the prowl for subject matter that's a little more edgy. A comfortable in her own skin Avril fits perfectly.