Lana Del Rey Smolders Like a West Coast Sunset

Whatever the therapist (probably imagined by me) has done for Lana Del Rey it's paying off in spades. "Born To Die" has to be one of the great buzz kill (pun not intended or worth salivating about) album titles ever. I know what mindfulness can do to a person. That said, I am happy the chamber pop songstress has opted to direct her intensity to something we can enjoy as an artistically astute collection of quirky folks. "West Coast" sweats from every pore it's got. To add to that there are two speeds to this merry-go-round. Commence the kick start drums. Lana's sort of teasing us. At first she's laying her cards out on the table. The horse trots out of the gate to enthuse us with a cocktail hour orgasm. If Lana's voice were any steamier it would disappear into the drum/guitar combo that's keeping the drinks bubbling along. It doesn't take a Freud to comprehend what "the music in you" must be. Who cares, right? Grab your zoom angle lenses, peeps. We're going to watch Miss Del Rey set the table for what's bound to be a sprinkler activating horizontal connection. Wait a minute. The show shifts gears from randy to fogged up glasses slow, slower, slowest. How ingenious. The alternating tempo does a perceptive job of illustrating what happens when love's mystery changes shapes. Any of us could view stanza four through booze colored specs. Very wobbly but noticing enough to not be too quick to deposit the foreplay on the out piie. Plenty of literary intelligence to sate sound seekers who prefer their feast on a iPod gourmet style...not whipped up to unrecognizable mush at the Mickey D's drive through window. For a brief nanosecond Spanglish language enters the realm. Anybody not so proud that they wouldn't admit to knowing about or liking Gerardo's "Rico Suave"? Yeah, I know. By today's standards that was muy cheesy but it did show off its Spanglish side openly. By comparison Lana Del Rey teases us with a blink and you missed it version. Only adds to the emerging feminine mystique Lana has done such a laudable job crafting. She's certainly done her homework on what the West Coast, past, present, and probably future is about. Icons, silver starlets, groupies, you name it. Whatever reputation it's gotten as a sordid pleasure paradise Lana revisits. "West Coast" always returns to the loose buckled music that he's possessing. So much scenery, Hollywood insider glamour. They're in their own dimension. For sure the moment is the only one that holds any sway, sway being an excellent connective tissue for me to sprinkle praise on the "sweet boy swayin'" visual. It's gentle like the breezes coming in off San Francisco. Lana skillfully fuses perfect minor chords to go with the carnal delight. Mind you in the early going she's setting up her Cubano amor for an at arm's length bond. The time spent shifting between soaking up their surroundings and burning the eye sockets off of each other is admirably equal. When Lana sightsees, you can tell because the jauntiness mirrors a tourist trying to get the deep appreciation where she can find it. The slowed down shot glass weightiness complements the curves on their chemical energy. As Lana makes plain, voyeurism has its privileges. "West Coast" is sweet nothing naughty regardless of where on the globe you're listening. Its emphasis on brainy ruminations acts as the bonus which makes it possible for Lana to remain unique in a crowd of interchangeable pop parts.

Hello Hardcore: Skate Punk Avril Sprouts Talons

In record catalog terms, Avril Lavigne and I do have at least a seven year history. "Sk8er Boi" and "Complicated" were adorable in their own way. "Keep Holding On" which stemmed from both the Eragon movie soundtrack and her "Girlfriend" album demonstrated that Lady Lavigne could hold her own in sweeping epic territory and therefore signaled a deeper level of interest than mere passing fancy. "Girlfriend", the single kept Avril in teen angst mold, and that's not a bad special effect given she was in her early twenties at the time. Enter "Hello Kitty". Believe me...this kitten has its claws out. It aims to scratch your eyes out if you get close enough to allow it the opportunity. Never in my Avril observing life have I heard her sound so aggressive. Remember when Britney Spears got up in our faces with "Piece of Me"? There was enough jingling background clattering to set off the most battle tested metal detector. Where was the cell block guard? They put the title refrain through countless vocal shadings. Go high the producers begged. Go bass tone the producers begged. At its tempestuous center was the then fresh off headlines made for the wrong reasons Britney shining a light back on the record industry's own hypocritical moral high ground. One thing "Hello Kitty" shares with "Piece of Me" is a predominant D chord. As is foreseeable from a woman married to Nickelback frontman Chad Kroeger, "Hello Kitty" has every dimension of guitar blaze thundering from the floor. Get the drift of how Ritalin kid rainbow the color scheme in the video is? Well sir, that's how much audio assault the tune itself represents. The drums kick as a high level of ass as the guitar. Throw in some keyboard parlor tricks for good measure. Fresh out of the oven comes not so much ear gorging as it does warfare on the glass stomach that might not be armed for battle against such a wide variety of bang 'n' clang. Where possible I try to place direct pats on the head to lyrics that aren't as disposable as the diapers your newborn did his extremely dirty little business in. Avril doesn't disappoint. Sure, the obese among us might scream "That's degrading!" Their point is taken. However it's the playfulness assembled after those lyrics have had a chance to spin around in my cranium that does the trick. "Let's all slumber party like a fat kid on a pack of Smarties?" I've been heads over heels smitten with music for ages and I don't recall Smarties ever finding their way onto a lyric sheet. I guess there really is a first time for everything. What's next? Rush Limbaugh actually thinking before he opens his mouth? Nightly news programs not cutting away to half a dozen pharmaceutical commercials after three minutes of news? To be fair I bet thin kids like Smarties too. "Someone throw a cupcake at me" is worth its weight in time insensitive lard. Nothing shy about the sexual innuendo grinding over the chorus. "Come come kitty kitty. You're so pretty pretty." Being coy with sex references isn't a shiny new concept. Madonna pretty much burnished her career longevity with it. Avril's your remedial reading version. I don't see what the hullabaloo is regarding the video. Gwen Stefani surrounded herself with Asian gal pals in "Hollaback Girl" and nobody asked for her skull on a platter. The planet's way too edgy on a number of fronts these days. Any cultural swipes "Hello Kitty" takes, real or imagined, don't even rank in the top 100 list of things to get your undies in a wad over. Avril cavorts merrily. The beat drill bits relentlessly. I mop the sweat from my brow happily. Now please go back to chasing after your retirement money. "Hello Kitty" not only greets you playfully...it arouses you head to foot without leaving you stricken with morning after guilt.

Mary Lambert Generates Oodles of Warm Fuzzies

Are you in the mood for a song that lovingly holds you in its arms? Seattle's Mary Lambert is here to satisfy whatever comforting you may need via "She Keeps Me Warm". The trick of her trade? How about a piano that'll have you reflecting on the bubbles that come out of a hot tub. Prepare to relax on a level that's brilliant thanks to the simplicity that went into its creation. The lyrics promote the joys of same sex cohabitation. I give a big thumbs up to anyone who's clever enough to admit she's named her lover's eyes "Forever" and "Please don't go". Given how full of fantasy emboldened, logic defying devotion a great many love connection tunes are Mary has in fact brought a little refreshing novelty back to the highly trodden terrain. As for the female for whom she speaks in such magnificently flowing terms, I'd like to meet this friend who embodies what that concept means. According to Mary said confidant thinks she smells like safety and home, both of which are concepts that a great bit of the time sound like sexy yet deceptive illusions. Aiding the song's highly at ease framework is a steady, assured drum beat. As in a hook up that doesn't move faster than its participants are prepared to do. Love usually is delicate territory. I'm not saying Mary handles the topic with excess kid gloves but she respects her partner enough to allow the breathing room to take in each delectable sentiment. Mary flies the flag for people whose DNA makes it impossible to change stripes. Isn't that how the truest love should be, a kind that doesn't go under the hood in a feverish attempt to fix the supposedly incompatible elements. Being a Big Bang Theory fan I recall Sheldon trying to use chocolates as reinforcements for Penny exhibiting behaviors he thinks are appropriate. Leonard doesn't wish to change her eccentricities because they make her who she is. Spoken like a guy who wants to be in it for the long haul. Mary echoes that conclusion. Even if she tried, she couldn't change who she is. She's comfortable enough in her own skin to not require anyone's else's approval for her continued existence. Further on down the lyrical lane Mary returns to the classic universal claims about what real love is, namely that it's both patient and kind. Mary doesn't cry on Sundays, a fitting tie in to the picturesque scene of a church and two smitten lovers getting ready to take the plunge. The second stanza following the first choral refrain goes heavy into the getting acquainted phase. The Q & A ranges from place in the world posers like "Do you hate your job?" to less taxing brain pickings like "What's your favorite word?" For the record one of my favorite words is "conundrum". That's because it bolts from the tongue with a steel blade edge. It's also a word you might want to inject into a conversation to convince others you're a scholarly bloke/lass. From childhood sexual abuse to bipolar disorder our heroine has been roughed up by life pretty good. Her strength comes from the words she has the courage and vivacity to get on paper and then transfer to microphone. No less a pair of players than Macklemore and Ryan Lewis have worked with her in the past. Her savvy on record comes through due to these production wizards. "She Keeps Me Warm" succeeds in stepping into the vibrations of a congenial hug that is no way patronizing. On the contrary it applies generous healing to broken places and might even reawaken your belief that love isn't something dreamed up by Hallmark to rip your hard earned cash from your overwrought weary hands. Guess it's safe to conclude that Seattle isn't merely an incubation point for cloudy brooding and rides to the Space Needle. Go ahead and treat yourself to an anticipatory smile. Love doesn't judge either.

A Catchy Choral Refrain Holds Rixton's Broken Heart

You know how it goes when singers utter the chorus for what sounds like half a million times. By the time you're finished listening you question what it was about that song you found so hard to ignore in the first place. I've got good news and even better news for you. Since there's no downside to the equation I won't even ask which you'd rather have first. The good news is Manchester's very own Rixton brings the harmonies. Anybody wistful for chipper pop on the order of 'N Sync, Backstreet Boys or this decade's pin-up idols One Direction is going to be swept up in joy despite the fact that "Me and My Broken Heart" by virtue of title alone tells you the subject matter isn't vintage champagne sparkling. Jake Roche leads the bracing bunch in their take on the search for a little loving to ease the chill regardless of season. To his credit he makes heartache sound like less of a painful ordeal than a child slowly tearing off a Band-Aid. I'd chalk that up to how positive the orchestrations get when backup vocalists Charley Bagnall and Danny Wilkin sprinkle in lead guitar, bass, and keyboards. Lewi Morgan drums up upbeat enthusiasm to bolster Jake's heartstring motivated scavenger hunt instead of projecting himself as some poor waif who's hand every door imaginable slammed in his face with nothing extra to say. Returning to the chorus, although it's very easy to shout, "Oh come on! Not again!! Didn't he just sing that!" be aware that a little charm goes a long way and Jake gives off that glow in spades. All he needs is a little love in his life, a little love in the dark. He seeks to kickstart himself and his broken heart. He craves the touch only a woman can provide. Rixton can replace whatever spring in the step you've lost. I'd also like to plant the seed in your heads that Jake's natural elan allows said chorus to permeate the room. Studio buffing there is in spades but knob twisting only contributes so much to the end result. The rest has to come from an as yet pristine place. Scars haven't had time to form. The chase still has a self-explanatory value. The mixer earned stripes and ducats in equal measure. He's brought out the best for each band mate. Love gone sour can be all night bender subtle. Brixton goes the fleet of foot route. Jake knows what he wants and has enough left in the tank to hold out doggedly for a suitably warm body. You're sure to be rewarded for the three minutes and change you dedicated to this head turner. Love that is taking itself super seriously wears out its welcome too fast to be believed. "Me and My Broken Heart" carries the day thanks to the chorus that won't bore us. Not only that, it cleans up nicely.

Manchester Orchestra's Coping Strategies Lack Clarity

Wrongly or not, in pro football, a team's fortunes rise and fall with the play of its quarterback. He's the most public face outside of the coach and he tends to be the guy who gets blamed when the team can't take it to the next level. In rock circles the front man is the quarterback. If his efforts aren't up to snuff, the band can kiss its long-term prospects goodbye. Atlanta indie rockers Manchester Orchestra have much going for them. Throughout its "Cope" album the melodies go in unpredictable directions that keep you guessing at every turn. Bassist Andy Prince proves himself astute enough not to blow all his firepower in the early going. The beautiful ruckus he instigates alongside lead guitarist Robert McDowell for "See It Again", the next to last track, brings shiver to body, knocks on the spine, and then jams it slowly through so as to maximize the demonically inspired effects. Drummer Tim Very is, if you'll pardon the blatant use of his last name to induce cheap yucks, very gifted. He jets from fleet footed to devastatingly potent as if it was a mere day at the office. We come around full circle to the front man position. I realize Manchester Orchestra hints at Manchester, the region in England, but the pea soup thick voice of lead singer Andy Hull can be a distraction, not a particularly favorable one either. Show of hands out there indicate to me how many of you find a man singing in a peanut butter stuck to the roof of your mouth tone alluring? When he's not testing my patience there, he does so by dashing in and out of aurally legible, like someone who rapidly turns a radio knob from soft to loud and back again. About the most I glean from "All That I Really Wanted" is that a woman in his life gets fucking drunk way too much. "Indentions" is the 9th track out of 11. That's way too far into the mix to start catching the ear of your listeners but Andy finally marries his Brit-heavy chops with bandmates who give him room to compose, deliver, and then step back to note the consequences of his thoughts. The grooves are as tight and enticing as one could ask for. Andy's indentions refer to the trace of memory anyone will have of him when he expires. The title track comes last. Lucky for us the entire enterprise clocks in at under 40 minutes because the fuzz, unpredictable turf shifting, and absence of an Andy Hull to English translator are going to leave you chronically exhausted. "Cope" the single is menacing. You can tell right away claw marks are slowly asserts their presence along your back. "Every Stone" won't likely elevate you from the funk you've been fighting. "Top Notch" opens things off the right way. Thunder rolls due in large part to Tim Very's eagerness. "Trees' unloads choice bombast worthy of the majestic titular landscape ornaments. "The Ocean" easily jangles not to mention lends weight to the band's tendencies towards laying down a lick, and then dropping in another that goes in the opposite direction from where your comfort zone might be. As an indie rock act they get a little license to maintain the underground enigmatic pelt that makes groups of this variety an endlessly captivating live draw. Nevertheless, we'd have a degree of immediate access to Andy's anguished deliberations if he didn't take the Manchester half of his band's name so literally. I think Brits are as interesting a people watching session as the next guy, but Barry White said it best when he opined, "Too much of anything's not good for you baby." Well played. "Cope" sees the Atlanta tribe coping by resisting an easily discovered route to universal connection. If we could better understand the language spoken in Andy's soul we might be tempted to root for him. As it stands "Cope" doesn't appear to have put any aspect of its past behind it.

Three Days Grace Is Back With a Killer Track

Pain and Three Days Grace go together like hand in glove, or so it would appear. Muse on this. In 2006 "Pain" was released as a single from the album "One-X". Such a dazed composition. The first few bars sound like then lead vocalist Adam Gontier had been bashed on the head with a crowbar prior to the recording and we could see the stars, exclamation points, and little tweeting birdies flapping around. If that screw job is what led to his severed artery singing, the cry of the wounded beast, it worked nicely for the Ontario, Canada outfit at that time. I say "then" lead vocalist because damn those winds of change, there is as of 2014 a brand new tonsil flasher who's hopped aboard the ship. Matt Walst, brother of co-charter member Brad, lends slickness to "Painkiller" which compared to Adam's self sadism which contended that too much pain was never enough, looks at the hopeful side of those boo boos we've accumulated somewhere down the line. Although the track doesn't tell whether the extended shoulder to cry on is coming from a friend or a paramour, either one would work fine. By the way, the new album isn't in its completed stages yet so we'll have to quench our Three Days Grace thirst with "Painkiller" which proves itself a delectable swallow. The collective gusto hearkens back to "I Hate Everything About You", another "One-X" track that teetered a bit unsteadily off the spool. Of course any hard rock/metal fan will tell you you've got to be a little cracked at the start to venture forth into this fang bearing genre. Take a real close listen to lead guitarist Barry Stock's efforts there. The clearly rattled chords he plays teem with the battle worn ravages of a man who doesn't just dislike the woman he's taken into his inner circle, he detests her. Love and hate can charge up many a relationship but in this instance the plug's frayed, the socket is dangerously on overload mode. "Painkiller" demonstrates how the 2010s Three Days Grace cleans up really well. Barry gets his full weight behind the guitar, conveying relationship loyalty instead of holding the chainsaw he's going to use to destroy fences. Drummer Neil Sanderson, like Brad Walst, has been with the group since its founding 16 years ago. His relative comfort level bashing skins shines through from his splendidly amplified core. You'd be justified in thinking that unlike the now defunct period where Adam was fronting the band, Neil's beats assume a role of joint ownership in whatever flight of fancy the band is now taking. He and Matt bounce off each other. Matt vows to lessen the devastation of the wounds, and Neil hammers home affirmation of that promise. To me at least it's refreshing to hear the band get their surplus energy wound around renewed strength rather than lying in a ditch somewhere playing the wronged party to the hilt. Bassist Brad sports a steely resolve no one would dare question. On other fronts you know Matt's pouring his heart out for a worthy cause if he's willing to be "the dose you die on". He'll numb you off. He'll be your soothing salve. Better yet he can drive his point in 3 minutes on the snoot. "Pain" was about down for the count defeated resignation. "Painkiller" tells the cosmic rulebook "I'm going to take your script, rip out a few choice pages, and reignite the juice that makes me so damn awesome!" These guys have replaced a limp spark plug with souped up jumper cables. The finished product leads to the highly believable claim that Three Days Grace can bring the electricity needed to treat fans and newbies to a long term power cruise. "Painkiller" is pleasurable on levels too numerous to count.

Sam Smith's Soulful Crooning Stays With You

Could Sam Smith be the female version of Adele? If the UK crooner's "Stay With Me" is any indication that's a valid enough argument. Given his cousin is none other than Lily Allen of "Smile" fame there's definitely performance chutzpah in his bones. "Stay With Me" is one of the most delicate flowers I've listened to in an age. He's so approachable it's almost painful to hear his agonies unfold. He's a mere man and, therefore, love is required to make sure his world hasn't fallen off its axis completely. From the jump the piano sinking in behind him can penetrate even the most jaded of ears. Sam's vocal range lays threadbare his pulsating open heart wound. By mid song the focus has shifted from a classical R & B sound to something more along the lines of an organ grinding gospel catharsis. He's definitely got a way with keeping his intentions short and sweet. What he and his lady of the moment have going on isn't clear to him but he'd like for her to stay with him anyway, to lay down beside him. To this song's credit the pathos is laid down steadily, giving you and I the chance to catch our breaths before seeing where Sam's going with his drama. The guiding hand is steady, pitch likewise. As the night of possible intimacy takes shape Sam asks himself why he's being emotional for men's men don't act like that. He demands of himself the needed self control so the evening as a whole doesn't become a hot mess. If "Stay With Me" was to be compared to a form of weather I'd have to go with steady chill, possibly wintry flurries whizzing through the air. In other words a gentle form of weather for a gentle call for closeness. The debut album this comes from goes by the moniker "In The Lonely Hour". "Stay With Me" is an ideal song to chase away those lonely night blues.