New Zealand's Like a Storm Invades Enemy Territory With Gusto

Batten down the hatches my friends. New Zealand's Like a Storm threatens to rip your roof clean off. That's okay should the straight line winds of hard rocking menace make their way to my general vicinity. This band's "Become the Enemy" knocks flower pots off the front porch, gets your teeth rattling and, on any other level imaginable, flat out gives you a swift punch in the mouth. Three cheers to its accompanying video. You really get into the cult like feel provided by the audience. Chris Brooks has a fine way about him in front of the mike. His conviction cannot be denied. Nor could the nut sack shaking bravado of lead guitarist Matt Brooks. I was, and for that matter still am floored by the agility he displays when he careen up and down the fret, devil may care attitude on display for everyone to gaze in awe at. It's a safe addiction worth getting swept up in, time and again. Looking for a bass to slap your face? Kent Brooks has you covered coming and going. What a juggernaut with extra verve to spare. There's nothing overly brilliant in the lyrics but, then again, when you're rocking this hard, who's paying attention to words anyway. However, I pride myself on being a blogger who covers each base imaginable so, that in the forefront of your mind, why don't we examine Like a Storm's indescribable poetry. In essence Chris refuses to be some backstabber's lifeline when, as it so happens, this guy will be the death of him. He flat out refuses to play savior for this guy. The horrifying imagery of the dude's inner chemistry tells the story vividly, repulsively, and makes a clean break necessary for sanity's sake. If the reference to his being dead before he was even born doesn't push your heebie jeebies button into high gear then the image of Jesus Christ with devil horns ought to give you pause to reflect. This person sounds like a bottomless need cauldron too, as is evidenced by "Drowning in a sea of self annihilation". In other words his self esteem score likely stands in the negative number range.So, like I said, you're not going to get the weightiest revelation from the lyrical end, but, if it's crunchy rock brought to your doorstep with authority you want then boy are you officially playing out the luckiest day of your life. Haven't forgotten you Zach Woods. Do you ever know your way around skin bashing territory. To say I'm open mouth impressed doesn't begin to do your work justice. Like a Storm has been around since 2005. This latest song gives sizable reason to believe another 10 could be in the offing. The guys move at a fantastic clip. You don't have to concern yourselves with their going so fast you can't drink in the venom until you keel over. "You've become the enemy" does great things as a rallying cry each participant can fully embrace. If anybody needed a song to work off excess nervous energy to, look no further. As of this day only 12 people have given "Become the Enemy" a thumbs down. Makes me wonder the IDs of those mouth breathers. "Become the Enemy" doesn't necessarily ask much of its audience but who says that's a limiting factor. Snipping off the dead wood in one's personal orbit is the name of this highly compelling game. "Become the Enemy" merits a user friendly slot in any rock aficionado's iPod shuffle.

In This Moment Is Bad In a Bad Way

Well kids, if ever there was a soundtrack song to the worst nightmare you'll ever have it's "Big Bad Wolf" the insomnia prompting wonder from LA's In This Moment. In this moment you'd better sleep with the lights on. Why is that you ask? Turn off the lights for a split second, then close your eyes and maybe, just maybe this horror show will infiltrate your dream world. The accompanying video looks like it was snatched straight out of the apocalypse. What...the...f--k!! I doubt Marilyn Manson would go quite this far. This here's a line that's been crossed, defecated on, and, for good measure, urinated upon. Maria Brink succeeds in grabbing all the attention she can scrounge. I don't quite know what to label her chips, dips, chains, whips fest but she could use the same Thorazine Dr. Venkman gave Dana in Ghostbusters. Not that "Big Bad Wolf" lacks musical sensibilities. What galls me is said sensibilities slap across the canvas fingerpaint style. It's gritty within an inch of its chainsaw subtle life. Maria's in eight levels of agony, none of them reassuring in the least, Whether screaming, writhing, or being led around by chains, Maria looks to be holding on by the thinnest of threads. Chris Howorth's abrasive lead guitar does nothing to settle the churn within. Here we have a metallic beauty that goes heavy into shock but comes up short on well-defined technical chops. In This Moment is 10 years into its career. You'd think overwrought sexually supercharged theatrics like this would be something of a rookie angle to get people's attention. Guys, hate to break it to you but any band that can sustain a career of a decade plus should consider itself lucky to even be employed in the medium. There'd be greater respect if the band didn't play the dominatrix card so shamelessly, It's true that sex sells. Always has, always will. But I don't think the intent behind "Big Bad Wolf" was to frighten people out of the moat remote urge to copulate. Too much face time with Maria in the video getup could do that to a person unintentionally. Couldn't even understand the lyrics so, thank you various lyric Cribb notes for helping to keep me too far away from blind leading the blind territory. The Three Little Pigs story factors in somehow but not before Maria, defying any lucid logic, screams four times, "Even in these chains you can't stop. Can't tell if the pig's protesting being the wolf's next meal or if Maria's trying to wake us all up as jarring;y as possible. Anyway she unfolds the classic nursery rhyme in such a fashion that Marge Simpson would likely utter, "I'll never look at that story the same way again. Nothing's sacred apparently. Book open to the uncensored version she said, "Once upon a time there was a nasty little piggy filled with pride and greed (insert Donald Trump campaign joke here). Once upon a time there was an evil little piggy typical disease. You see this little pig is slowly becoming my own worst enemy. You see this evil pig she's a blood, blood sucking part of me." How appealingly innocent...or would that be appallingly innocent. Travis Johnson uses his bass playing to crank up the goosebump factor as does Tom Hane on drums. Maria's mind-blowingly versatile. She do writhing, controlled rage, and overt hostility in one fell swoop. Lots of huff and puff but, for all that hyper dramatization, "Big Bad Wolf" doesn't blow my door down or knock my whiter than white socks off. Hope the minions in the video got paid greater than scale wages or else pig in a blanket could be all they're consuming for a little while. In This Moment's moment in the rock sun could be going, going, gone. Heightened heft for the next single would be welcomed. Wouldn't want "Black Widow", the album from whence "Big Bad Wolf" came to prove a prophetic image as it pertains to the outfit's future prospects.

Don't Cry. The Neighbourhood's Coming To You With a Steamy Song

Let us enjoy a song that's ideal for taking in the downtown sights on a cool Friday night. If you take away nothing else from The Neighbourhood's new "Cry Baby" this band has done its job admirably. The cogs in this machine purr handsomely as if they could serve your cruising needs forever and a day. Peeking at the engine I salute the sleek design, specifically Jesse Rutherford's synthesizers and keyboards. He's got commendable vocals too, the sort that makes inhibitions waft away in the night air. You couldn't get to cruising altitude or speed without a firm hand on the throttle and that's where bass player Mikey Margott excels. You can hear the thump loud and proud beneath Jesse's none too thinly veiled seductive voice. Ah yes, there's more to the story than these two players. Even though you can detect Brandon Fried's drums they aren't sprawling over "Cry Baby" and therefore leaving scant room for any of the other talent on display to shine through. Zach Abels lends muscle to the sex appeal cause through well seasoned lead guitar licks that swim about in the brain until they've come to a likable resting place where everybody can fully admire them. Jeremy Freedman's bolsters this song's marketable prospects by dropping rhythm guitar in the most neatly timed places. Don't misunderstand the journey. This isn't meant to be a long, five-course meal. If snacking's your game then "Cry Baby" is one sport you want to get into as soon as possible. This chorus was meant to be appreciated windows rolled down, wind in the hair. The beat's blue jean tight with enough chord variation to keep your ears from wandering too far away from the intended trajectory. I can't make out any minor chords that would drop gloom down in steady doses. That serves the song well. There isn't some Hindenburg heavy dirge mentality applied to leave you emotionally spent. This is high praise indeed for a song called "Cry Baby" that espouses the virtues of crying as a means of venting. That sentiment between boy and girl doesn't come until the tail end but it is very much in evidence. Up front Jesse plays the introspective bravery card. I relate on many levels. He's a bit hard on himself and, at my worst, I can be too. I particularly take to "I spend too much time explainin' myself." If I had a dollar bill for each time I put explanation above inspiration in my daily life I'd have enough money to eat veal and/or steak multiple times a week. And so the psychological bloodletting continues. Jesse also damns himself with "I think I talk too much." "I think I try too hard." Makes you want to prop up Jesse's exhausted soul doesn't it. He does get points for laying it on the line. He needs to be rewarded with a gold medal for gravitas. "Cry Baby" makes good on the vow to spike your core adrenaline until it's running on all cylinders. "Cry Baby" isn't a cry for help. I liken it to a man's quest to seek comfort in his own skin. Not an easy task by any means but admirable in its effort. If this is a neophyte's welcome to The Neighbourhood he's picked the perfect treat to nosh on from the start.

Shinedown's Latest Not A Very Inspired Head Trip

I hate to spit on Shinedown. The Floridian outfit has given me much pleasure on occasions past. "If You Only Knew" had an inspired rhythm running from stem to stern. There wasn't a weak link in that chain. Lead vocalist Brent Smith got huge punch from his reassuringly masculine presence. He doesn't belong to the school of "Let me blow you over with my impressive technique. He was perfectly at home letting his band mates offer up a wave for him to surf to masterful heights on. Not to be pigeonholed as a generic rock band Shinedown contributed to the soundtrack for the Sly Stallone vehicle The Expendables. The track, "Diamond Eyes (Boom-Lay Boom-Lay Boom)" killed. You wanted dramatics to the highest order? This song gave you exactly what you craved. "State of My Head" hardly registers on the Richter scale. To be blunt, frank, and anything else that a weighty adult conversation to do with music has up its sleeve, "Threat To Survival", the name of the album the track comes from, has intrigue in spades. "State of My Head" doesn't merit anything other than a raised eyebrow because it's too cutesy in comparison to the other singles I mentioned. Everybody's instrument is in fine working order. That includes Brent's pipes. Western fantasy much guys? Your lyrics hint that you wouldn't be out of place binge watching vintage John Wayne flicks. The following words border on cliche. "Oh, my eyes are seein' red. Double vision from the blood we've shed. The only way I'm leaving is dead. That's the state of my, state of my, state of my head. Poetry or balderdash? You be the judge. It's not destined to make me lust after additional listens. The song's not even 3 minutes and 30 seconds. Wise move. The less traceable proof of this song's existence the better. No artist goes through a career without a misstep but Shinedown's overall body of work had managed to sidestep land mines...until now. I'll hold off on overall opinion of "State of My Head" since one track does not a stinker make but I have my fingers crossed for their sake that "State of My Head" doesn't assume the image of one of those movie trailers where, if you've watched it, you've also seen the lone high point of the movie. We can pray "State of My Head" is a mere aberration rather than the damning indictment that the entire project should have been left on the cutting room floor. Brent's voice proves serviceable despite the corny material. Zach Myers comes through nicely on lead guitar. Eric Bass applies the right sublime touches with his bass. Barry Kerch admirably stays within his parameters behind the drum kit. So, I repeat what's wrong with "State of My Head" isn't the performing act. It's the maddeningly plucky, ten-gallon hat sensibility the song's been graced with. How icky can you get with "concrete street skin". Sounds like someone stayed out in the sun too long. I'd like to think Shinedown was trying to be tongue in cheek but this is far too cologne drenched to allow much room for humor. "State of My Head" suffers from not enough cranial focus on the process of constructing something even remotely inspired. '

Thank God Weezer Has Lost None Of Its Humor

Good to hear from you again Weezer. Nice to be reminded of the wicked funny sense of humor you possessed since back in the day. Your latest single cements that legacy. "Thank God For Girls" delights from first note to last. And as for the accompanying video, bonus points for ratcheting up the cuteness. Many cooks are stirring this broth and the stew they come up with tastes simply divine. Nobody would accuse them of taking themselves too seriously. Lead vocalist Rivers Cuomo floors it with winning facial expression after facial expression. His delivery on record exhilarates. I'm smitten with the chorus through and through because it serves as a rousing celebration of feminine wiles in all their wondrous glory. The shades of melody abound throughout "Thank God For Girls". We open with Brian Bell letting it rip on keyboards. Kind of a catchy precursor to the unabashed silliness the song delves into. Patrick Wilson bangs drums in fine glee. He too appears to be so smitten with the subject matter that he isn't overly eager to hog the spotlight. If you're taken aback with the opening words of the song then you really need to get your funny bone examined. The eye candy alone is worth coming back for seconds and maybe even thirds. "The girl in the pastry shop with the net in her hair is making a cannoli for you to take on your hiking trip in the woods with your bros that you've known since second grade." What on earth is there not to love about that? If you said, "Why nothing, Ear Buzz dude, then give yourself a gold star, a pat on the back, or any other symbolic gesture of victory you desire. Can't hurt that I have cherished and greatly loved cannolis in my day. Tip your server, if you catch my drift. But wait, it does get even better. Did you know you may encounter dragons or ruffians and be called upon to employ your testosterone? Sounds like all the fun I can stand and then some. That same pastry girl will be waiting to shove a big fat cannoli in your mouth after your sojourn. Weezer reminds us that not every legendary tune has to be dark and unrelenting reality-based in tone. A little humor goes a long way. Weezer's brand gets maximum mileage out of a basic premise. I think I always will favor "Hash Pipe" over the overwhelming majority of the band's catalog. However, "Thank God For Girls" displays much of the lovable lunkhead persona that the boys have a practical patent on. Scott Shriner plucks away on bass with a highly commendable aplomb. The combined meal goes down beautifully. If "Thank God For Girls" were a part of a five course meal I'd venture to say here's a dessert you'll be hard pressed to shy away from. Clarity of purpose holds the key to its inherent greatness. The sales pitch isn't some blatant choke hold. All Weezer deigns to do is send your palate to tantalizing heights. The video doesn't seek out slapstick turf. I believe goofy for goofy's sake makes up "Thank God For Girls" at its finest. The hiking imagery brings me back to visions of s'mores shared around a campfire. Thank God for Weezer and its commitment to being willing to take a few cannolis in the face in the name of our personal amusement. The tip on the table is the easiest money I ever had to part with.

CHRVCHES Leaves Little Trace Of A Long Remembered Single

This is the 2010s right? Then why does CHRVCHES new "Leave a Trace" land straight in the 1980s wheelhouse courtesy of keyboard fills and a haunting ice cold air? Lead singer Lauren Mayberry has an agreeable girlish quality to her pipes. It makes the lyrics she utters that much more enticing. She goes for depth over substance and the results are quite quaint. That's about as far as I can extend the praise. Too true such keyboard ruminations wouldn't be out of place on an '80s iPod shuffle including The Cure and Depeche Mode. Both those bands have a mope British flavor to them. CHRVCHES hails from that home turf for haggis, Scotland. Iain Cook lays on synthesizers really thick. Been there, heard that. For added effect Martin Doherty blends in a new layer of synths to give it that baked in taste '80s connoisseurs know well and take to their heart. There's only so much you can do with wave upon wave of synths. CHRVCHES single isn't hard to follow. That's kind of a curse. You can clearly hear Lauren's voice as she waxes philosophic on giving up on time, etc...references to the grand design and so forth. Does the whimsical beat do a disservice to the song's message? If there's one positive takeaway I'd say it makes the medicine easier to swallow. You can deal with weightier content a little piece at a time. Lauren's determined to find relief anywhere she can get it, if her words are telling the story accurately. The most striking part of the lyrics happen to be "Take care to bury all that you can. Take care to leave a trace of a man." Powerful but, again, when you only have a synth beat coming to represent in the musicianship department you can quote as many memorable lyric tomes as you want but the results don't buoy the music to greater heights. If you need a sense of how winningly defiant Lauren is, the video tells the entire story. Not the entire package doesn't hold up in the GQ area. Lauren isn't about emoting to within an inch of a song's life. Being understated helps "Leave a Trace" in terms of it not being a royal turnoff. Note how for lack of any other viable lightning rod I keep coming back to Lauren. Plain and simple she's the only magnetic trait that lingers after "Leave a Trace" finishes. No drums to pep up the mood. Although Iain does gift us with a bass. So how does "Leave a Trace" rank if you were to compare it to a snack treat? How does rice cake grab you? You don't get much taste bang for your listening buck. I'm not asking for everything to be a cosmic face melt but, like stones skipping across a lake, the ripples take form and then disappear into the ozone. "Leave a Trace" doesn't leave much trace at all. That's not a healthy sign.

Seether Cooks Up a Vulnerable Gem Worth Saving

Often when bearing bad news you want to ease in slowly, let the weight fall in as digestible a manner as one could allow. Seether, an excellent unafraid to emote South African band isn't bearing bad news in the slightest. What's on display opens stripped of its electricity and the rewards extend as far as the imagination can fathom. Seether pulls back the curtain to expose the very mortal but very convincing rock workmanship that earns respect gig after gig. Seether won me over with the turbo charged "Words as Weapons". Slammed down on your eardrums like an industrial strength jackhammer. The vocals cooked to a fabulous crackle. The new "Save Today" ought to score massive points with both genders. Men who crave rock credibility get to go home happy while the ladies who like their dudes in touch with their feminine side will lap this up bones and all. Don't sleep on that acoustic opening though. Soon enough the plugging in works out to full effect. Doesn't cost the song punch in the slightest. The intensity level inches upwards degree by scintillating degree. If I may indulge in a highlight reel moment the chorus for "Save Today" scales the heights of beautiful and plants a flag at the very top. "So save the secrets that you prayed for", especially at the "for" part tugs on the heartstrings magnificently. Sprawling landscapes stagger the imagination with their unabashed grandeur. "Save Today" strikes a similar pose on its cruise for acoustic to electric. The dots connect slowly, steadily, impressively. Much doubt colors the opening stanza. Lead vocalist Shaun Morgan tingles with doubt. He's convinced the young aren't in line for good fortune. The "right?" question at the end of lines two and four illustrate he's unsure of his just agreed upon conclusion. He doubts he has what it takes to succeed. He rues the time lost that can't be reclaimed. John Humphrey knows not to overreach here. His is a conductor's assignment, simply keeping the train rolling along the track. Bassist Dale Stewart's contribution to this track cannot be underestimated. The bittersweet texture shoots straight from his instrument. You let it sink in, allow the raw weight to hit your shoulders, sigh heavily, and then retrace your steps until you've located your waylaid optimism. It's not too heavy on minor keys, but still manages to pack a heavy psychological punch. There's much rooting value to be gleaned from the lyrics. You want Shaun not to feel so heavy hearted but you're powerless to intervene. You keep your fingers crossed in hopes that a life raft materializes somewhere but you're not too married to his chances. If "Words As Weapons" was a jarring effective plea for a crumb of attention, "Save Today" pulls back on the rack and pinion steering in exchange for a chance to make the mileage last. "Save Today" makes good on the promise of the human touch any day of the week. It has already grown on me, and repeatedly listening stands to make this bud bloom into a dignified flower carrying itself with the utmost grace.