Not Your Ordinary Mash Up

The countdown continues to Halloween 2013. In the here and now it happens to be Monster Mash Day. As part of it why not let's sidle on up to "Monster Mash", a classic frightfully fun Hallow hit. Bobby "Boris" Pickett and The Crypt-Kickers handed us this ghoulish gem in 1962 where it became a #1 Billboard smash. So when Bobby says "It was a graveyard smash" you know he means it. All the trappings of a clever novelty item are present. You've got a bubbling potion sound along with a very hyper creature itching to let loose from his chains. The delivery's the thing. Bobby presentation couldn't be any more like song in the key (and mood)of zombie. If you wanted to get technical about it you might say this "song" cops more of a rap vibe. After all he's not exactly making anyone think of a polished artist of yore such as Frank Sinatra or Mel Torme. He sounds as stripped clean of a pulse as you'd want. The piano playing says "groovy" which signifies that it was groovy before it became a common '70s description of anything at the corner of "neat" and "smoking". The drumming snaps to attention during the chorus but politely taps out an ambient pleasing noise much of the rest of the time. Frankly, you don't have to pull the shades down out of revulsion your neighbors would find you throwing yourself into something your parents liked back then. There's nothing wrong with camp value. "Monster Mash" caught on so devilishly that almost 11 years after it first topped Billboard it found its way back to #10. The '70s was the decade of The Rocky Horror Picture Show, which contains the undeniably catchy "Time Warp". But, corralling this conversation and sending back down dead end highway, "Monster Mash" is an engaging party starter for any one of a number of parties featuring skull candles. The usual suspect list of graveyard menaces is accounted for. Ghouls, zombies, Dracula and progeny, etc...For me this is one of a handful of Halloween themed songs that holds up to repeated listening. Besides which would you have known it started out its life as "Transylvania Twist" hadn't flipped his coffin lid to tell you? Even on holidays you learn something new.

Panic! At The Disco's Newest Offering Proves How Good It Is To Be Weird

Panic! At The Disco stems from Las Vegas, home to miles of get rich quick gambling casinos, buffets, and the to be expected stretch of desert landscape. This outfit's new collection "Too Weird To Live - Too Rare To Die!" pours on numerous shades of appetizing high energy reviews that run the gamut from showman (the album rock winner "Miss Jackson) to slicing right to the root of the matter ("Nicotine") to party shuffler ("Vegas Lights). Shifting focus to the overall level of spark given off, Brendon Urie shoots his vocals right back to the cheap seats of whatever auditorium, community center, venerable arena, or intimate shed you want to put him in. Nowhere is this more obvious than on "Nicotine" where he makes his break with a girl who, quite frankly doesn't sound like she'd be good for anybody's physical or mental health. He's crucifying her as being as bad for him as that certain element of cigarette smoking. There's nothing but razor blade hard ass edge permeating all over the track. If you fall into the camp of people who've grown addicted to Brendon's flair for the dramatic you'll be sleeping well tonight. He lets fly as if the oxygen were slowly but surely draining out of him. "Vegas Lights" deserves kudos because it opens with a segment from the classic days of Sesame Street. To anyone not around in 1969 when this legendary program hit the airwaves, all I can say is just humor a sentimental codger like me while I explain to you where the bit originated from. There was an old segment of counting exercises that concluded with a hapless baker tumbling down a set of front steps, invariably dropping the decadent treat he was carrying after singing out the number of said goodies he was carrying. The opening to "Vegas Lights" starts with the self same 1-10 counting sequence as was shown then. What Sesame Street has to do with Vegas other than the notion that both locales are very colorful and, in certain instances, highly revealing of the person(s) responsible for creating them I have no idea. Anyway it's a novel way to kickstart a rock-inflected party pleaser that succeeds in winning over both the crowd that wants true blue Panic! At The Disco emo power playing and the crowd that wants to party into the wee hours or until it passes out from exhaustion, whichever comes first. Spencer Smith's drums sound souped up. They're ready to embrace the carefree mood permeating all gathered for this celebration. During "Nicotine" Spencer gives no quarter. If his upper lip was any stiffer it would freeze up that way. Many times the guys zip me back to the '80s with its abundance of keyboard fills. This tendency pays off in the case of "Girl That You Love". Playing catch me if you can with Brendon's unyieldingly dramatic vocal power the keyboards take a little of the sting off so listeners can rest easy knowing this is the Panic! At The Disco they've come to appreciate, tolerate, or syncopate with since its inception in 2004. As a poetry writer I appreciate the untamed power of short bursts of energy that my medium has to offer. Still, "Far Too Young To Die" and "The End Of All Things" could've been left on the cutting room floor and nobody would've felt put out, hurt, cheated, or inclined to carry a grudge. The former track is unapologetic in the message it tries to convey but it's a path that's been worn down so many times you wonder how weary travelers can even make out the road anymore. The latter track is artfully assembled but if it was any more depressing we'd have to bring the suicide prevention hotline people in to help keep people from jumping off bridges right and left. Good for keeping the population controlled and I guess the funeral parlor industry would be high-fiving its brethren left and right but Jeez Louise...what a way to close what had been a record with a pretty admirable pulse running through it. Despite this brand of complaint, "Too Weird To Live - Too Rare To Die!" wears its weirdness proudly, like a king or queen wears regal robes. Dallon Weekes finds the ideal range for his synthesizer. As for his bass playing it fits right in with the Las Vegas stage ethos, smoke rings wafting through the air, the hard to shake din of gamblers trying to plink their way to the golden ticket. These guys don't know how to cut a simple, no frills record. Beside which why would you want them to? They give their audience their all and then some. This go round it shows time and again.

James Blunt's New "Fire" Ingratiatingly Warm

For openers I'd like to say to anyone for whom James Blunt's "You're Beautiful" is a million times more annoying than either a dentist's drill or a buzzing mosquito you're in luck..."Bonfire Heart" the first single off of the forthcoming "Moon Landing" release comes nowhere near provoking anyone to yank their iPods out of their ears and squash them to bits. For a fact it's a song that generously pours on the warmth. Think of the comfort food item or home-cooked meal that Mom used to make back in the day and you've got the right picture in mind. The drumming in place here has a suitably militant bent to it that plays into the whole "love as strong as a marching soldier" dynamic. It just so happens that Mr. Blunt represented the United Kingdom from 1996-2002 as a Captain in the Army. Not sure whether that aspect of his life was knowingly woven into the song or not but one could be forgiven for suspecting his experiences there flavored what he wanted to do with the song going into the studio. James is to be commended for infusing "Bonfire Heart" with the necessary hooks and unshakable chorus necessary to give it a healthy shot of success, at least where adult contemporary leaning music programmers are concerned. Verse two isn't exactly prime material if you're trying hard to stave off depression in some way, shape or form. For James the world is getting colder (Who's to say he doesn't have a point?). There's a marked lack of shoulders to cry on, or to turn to for an emotional lift. All the more reason why the love of a good woman is a valuable port in the storm. He claims that all he and his ladylove need are the spark to start in their bonfire hearts. So you could say James is a proponent of a romantically minimalist lifestyle. Hey whatever works, right? Returning now to the warmth I claim is present here. Any of you like your man/woman to give you a stress-busting deep tissue massage? James's acoustic guitar, if you succumb to it long enough could prove to be just as rewarding and without those costly medical bills that a first rate chiropractor (that's Plan B if the hubby/wifey's hands aren't pure magic) is sure to cost you. "You're Beautiful" started out with the line "My life is brilliant". So right there I can understand why the women in the listening audience might have disliked that song when it first hit radio. Who wants to have kids with a man who already thinks he's all that, a bag of chips, a cold beer, and a Milk Bone chomping pooch? "Bonfire Heart" is direct. It's also a little bit more modest. These are two qualities that score higher on the compatibility scale...that is unless both sides of the partnership are alpha dogs. However this is all digression progression isn't it? "Bonfire Heart" burns bright. That signals fantastic news whether you're a Blunt backer or somebody from the casual listener spectrum who happened upon a nifty tune and now treats his/her good fortune as one might the capture of a lucky penny (in this economy better make that $100 bill). Have fun staring into your lover's eyes longingly while this plays in the background. Chardonnay is optional but possibly not required.

Jack Johnson's "From Here To Now To You" Falls Victim To A Short Attention Span Complex

First impressions count for a lot in this world. Job interviews are a prime example. If possible you want to give a potential employer every reason to want to hire you, to decide that out of the overwhelming mound of potential candidates he or she has lined up to interview, that you're the one who's best prepared to deliver the goods. First dates also qualify. If you had a tendency as a child to pick boogers, a first date is not the time or place for a childhood regression. It's no different in the world of music. In an age when you can pretty much select your own playlist and therefore bypass having to waste time on crappy filler material from long play CDs you've got to know instinctively how to both grab and maintain audience attention. The first track off of folk singer Jack Johnson's "From Here To Now To You" seems to get the message at first. The whistling that goes on says "This is a nice, lazy day. Let's sit on the porch and drink pink lemonade on the porch swing." Here the percussion isn't in any more of a hurry. Waxing profound on the joys of the moment takes center stage. In other words there's plenty of "I can relate to this" content to spread around here. If you crave tranquility Jack's prepared to feed your need. "Home" is a sweet follow-up. The outdoorsy charm breaks down any compunction to huddle up in your bungalow and miss the perpetual beauty on display all around you. The intimate sunny vibes that the likes of John Denver staked his reputation on receive excellent resuscitation from what I sense has been too much time languishing in mothballs. Regrettably John's combo of deep thought and easygoing melodies tends to start losing its luster over tracks 3 and 4 ("Change" and "Ones and Zeroes" respectively). The former does hit home with the undeniable truth that change is "a punchline on all of us". Of course it could also be said that joke is higher on the cruelty scale for some than others. Prime genetics anyone? "Radiate" reinvigorates this collection by giving in to exceedingly chipper harmonies. Treading the fine line between massive introspection and taking comfort from "Que sera sera". is surely no small balancing act. Jack falls off the wire more than once. "Tape Deck" is another example where allowing the vibes to remain upbeat stands Jack in good stead. Any emotion, if overdone, can prove tiresome not only to the listening ear, but to the person with the supposedly insurmountable burden as well. We all run the risk of too much navel gazing by the time Jack comes around to "Tape Deck" which excels at plain old goofing around. His makeshift way back machine, so far as lyrics are concerned, runs like a dream. "Shot Reverse Shot" plays like too much of a music insider's joke, the shots making reference to camera angles for performers perched in their chosen element. Why the abrupt message shift was deemed necessary is likely known only to the label, the producer(s), and Jack himself. Whatever the justification it really doesn't have the universal campfire connect of classic songcraft. Even though I don't regard myself as having a limited attention span (in fact I see that trait as a act of defiance in a world where the love affair we as a culture have with technology borders on the obscene) I would not be doing you a service as a reviewer if I didn't confess you might veer towards a state of somnambulism with this record. "You Remind Me Of You" reminds me of the sort of material a new father might serenade his progeny with. Is that a bad thing? Not really. People who don't cotton to syrupy sentiment may run from the listening area screaming though. That brand of music might have worked perfectly when Jack contributed "Upside Down" to the Curious George soundtrack, but it's corny to a fault in this environment. "From Here To Now To You" has the makings of a fine record. Trouble is there are far more valleys than peaks to justify why anyone would want to expose themselves to the prospect of repeated listening.

Nelly Reaches For Several Stars and Pulls Down a Winner With "M.O."

Nelly hasn't shown any tarnish with his new "M.O." project. His persona's versatility is buoyed by a who's who of guest stars. He can play the dew-eyed romantic. He can street party with the best of them. He can be as true to his urban background as anyone in the game today. What wins me over in a big way is Nelly Furtado's vow to drown out the world with her headphones. Nelly narrates the raw clinging to a shard of hope that represents the cold reality for many urban youths. There is a soft spot to be gleaned in his chest. "Maryland, Massachusetts" brings with it a captivating darkness. "Shake Whatever" basks in a wonderful celebratory playfulness. The awesome force that is T.I. emerges to drop some sublime science on both "Rick James" and "IDGAF". I made reference to a galaxy of guest stars earlier. A brighter constellation of rap luminaries you'll be hard pressed to find. Florida Georgia Line brings a dose of country to the crib. Trey Songz busts out on "All Around The World". 2 Chainz comes to represent with "100K". Pharrell Williams is part of the roll call for both the opening "Get Like Me" and the above "IDGAF". Future's "Give U Dat" exhilirates in its capacity as a prime sensory experience. Daley is in fine form throughout "Heaven". Fabolous & Wiz Khalifa sprinkle their talents across "My Chick Better". Upon listening I've concluded this isn't a case of too many cooks spoiling the broth. Each guest injects noteworthy vigor into his star turn. Nelly should be commended for not skimping on the tools he uses to assure mass appeal.

Whitesnake's "Night" Creature a Singularly Ghoulish Delight

It's true. "Still of the Night" from Whitesnake is my all time favorite rock song. I always will have a soft spot for the hard rock/heavy metal era which grunge pushed into a coffin and promptly sealed the lid on. It sends all the right shivers down my spine. There's a gigantic, menacing wall of guitars that plunges downward relentlessly. David Coverdale who, after all these years, remains the one constant in the band lineup, oozes bad boy charisma. He's a beast on the prowl who won't be stopped until he has the object of his sexual desires wrapped up in his arms. Tommy Aldridge astounds me with the way his drums batter, pummel, smack, mutilate, and essentially stun with their viciousness. I recommend if you've never heard this throbbing slab of heavy metal excellence go for the extended play version. The edited single version I owned at first snips away at the climactic segments of the song, and that's a crime no jury should ever allow to let go unpunished. The bridge is particularly steamy. Tommy's thunderbolts are pulled back to a quiet little series of taps on the shoulder. David has hit a pinnacle in his demonic tone of voice. Even when the bridge is apparently finished that merely leads down a long corridor where guitar is turned into an orchestral bass. David is never far behind with his putting orgasm on vinyl approach. "Ooh baby!! oooh! AAAAAH!!" Cue the drums once more. John Sykes, Adrian Vandenberg, and Rudy Sarzo align forces for what's a fret equivalent to gathering clouds about to uncork a mighty storm over the land. The alto guitar that ushers us back the series of notes the song started out with is, as Jack Black might put it, face melting. Imagine someone revving that note directly up and down your spine. You'd be reduced to rubble almost instantly. So...I talk about how great the conclusion is. Reason? Pure symphony. I guess that's what happens in a professional ballgame when you've reached the apex of all the players being on the same page in the playbook. They're all way out in the land of fifth gear. If that's all Whitesnake ever committed to disc I'd already be on my knees thanking the gods of rock for the unmatched experience. Whitesnake doesn't skimp on this blend of erotic licks and no holes barred power. If I come across like some stammering fan boy you'll have to pardon me. It's such a magnificent slice of metal that no artistic means of writing about it could ever do it justice. This is steam without forking over obscene money for the time in the spa. Ir holds up well over time. There's no reason to think it won't always will.

Condemnation a Very Praiseworthy Depeche Mode Song.

Here we are at evening one of Austin City Limits Fest. Depeche Mode is on stage working the crowd into a fever pitch. I can only imagine this is true since I'm perched behind this keyboard typing up my latest round of sentiments but it probably won't turn out to be far from the truth. One of the less acknowledged songs from their body of work to my way of thinking is "Condemnation" from 1992's "Songs of Faith and Devotion". Martin Gore wears the crown of thorns convincingly. The beat is a big time knuckle drooper. You couldn't get any further away from the band's signature sprightly stepping "Just Can't Get Enough" where mood is concerned.Right off the bat you get this percussive, slowly timed thunk effect that sounds as if just getting out of its musical bed is too much of an effort for any of them to rightly stand. Martin's vocal range echoes the abiding pain of an obviously wounded animal. The lyrics don't just spring from his lips...they howl in agony. He suffers with pride yet has visible tears on his face as if to suggest he's not to sure he's bound to like the direction this particular journey is headed for. Most fans likely gravitated towards the grit of "I Feel You", all fuzzy and a pinch dangerous, but it's the deliberately choreographed "Condemnation" that's the single I turn to when I want to be totally mesmerized. Alan Wilder's drumming does a great deal to show the burden Martin's carrying. There's a clap along sensibility which runs through the song as well. Keyboards lend a slight hint of eerie spectacle to the proceedings. Martin's duty was to beauty and that was his crime. Nobody comes up with lyrics like that anymore. Pure poetry served up with a heaping helping of angst. The tone conveys this message of "Hey everybody. It's a funeral march and you're all invited. Maybe afterwards we'll have chips and dip." Like I said...deflated of any uplift. I like plenty of copious helpings of uplift so for me to get behind this song in a big way could be construed as somewhat of a Christian miracle. What can I say. It's all in how the gift is packaged. "Condemnation" is great theater from start to finish. The way the band's in sync harmonies have a hornet's nest buzz attitude to them. The pathos Alan Wilder gives to us all on piano is staggering. You wonder how any of them musters up any strength to proceed but somehow out of the hat comes one heck of a feisty rabbit. To those at the fest have an amazing time, by all means go bananas when "People Are People" or "Personal Jesus" rises up from the stage but don't forget that, whether the boys include it on the set list or not, "Condemnation" deserves no faint praise. It brings new meaning to the word "somber". Not only that it allows Martin to emote furiously as if the concept was soon to be passe. Sheer brilliance.