If We're Lucky, We Write Our Own Ending

As a writer, perhaps the hardest part of the process is figuring out the ending. You want to give everyone a satisfying conclusion, but not one the audience can see coming a mile away. You want to tie things up, but you don't want the bow to be so perfect it doesn't look tied by human hands. Finding the balance between a happy ending and a cloying one is incredibly delicate, and more often than not the former cannot avoid being the latter. We want to hold onto optimism that things can be better than they are, so this is natural.

That is fiction, but we live in fact. In life, we do not get to write the ending to our story very often. We don't know when, where, or how the end will come. All we can do is be ready to say we did what we could, what we wanted, and we made peace with our regrets. Some of us will have more issues with that than others.

Saying goodbye, in a musical sense, is much the same. So many artists never fully retire, so they make each album thinking there will be another coming down the line. A true farewell is not so common, which makes evaluating the last statement by an artist a tricky thing. They usually weren't intended to be their final word, so reading messages into them is more about us working through our thoughts about those artists no longer being with us than it is about what they have actually said.

I think about this when I listen to the music of Ronnie James Dio. He stands as a titan of the rock/metal world, but his legacy is a period from 1975-1985, and the remaining time he spent making music is largely considered a long and slow slide into the vast morass of mediocrity.

That changed when Dio reunited with the "Mob Rules" lineup of Black Sabbath in the guise of Heaven & Hell. They were a celebration of music that had gotten lost as the public image of Black Sabbath had been reduced (and we know why) to merely the Ozzy years. The live album/DVD performance at Radio City Music Hall was a document of a great band reminding us how much they accomplished in just three albums, and giving us cause to wonder 'What if?'

Those memories were powerful, and we weren't ready to say farewell to that music just yet. The band made a new album, which may have been intended to be merely the start of a new chapter, but instead became the final testament of Dio's career. For that reason, it is a critically important record. It is also a record that was critically viewed, often depicted as a disappointment that left a sour taste in the mouths of many who were ecstatic over the reunion and tour leading up to the record.

We don't always know what the end will be, but there is something poetic about the last song on Dio's last album being titled "Breaking Into Heaven". After decades of singing about knights, the fight, and the power of metal, Dio's last words were about storming Heaven for an eternal reward.

The song tells a story of angels (demons?) waging an assault to be let back into Heaven, as the doors were closed behind them when they were exiled. It is an allegory about mercy, as the God we are taught about is said to have an infinite supply, and yet so many followers are consumed with the inevitability of Hell. The math of the whole thing never added up. The worst among us could (depending on particular denomination) ask for forgiveness after a life of sin and be forgiven, while a good person who made a mistake before they could atone would be punished. We are all made in God's image, which would mean sin is a part of God's nature, and yet we are treated as needing salvation for being exactly what we were created to be.

According to that theology, there are two endings to our story. Here on earth, we are able to see infinite gradations between the two extremes. When it comes to Ronnie James Dio, I find "The Devil You Know" a fitting epilogue. It was a record where Dio wanted to tell us stories, wanted to pull upon the threads of our minds as much as our metallic heartstrings. The people who criticize it for being slow are missing the point; the album was intended to draw out the drama and watch it slowly drip down the dagger that had been run through our hearts.

Dio was very much one of the bright lights the character in "Stargazer" would have been watching in the night sky. He burned bright, he led the way, and then one day that light was gone. Maybe we noticed it had grown dimmer, but we didn't realize how bright that fire still was against the blackness of the empty sky until it was gone.

Ronnie James Dio was never the biggest star in metal, but he was perhaps the one who was most joyous about being able to make music. His greatest legacy is that being the biggest star doesn't mean you will last longer than any other. The stardust we leave behind is all the same.

Even after fifteen years, we're still finding it everywhere we look.

Album Review: Halestorm - Everest - Part 2

Ughhhh, Chris is gonna be so mad at me about this.

Halestorm is a band I respect a lot.  They’re the top of my list when it comes to ‘bands I saw live back when they were nobody.’  I first saw them in 2009 with a couple hundred other people.  I wasn’t even there for them - I was there because a music promoter wanted me to check out The Veer Union, one of the opening bands.  I stuck around to see what the headliner was all about, and I’ve been following Halestorm ever since.

I haven’t loved everything they’ve done, I’ll be honest.  And that’s okay, they’re not writing albums for me, nor should they.  

“Everest” is the first time though, when I’m wondering where this album is coming from, and what’s driving it.

It starts off promising enough - the lead cut, “Fallen Star” is, to my sensibilities, the best on the record and offers the best glimpse of Halestorm in their truest form.  Lizzy Hale, rightfully so, gets the lion’s share of attention that comes Halestorm’s way, but there are three other very talented musicians making music on all their records, and this lead track is the one that best showcases the balance of all of them.

Skipping down a couple cuts, I want to address “Like a Woman Can.” Lzzy has always been willing to be more literal than most mainstream vocalists in her sexual allegory, which is to say there is rarely any allegory at all, and “Like a Woman Can” is no different.  The song is strikingly seductive and sexually charged, which is refreshing as opposed to the clumsy, juvenile metaphors about cars or playing cards or whatever else that dumb, sweaty men tend to write.  It is, in many ways, one of the album’s jewels.

But I’m a long-time media member, and that makes me cynical.  It makes me constantly wonder about the ‘why’ and ‘how’ of a thing.  Lzzy is publicly bisexual, so it’s not like the song is contrived or made up - it comes from a place of absolute authenticity.  But here’s what I don’t want to happen.  A thing can be manipulated to two purposes, and this song would no doubt be an easy sell to a horny, middle-aged, male-dominated rock audience.  I am certain this song will be pushed, possibly by the label more than by Halestorm themselves, and what is meant to be an empowering female anthem could well be perverted to commercial or other nefarious ends.  And that makes me cringe just a little as I listen to it.

And then we come to “Rain Your Blood On Me” and now I’m confused.  In the middle there’s this whole thrash-y, big chorus, kinda Overkill-y section that’s cool and definitely grabs attention the first time you hear it, but some of that attention grabbing is because Halestorm has never really done THAT before.  And there’s nothing wrong with the central riff that the song already had - it’s punchy and strong of its own volition, so the section in the middle feels air-dropped in, and out of place.

Then we come to a series of hair metal ballads, and they’re all, to me, indistinguishable from each other, except that they all remind me of that part in the “November Rain” video where Slash is playing guitar out in the desert and being filmed from a helicopter.  Halestorm has always had this side to them, with varying degrees of success.  All of these lean heavily into Lzzy’s vocal prowess, which is a safe bet as she remains one of the most impressively vibrant voices in modern rock, but this crop of ballads in particular feels very much like a throwback to an era that Halestorm was never a part of.

When I first saw the album track list, I was immediately nervous about “K-I-L-L-I-N-G.”  I needn’t have been.  This is an old school Halestorm thumper, something that would have felt perfectly at home on their first two albums, along with “Fallen Star.”  It’s a stark reminder that the interplay of the band members, and the arrangement of the music, is of prominent importance in everything Halestorm does. Is it the highest form of Halestorm's art? Nah. But it's simple and fun.

The album closes with “How Will You Remember Me”...okay, let me reference what Chris said first.  It’s well executed, and Lzzy shines on it.  I agree with all that.  On the other hand, the motif of ‘hey, remember when we were carefree and young and hung out drinkin’,’ has spent more time in the oven than a twice-baked potato, and makes a lazy appeal to the basest of sentimentality.  There’s nothing wrong with being nostalgic for better days in and of itself, but I’m surprised that a band as lyrically provocative and accustomed to taking on complex issues as Halestorm couldn’t find a more creative or articulate way to say it.

“Everest” has a fair amount of likeable material, but there’s also some questionable decision-making. The band is allowed to experiment with whatever sounds and hallmarks they want, but in particular the reliance on the big rock ballad on the album’s second half feels a little forced and not like Halestorm at their best.  Tread with caution.

Album Review: Halestorm - Everest

God is described to us as a trinity; father, son, and holy spirit. Our minds are also described to us as a trinity; ego, superego, and id. I don't view this as a coincidence, as we take the talk of being 'made in His image' with straight-faced sincerity. It becomes natural to not only see ourselves in God, but see God in ourselves. I never put it past the ego of many people to justify thinking they are truly the center of the universe.

While God may be all-powerful, we are not, and rarely is that as clear as when we are faced with picking up the pieces and reassembling our shattered psyches. While it's possible that knowing the secrets of the universe would guarantee a mental breakdown, our struggle to maintain sanity in the face of a world that seldom makes sense is in many ways the very basis of the existence of art. We use art in every form as a means of trying to seek out and share a truth we don't know how to build a conversation around.

Lzzy Hale has been bravely honest about needing music to pull her back from when it feels like gravity is the force collapsing our chests from inside us. This album is the chronicle of Lzzy's journey to rediscover who she is, who she wants to be, and the nugget of happiness that some of us are never able to see through the thick walls of the ore buried in our hearts. On "Everest" she tells us that she "won't ever rest" until climbing the proverbial mountain high enough to see the promised land. This is not a case like Jim Steinman saying you have to go over the top to see what's on the other side, this is needing to find high ground to realize how deep the hole we were in truly was, and how far we have come.

The raw honesty of Lzzy's writing is matched by the band and production of "Everest", which is the band's most metallic album yet. The polish that made their early records so irresistible is stripped away in favor of guitars whose grit can be felt, and a mix that moves Lzzy's voice around so we can hear every angle of her confessions.

"Sometimes loving you feels like dying" she sings on "Shiver", which is a terrifying bit of truth. For as much as we have written about love in our existence, we still cannot explain exactly how or why it happens, nor can we control who comes to consume us. To give yourself to another person is to put your flaws on display and hope that person doesn't see them as the mortal wounds that we often do. Unrecoited love is among the most painful experiences we can have in life, and 'unrecoitus' (as I have satirically coined the term) only brings a momentary reprieve before the tissue needs to be put to its proper use to wipe away a tear again.

"Shiver" is a lovely slice of hard rock with melodic phrasing from Joe Hottinger pulled from the era of classic rock. Followed by the almost bluesy jazz power ballad "Like A Woman Can", Halestorm is not just pulling from their souls, they are pulling from across time. Those songs carry the spirit of classic rock in them, from a time before the homogenization to fit the narrowing niches of radio formats.

Whether it's the 'scream to the heavens' hymnal vocals of "Rain Your Blood On Me", or the Dio-esque epic structure of "Darkness Always Wins", the band is going wherever they must to tell the stories they need to tell. Some thoughts are too raw for pop songs, some feelings too complex to fit into tighter structures. The work Lzzy has done to build the best version of herself is the work of a lifetime, and requires an album that explores every facet of her relationship with music over the years. You can't paint the full image of yourself in just one color, and you can't tell the full story of yourself with just one tone.

My favorite song on the album might just be "Gather The Lambs", which blends atmospheric guitars with the sweetest melody of the song cycle, but also asks an existential question; "Why does everybody run?" That is one I have asked myself nearly every day for the last couple of years. To return to the thought I started with, there is a way in which I would argue I feel like the center of the universe; that being the reality in physics where the universe is constantly expanding, so having people and love drifting further away with every breath would fit the bill. It's easy to feel like a black hole when people avoid getting close for fear of being destroyed.

That leads into the feelings of the later songs, where Lzzy tells us she feels broken and misunderstood on "Broken Doll", and how "this loneliness is killing me". The spotlight does not guarantee people will truly see you, nor does telling your truth in a song guarantee people will truly hear you. Homer Simpson told us once that "it takes two to lie; one to lie and one to listen". There is real truth in that joke, because no matter how honest we are about who we are and what we're dealing with, we cannot make other people hear us, let alone understand what we're saying.

In that respect, "Everest" is less an album about the songs than it is an album about Lzzy making her clearest and most direct statement to us yet. By stripping away the gloss, we can only hear the power. By bouncing less on the hooks, we can only hear her voice shredding itself to get through to us. It takes bravery to change the formula and take risks because that's what honesty requires you to do.

Lzzy is a brave soul to share herself with us in this way. On the beautiful power ballad that closes the album, she asks "how will you remember me?" Hopefully, I will be able to say I remember her as her truth. I would hate to think I didn't properly hear a voice that is so dear and important to me.

Songs That Piss Me Off (On Albums I Like)

Here's the thing about anger that people don't often talk about; it takes energy. To truly hate something is to invest yourself in that hatred, actively choosing to spend your energy on that act. It's a lot to commit to, and as such I don't think of myself as an angry person. Part of that is a continuation of my old belief that I simply didn't have emotions, but it's also a manifestation of the fact that many things we hate are easy enough to avoid.

When it comes to music, avoiding the songs that piss us off is easy now. We don't live in the age of vinyl of cassette, so hitting the skip button or simply not loading the questionable song onto our devices makes a lot of this discussion irrelevant. That being said, those songs still exist, and they still mar albums we enjoy listening to, so perhaps it's worth giving a few words to explaining why they are little pock marks that otherwise serve as a blight on the beauty of a wonderful album.

Here are a few of those songs that fit the bill for me.

Tonic - Irish

In recent times, I have come to realize "Head On Straight" is my favorite Tonic album, and the one I reach for more than the other three combined. I love the songs, and the sound of the record, but I can honestly say I have not listened to "Irish" in nearly twenty years, and I have no intention of ever listening to it again. It is easily the worst Tonic song, even including the couple they made for soundtracks in their early years. Those have charm, "Irish" does not.

The problem with this song is threefold. Number one, it isn't a catchy song. Number two, it sticks out like a sore thumb. Number three, it is entirely about a heritage I do not share. That last one is a 'me' issue, I realize, but Irish history is not a subject that is going to hold much appeal for me. Heck, I barely give a damn about my own heritage. The other two points are the bigger issues. On an album that is souped-up and as heavy as Tonic would be, the shift to an acoustic folk song is jarring, and completely out of place. It doesn't sound like it belongs on the record, as there is nary a hint of it anywhere else. "Celtic Aggression" had similar undertones, but still sounded like it belonged among the "Lemon Parade" songs.

Worst of all is simply the fact it isn't memorable. The song is repetitive, droning, and without any of Tonic's usual sticky melodies. It drags on for five minutes doing the same thing again and again, as if the sands of the hourglass are desiccants drying up my will to live. That's a bit dramatic, but oh how the album would be better if it switched places with "Let Me Go", so I didn't have to remember to hit the skip button. This is the only time I can say I truly dislike a Tonic song, but oh how I dislike it.

Meat Loaf - California Isn't Big Enough

It took me a long time to come around on "Hang Cool Teddy Bear". The album is weird, unfocused, and a hodgepodge of songs cobbled together that do not in any way tell the 'story' the album supposedly has. I doubt any of the writers had a clue they were submitting songs for a possibly conceptual album. So what makes this song so objectionable? It comes in the form of one line from the chorus:

"I can barely fit my dick in my pants."

That's right, a sixty year old man was singing a song about the size of his unit, and the tightness of his pants. Aside from the easy solution in buying pants that fit properly, it was a line so ridiculous I found myself embarrassed to be listening to the song. In fact, I think it was the main reason the album took so long to grow on me. It falls into the same category as songs telling me about how hard people rock; if it's true, you don't have to say it. Furthermore, who in the heck wanted to think about Meat Loaf's junk, whether literal or in-character?

The song came to us from the mind behind The Darkness, which explains so much. A lot of people think Meat Loaf has always been an embarrassment, but this was the only time I actually agreed. But of course, when the time came to seek out a copy of the album, I made sure to get the version that included the song. I hate that I did, but I think I would hate if I didn't, so this song elicits nothing but hate, on many levels.

Weezer - Butterfly

Why do I hate this simply little acoustic number that ends "Pinkerton"? That's a... delicate thing to talk about. When I was cataloging the various ways that the album is a toxic bit of misogyny, it dawned on me for the first time that "Butterfly" might be the worst song of them all, because of how it hides what I hear as a dirty secret. "Butterfly" can be read as a rape allegory. Yes, really.

Despite sounding like a song about lost love, the lyrics give a very different impression when you think about what certain words mean. The imagery is of pinning butterflies to a board, to display their bright colors after they have died and been caught. That's nice, but think about what it means to pin down an object of affection. That's bad enough, but then Rivers says "I did what my body told me to/I didn't mean to do you harm". Um... excuse me?

Those two bits of information give me the impression of forcible assault, or at the very least a lack of concern for consent. Whether we're taking the generous interpretation or not, the song creeps me out. Rivers' fetishizing and woman-blaming throughout the record are indeed bad, but I can generally look at them as a function of a time in which we were more tolerant of that kind of functional disrespect (and yes, writing a song listing names of women you slept with is disrespectful). "Butterfly" can't be written off so easily. That bit of toxicity is so egregious it should have been seen as being too far even then, much like how so many of the sex comedies of the 80s and 90s were actually making light of various forms of abuse and assault.

I don't think any song has ever made me feel worse about myself than "Butterfly" did, both because it took me so long to see all of the toxicity in "Pinkerton" that could have been slowly poisoning my attitude over the years, but also because I still find myself listening to it every so often. Even knowing how dangerous "Pinkerton" is, and being aware not to take anything away from it, I can't help but feel it's part of me and my history.

Fuck you, Weezer.

My (Musical) Love Means Something, Dammit

I often joke that love is a 'four-letter word'. It's a line I'm particularly fond of as an explanation for why I'm not sure I have ever felt the emotion, if I am even capable of it. Love is something words cannot quite capture, but still we try to convey the power of the emotion to others, even if it is just to convince ourselves we aren't crazy for feeling it. For as long as humans have existed, art has been made to show the effects of love to people who cannot reach into our hearts, souls, and minds to see someone or something the way we do.

We can define love as "a profound and caring affection", which is to say that love is different than 'like', which is a surface-level enjoyment that also has its place. Love is something special, something deeper, something that cannot be given to everyone without being cheapened beyond recognition.

One of my core beliefs is that we all have a finite amount of love we are capable of. That amount will differ based on the nature of our souls, but it's impossible to truly love everyone or everything and mean it in each case. Love is reserved for the truly special, the ones we would feel incomplete without. Love is not for those things that flash in our vision, give us a quick smile, and then fade away like a wisp of a smoke-show burned up and burned out on a breezy day.

When it comes to music, love is easier to quantify. We can make lists of bands and albums we claim to love, and we can tally up the numbers in ways we aren't able to do with personal relationships. This is helpful to catalog our feelings and organize our thoughts, but it's also a cause for concern. If our number is not just lower than most, but dramatically so, it can raise questions about what is wrong with us and why we don't connect to as much of the human experience as others.

That is certainly my experience with all of this. Every December, I see people making lists of their fifty (or even one hundred) favorite albums of the year. I also see them sitting in front of their collections of thousands upon thousands of albums. I look at them and I truly cannot comprehend feeling strongly enough about that much music to talk glowingly about it, let alone own physical copies. Most years, I'm lucky to be able to cobble together a full top-ten list without starting to think the last entry or two aren't going to last in my memory long enough to deserve the attention.

Are these people merely musically promiscuous? Or do they have standards so low raising the bar would require digging it out of the dirt?

My observation is that few people have ever given much thought to the subject of love. When I was studying philosophy, what struck me most was the realization we were spending so much time and energy trying to rationalize and explain the way we think life should be that we missed the fact most people are merely reactive. To take ethics as an example, we might sit down and weigh out the pros and cons of a few major decisions we have to make in our lifetime, but the day-to-day sorting of right and wrong is done through instinct. The theory I developed for myself was one with a technical term, but essentially boiled down to the majority of our concept of 'morality' being a highbrow attempt to rationalize our emotions. Politics works this way now, doesn't it?

That is to say love is something people claim because they felt something in their chest for a moment, without checking to see if it was heartburn. When you see people you know jump from one relationship to another, leaving behind a string of exes so numerous they could fill up a rosary used to pray to the gods of love, perhaps they are overestimating the level of attachment they had to all of their paramours. I can see this, since I am an outsider.

With music, the same thing happens. I have had many conversations (ok, arguments) with certain people over their nauseating level of fawning for nearly everything. These are people who will rate nearly everything they hear at least an eight out of ten. They are people who praise everything to such a degree their voice becomes worthless. If you've never given any indication you have standards, why would anyone listen to anything you have to say?

So yes, I proclaim love for far less music than most people you could be listening to. I consider that a good thing, though, because it means when I praise something I truly mean it, and I have given it thought. Just because a record is moderately enjoyable for a few minutes is not enough, love only comes when it is able to etch itself in either my mind or my heart.

So what in music do I love?

My first love was the music of Meat Loaf and Jim Steinman, as I have noted countless times over the years. Whether they were working together or separately, they embodied a love of melodrama few musicians outside of the theater have ever been capable of. For someone young who lived in his own head, and who even then knew he would only be able to imagine the scenarios Steinman was writing about, turning up the dial of absurdity was necessary for me to be able to see it in my own vision. My imagination fails me these days, but they screamed so loud the echoes are still audible when I am otherwise drowning in silence.

My deepest love is for Dilana, as I have also noted countless times over the years. My formative years were spent vacillating between being told by family not to bother looking for love and hearing my name mentioned so infrequently I wasn't entirely sure I existed. It was not a joke when I questioned if I had emotions at all, as I did not understand what was going on in my own head the way I do today. Dilana changed that with a voice that echoed so deeply it showed me the depths of my soul. Her ability to pour pain and love into every song was so strong it broke through the walls I put up to protect myself. She is more than music to me, she is a dear friend who reminds me there is a sweet flesh underneath my bitter rind.

I can also attest to love for Lzzy Hale. She has been honest about going through a journey of self-discovery that is told through her music, and I have been attempting much the same for myself. There is the physiological response to her voice, the electricity that runs down my nerves when I hear her belting out a gritty note, but it goes beyond that. There is a psychological component in feeling connected to someone else struggling to figure out how they integrate into the world, someone who is secure enough to tell dirty jokes while being utterly insecure about themselves. There is a kinship there that lets me think the knots of my mental wiring can be untangled someday, because someone else with the same component parts has managed the feat.

I love VK Lynne for being a conscience, for daring me to think about the music I listen to, and for letting me feel like the world of music has not passed me by. She embodies the archetype of bleeding your soul into your art, using her words and melodies to peel back the layers of her psyche. As the current of my own inspiration has slowed to a trickle, digging into her stories has allowed me to continue exploring aspects of philosophy and psychology that reveal nuances of my thinking I was only subconsciously aware of. She challenges me, and while I may not always rise to meet it, having an artist that feeds into the gift of what music can be is essential to keep my vision from losing focus, from blurring so much I can no longer see the point.

Love might end with that short list. Ronnie James Dio is dearly important to me as a voice, and a manifestation of my darker side, but his penchant for swords and dragons storytelling is a foreign language to me. John Popper and Blues Traveler opened my eyes to the cynicism within me, and he has written several songs that help me to tell my story, but that feels more like how the two points of a diameter are on the same circle despite being as far from each other as possible. Jakob Dylan and The Wallflowers are cherished for giving me the gift of my own poetry, but we are clearly the products of different generations.

The other true love I have right now comes in the form of my favorite album of all time, "Futures" by Jimmy Eat World. If love is that indescribable physical reaction we have to someone or something that draws us to be with them, I have that with the album. There are pieces of my psyche that are either missing or damaged, and that record is the salve that fills in the gaps. Finding the light when the sky is darkest is something we can't always do, but "Futures" guides the way. You can't pull yourself up by the bootstraps, nor can you dig your way out of your own grave. You need help to seed the black clouds to drop rain that washes away your doubts and fears. That is what "Futures" does for me, and it's why I can say I love the record.

I don't know about you, but I don't have the energy to spread love like dandelion seeds on the wind. This is enough for me. I don't need to point to thousands of albums or hundreds of bands to prove myself to anyone. Love is about how these people and things make us feel. I can say I've given this deep and contemplative thought, and I mean everything I say.

How many others can say the same?

Singles Roundup: Halestorm, Foo Fighters, Year Of The Goat, & Killswitch Engage

We've got a couple of big names, and one surprise, to discuss this week.

Halestorm - Rain Your Blood On Me

The first two singles told us this Halestorm record was going to be a different beast, and number three goes further in that direction. This is perhaps their most experimental song yet, throwing aside many of the conventions of a song to be released as a single. The focal point of the song is Lzzy's towering vocal that bellows the title, yet it is sung in a way that isn't aiming to be 'hooky' in a traditional way. She wails to release her emotions, as an almost blues riff that floats over the band's relative silence.

That gets punctuated by bursts of energy, where Lzzy spits out the lyrics at a rapid pace. The song is a start-and-stop that is a punctuated equilibrium, much like how our lives are not a smooth and continuous evolution toward our better selves. The rougher production feeds into this, with Joe's guitar fuzzy enough to tell us these are not songs going for the kill, but rather looking to expose the frayed energy of a mind trying to put itself back together.

It's a fascinating look into the journey, and a song that asks as many questions as it answers.

Foo Fighters - Today's Song

I feel so damn old when I hear mentions of this or that from my youth hitting thirtieth anniversaries. Foo Fighters have now reached that age, which is amazing to think about when you remember Kurt Cobain didn't reach that milestone in life. We've had Foo Fighters longer than we had Kurt. Wow.

At this stage, I'm not sure what to make of Dave Grohl. The last decade of Foo Fighters has been an odd stretch where it doesn't feel to me like he knows what he wants the band to be anymore. On the last record, he finally settled on recreating their early days. I didn't think it worked, and I don't think it works on this song either. The production tries to be the haze of the 90s, but it's a recreation rather than an honest expression. The song itself sounds old and tired, without the charm that turned them into one of the biggest bands in the world.

If this is who they are today, they're lucky they have the past to fall back on.

Year Of the Goat - Alucarda

Album number three is paramount when the first two didn't agree. Year Of The Goat's first album was a charming piece of vintage/occult rock. I loved that one, but the second album lacked a certain something. That means I'm not sure what to think of the upcoming third album, especially now that this song is out. Our first taste points us in a direction that hearkens back to the first album, where there's a feeling to their sound that to me gives the wink-and-nod impression they know this is all a bit cheesy. That's something I find necessary in this kind of music. Writing literally about black magic and demons is not only played out, but it's so disingenuous I struggle to find reasons why anyone wants to hear that stuff.

This song is perfectly Year Of The Goat. It sounds timeless without being a pastiche, sinister while still having fun. If this is an indication, they may have just righted the ship.

Killswitch Engage - Blood Upon The Water

Coming on the heels of a new album, it's an interesting decision to get an additional single so soon. While it was done for a charity, the timing will give the impression it was a song that didn't make it onto the record. That by itself would be fine, except for the fact the record was both not super long to begin with, and also dotted with some mediocre and forgettable tracks. This song is actually better than a few from the proper album, which actually works against the band. Rather than getting me excited about more songs in the future, it reminds me that "This Consequence" was a bit of a disappointment. Hearing this song, with its familiar sound and solid hook, is evidence the album could have been better by choosing a different track list. I don't think that's the impression the band wants to give, but in all honesty that's what I come away from it with.

Time Isn't A Flat Circle, Love Isn't A Pie Chart

How much of an artists catalog do we have to love in order to justify ourselves as a 'fan'?

It sounds like a silly question, but if you've spent any time around the music scene, you know all too well the gate-keepers out there who dictate the when, where, and how of being a fan. Open your mouth, and you will inevitably be told that 'real fans' like everything an artist does, or they own everything even if they don't like it all, or they will always prefer the 'classic' era to everything else. And so on and so forth.

Things get so ridiculous that people will sometimes even tell us that being a fan of music means you must listen to music a certain way. I have been told more than once that 'real' music fans listen to the drums, then the guitars, and they leave the lyrics for last.

That is complete and utter bullshit, of course, but it's the kind of bullshit that arises when you dare to disagree with people who are so pathetic they feel the need to control everyone else. We've all heard about those schmucks who go up to people wearing a band t-shirt and ask them to name more than one song, haven't we?

What makes this all the more frustrating is that we are treating art differently than we are the people who make it. When we fall in love with a person, we don't love everything about them. We love people in spite of their flaws and foibles, and the annoyances that come along with the fact no two people are ever exactly the same. We seem unable or unwilling to be as generous to art and artists, which is a phenomenon I can't quite explain.

To get back to the point; What percentage makes us a fan?

Am I a fan of Black Sabbath if I love the three albums they made with Ronnie James Dio so dearly, but I don't care in the slightest about the years with Ozzy or Tony Martin? I know there are people who look at it the other way around, who will say you can be a fan and love only Ozzy's era. It doesn't make much sense to divide things up where only one era matters and the rest don't, right?

Many fans of Van Halen will take the position that they are two different bands, and Sammy Hagar's era can be completely dismissed, even though the band was just as popular then. The truth about all of this is that people are making it up as they go along, trying to write a set of rules to justify whatever they already think. No one wants to be seen as contradicting themselves, so we find ourselves tied up in knots in an effort to have both ends of the string pointing in the same direction.

Here's the truth; a fan is anyone who finds enjoyment in someone's music. It doesn't matter if you have every song they've ever recorded, the handful of albums you like best, or just a greatest hits compilation. Music is not a competition, and you are not a 'better' fan for knowing more of the minutia than someone else. People who look at it that way are not just missing the point, they are actively working against their own interest. If you love an artist, and you want them to have even more fans and acclaim, ridiculing and putting down people who don't meet your strict definition of a fan is only going to push them away.

All of this was prompted as I was listening to Pink recently. As I have said many times, there are certain voices that elicit a physical reaction when I hear them. Pink is one of them, but unlike most of the others on that small list, my relationship with her music is not as deep or involved. I can't remember the last time I listened to one of her albums in full, and I have not been overly enamored by her recent work as the entirety of the pop music scene has drifted away from me.

However, there is a compilation of songs I absolutely adore. When I listen to songs such as "Just Like A Pill" or "Long Way To Happy", it feels like I love Pink as much as any artist. Thinking about life, we realize love is not a constant. It ebbs and flows, sometimes disappearing completely, always making us question our sanity for chasing it down. Some love is deep, some love is intense, and some love is imagined. They all leave the same impression on us.

I look at music proselytizers the same way as the religious sort; Why are they so insecure about their own beliefs that they need to convert everyone else to agree with them? Much like how the relationship with God is supposed to be personal and not a performance of public spectacle, our relationship with music is felt entirely within ourselves. We might find ourselves in a community sharing our thoughts and feelings, and bonding over what we share, but at the end of the day we only know the emotional stir within ourselves.

Music is very much like existentialism that way, and it's why I'm comfortable saying I'm a fan of Pink in whatever shape or form that happens to take. I would say anyone who wants to judge can save their breath, but I have a feeling they're stupid enough to need to be reminded to breathe anyway.

Album Review: Blind Equation - "A Funeral in Purgatory"

Today, we’re going to talk about the band Blind Equation and their new album “A Funeral in Purgatory.”  Well, we’re going to use their new album as a vehicle to actually talk about keeping an open mind and being willing to engage in new experiences, which feels increasingly important in a world that seeks to algorithmically keep us in our comfort zones, away from contrarian thinking.  So, really, we’re probably not going to talk a lot about Blind Equation, with all requisite apologies to them.

I am forty-two years old. (For those of you who didn’t click away immediately as soon as I said that, thanks for staying.)  I’ve been doing this, whatever this editorial exercise is that I’m engaging in, dare I pretentiously call it music journalism, for some seventeen years now.  It doesn’t feel too presumptuous or conceited to suggest that I could be regarded as an expert in my field.  I have a pretty good handle on a wide array of musical styles and genres, and I also have a fair grip on what I like, and what I look for, in new music.

It is inevitable that eventually there’s a sense of redundancy.  I’ll hear a new record, and I’m closed off to it, simply because it sounds like a couple hundred records I’ve heard before.  The thrill of unearthing a gem remains, but as I hear more and more gems, I can’t help but wonder what the value of novelty is, or what’s the intrinsic importance of good timing?  At least three times this year alone, I’ve listened to an album where I thought to myself “if I had heard this record before I ever heard Soilwork, would I like this album more?”  

(I promise we’re getting to Blind Equation.  Hang in there just a moment more.)

That gets into a thousand existential questions about music and fandom and memory which we don’t have enough time to dissect here, but it’s safe to say that the concept is a constant struggle in the life of a music journalist (there’s that term again.)  And yet, because I know what I like, and because I know what I look for, it’s hard to find the time in a busy life to organically stumble across something new.  Time is our most valuable commodity - would I rather spend it with things I know I like, or potentially squander it on a risk?

When I saw the press release for Blind Equation, their listed genre was ‘cybergrind.’ And for the first time in a long time, I said to myself “I don’t even know what that is.”  The very brevity of the name suggested to me that it wasn’t simply some bullshit made up to sound more exclusive or important, like the alleged distinction between ‘doom’ and ‘funeral doom’ (spoiler, there’s no difference.)  So, I took a flyer on ‘cybergrind.’

“A Funeral in Purgatory” has some hallmarks of other musical touchstones that I have experience with.  It is in some part industrial, chiptune and hardcore, though it is none of those things singularly.  It is not completely far afield from Tayne’s album earlier this year, “Love,” which I quite enjoy, though try to imagine if Tayne’s album had been written and arranged by Al Jourgensen.  

There’s a song on this record called “Flashback,” featuring backing vocals from the artist Strawberry Hospital (great name.)  At its base, this is a death metal song with some thrash leanings, but it also has hyper-pop (a term I just made up,) backing vocals and also sounds a little like you might be questing to find the Master Sword?  It’s a trip, man, there’s a lot of layers to this song, and the production is loud as hell.  It’s a cacophonous maelstrom of sounds and aural textures.  It’s the kind of thing Steve Albini (RIP) would have adored.

Skip along to “This Eternal Curse,” and it’s kind of like the Browning, but…not?  More synth, more artistry, more discordant sounds mashed together to make new combinations, and all with an easy dance beat that’s hard to ignore.

And nestled within all this chaos is “Still,” a hauntingly beautiful little three minutes of music that sounds out of place, except that the eclectic nature of the record means nothing sounds out of place.  I dare myself to make less sense.

It feels cheap and pedantic to try and encapsulate Blind Equation by comparing them to other, more familiar bands, but it’s the only tool I have to try and communicate effectively something foreign to me.  “A Funeral in Purgatory” is part Ministry, part Browning, part Combichrist, part Ghostemane, part sixteen-bit era “Final Fantasy” soundtrack, and a dash of…hell, I don’t know…dance pop?

Is “A Funeral in Purgatory” a good cybergrind album?  Damned if I know.  But it struck my interest.  Parts of it are good to my sensibilities, but I’m not even sure if I’m evaluating those parts properly.  It’s opened a door for me that I didn’t know existed, given me a new subject I can talk about at the water cooler (much to the horror of my colleagues.)  Would I call myself a cybergrind fan now, following this experience?  Probably not.  But could I see myself as a cybergrind fan in the future?  Sure, absolutely.  There’s something tucked away here in this music that’s worthwhile, that has merit and value.

Which is all a long way of saying this - stay curious.  Ask questions.  As we get older and busier, it’s natural to start to constrict our curiosity - we barely have time to enjoy the things we know we like, who has time for more? - but that ends in stagnation, and that’s just not a healthy place to be.  You haven’t heard it all before.  You haven’t seen it all before.  There’s this great Bill Nye quote that I think of frequently: “Everyone you will ever meet knows something you don’t.”

So, go find the new Blind Equation album.  Sit down and let it play.  Approach it with an open mind.  You might not like it in the end, and that’s okay, too.  What’s important is that you took the time and tried to expand your horizon.

Album Review: Ashes Of Ares - New Messiahs

Iced Earth disappeared into the great nothingness when Jon Shaeffer was arrested as part of the January 6th insurrection. He had always been a fringe political lunatic, but descending into literally trying to overthrow the government of the country he professes to love meant that even if he weren't in jail, there was no audience left for Iced Earth outside of bars and restaurants owned by Kid Rock.

I say that because Iced Earth is in better shape than Ashes Of Ares.

Seriously. I have been massively critical of this project since it first emerged, and they have given me reason to think I will run out of adjectives to describe just how awful the experience of listening to their records can be. Let's put it this way; one of the songs the press materials has been touting is an Elton John cover (Not even one of the hits - some poor saps who never listened to "The Captain & The Kid" might think the only decent song on the album was written by these guys). That's how much confidence they have in their own songwriting abilities. Worse than that, Matt Barlow's voice is completely shot, so we get a performance of the song that sounds worse than if Elton had recorded the song during a drug-fueled orgy. At least having a mouth full of... whatever would explain why the vocals are this bad.

Barlow has no range or clarity left, so all he can do is bellow his way through these songs with 'grit' that sounds more like throat damage to my ears. I was never the biggest fan of his during his glory days, but I at least could hear why others were so enamored with him. That's not true any longer, as now he resembles a bad Zak Stevens (of Savatage fame) impressionist. It's uncomfortable to listen to him strain this much, especially as the songs themselves are written around his limitations, and he still can't make anything of them.

Beyond my concerns about Barlow, the record isn't a good metal album anyway. The songs pound away with a mix of death and thrash riffs that aren't particularly notable, and are played with a tone that feels like it belongs on one of the more poorly produced albums of the 80s. This record doesn't sound like it exists in the same world that has seen massive improvements in the ease and quality of making recordings. I have said this before, but it's not a joke to claim that albums put out on genuine labels should not sound worse than what we can produce with a laptop and some free plug-ins. There's no excuse for this record to sound this bad.

I've never wanted to be famous, because attention makes me uncomfortable, but it has to be nice to know that fame means you will always have somebody willing to support you no matter how much you're struggling with your art. This band can only exist because Barlow is still remembered fondly from his time with Iced Earth. I can think of no other reason why Ashes Of Ares keeps getting to release albums on a label.

I could say more, but I don't want to pile on. The warning to stay away from this album is the important part. I took the bullet on this one to save you from accidentally giving it a shot.

Man, I'm glad I never became an Iced Earth fan. Everything that band ever touched has turned to shit.

Album Review: Palecurse - Dark Room

"History doesn't repeat, but it does rhyme."

That's a common way of expressing that seldom do we run across anything truly new and unique, and that we should learn from the past. That is obviously not true, as we see ourselves making the same mistakes time and time again. It gives us plenty of reason to doubt the philosophical description of humans as being 'rational animals'. Rationality may just be a recessive gene like being left-handed. Hmm... does that mean the ambidextrous like me are prone to being semi-sane? I digress.

A few years ago, I was rather taken by the band Dream State. They put out the "Remedy" EP and the "Primrose Path" album, mixing modern alternative rock and post-hardcore in a way that was anthemic, cathartic, and a hell of a lot of fun. Most of that came down to their vocalist, CJ, who could shred her throat while also delivering huge hooks. It wasn't emo, but it was hugely emotional as an outlet for our mental struggles.

I say that because Palecurse reminds me so much of that sound. The geography might be different, but Palecurse is mining the same world of angst and frustration, pouring it out through songs we can shout together. Likewise, the key to Palecurse is Brittany's vocals, which push the edge between singing and screaming, all the while staying melodic with a welcoming tone. This isn't screaming at us, it's screaming about us. We all have the urge sometimes, but our own voices might not be strong enough to push that much air. She is doing it for us, giving us a form of musical therapy we desperately need.

The record opens up with a string of bangers. "Fever", "Duplicity", and "On My Knees" are all songs with crunchy guitars and sing-along hooks that will cause a mosh pit and a gang chorus at the same time. Riding the edge between being aggressive and memorable is a difficult one, and songs like these show Palecurse doing it with ease. I've been recommended a lot of bands that try to do this by algorithms, and few are as good. With Spiritbox being one of the biggest metal bands out there right now, I can say easily Palecurse have a better ear for songwriting, no question about it.

At a tight thirty-four minutes, "Dark Room" is an album for binge-listening, short enough that you want to dive back in and get another dose before moving on. Like a therapy session, you need enough time to work through your issues, but no so much time that you find you can fill your entire day pulling on the threads of your discontent. You don't want to unravel the entirety of your soul, and a band like Palecurse doesn't want to hit us with so much we get overwhelmed. They find the right balance, leaving us satisfied but still wanting more.

Records that embody this spirit of actualization and self-discovery have been a staple of my year-end lists for a while now. Dream State made it one year, Yours Truly topped the list another. Palecurse has taken up that mantle, giving us a record that embodies the attitude that scars are as much badges of survival as they are reminders of pain.

These are the kinds of records we need more of.