Album Review: Greywind - Severed Heart City

Sometimes, I find it difficult to figure out if a common sentiment is genuine, or is merely the inertia of the past hitting terminal velocity. In the last couple of years, there has been a resurgence of emo, which has happened to coincide with me reaching my emo phase far older than I should have. There have been numerous records that fit the bill to one degree or another that I have been fond of, which has propped up my listening and lists as some of the old stalwarts have been failing me. The biggest attention getter from all of this was the return of My Chemical Romance, who have been touring in huge venues, and who put out one rapturously received new song to herald this era of backwards looking affection.

I ask the question about how genuine the emo revival is, because My Chemical Romance in particular is a phenomenon I do not understand. Yes, I think "The Black Parade" is a great album, but nothing else they have done has ever spoken to me, and that reunion single was one of the most worthless songs I've ever heard in my life. That so many people treated it as the second coming felt to me much the same as the devoted Christians who seem to have never read the words spoken by their God.

Greywind cite My Chemical Romance as an influence, but they approach emo from a different angle. They are less maudlin and melodramatic by nature, but Steph O'Sullivan's voice would give a different color regardless. Her delivery comes without the sharp and cynical snark that dominated that wave of emo, instead giving Greywind's music a more natural and genuine quality. That lets the songs breathe, and it stops me from wondering if "Let's See If You Can Float" is intended as a musical version of the old David Letterman bit, "Will It Float?". Damn, that's not the worst idea, is it?

Over the course of these ten songs and half-an-hour, Greywind focuses on delivering their emo with plenty of pop sheen. This is more "Bleed American" style Jimmy Eat World than "Futures" style, where the darker edges of our negative feelings are bleeding in around the edges, as opposed to being the focal point slowly seeping over the entire scene. That means while we are facing the issues and questions brought up by the self-exploration of the songs, we are doing so through the kinds of jaunty melodies that make us feel as if we are dancing with our demons, and not practicing to dance on our own graves. Feeling terrible is too easy to bring it on intentionally.

My favorite track is "Moon", which is a lovely sing-along that reminds me not so much of the aforementioned emo bands, but of The Nearly Deads. Like that band, Greywind is remembering that if you take a tacky Velvet Elvis, you can repurpose it into a soft pillowcase. Listening to "Swerve" is like feeling that caress, and the tactile rush that comes along with focusing all your attention on your sensory experience. Non-ambient music can't really be ASMR, but the idea is similar in theory.

All of that is to say Greywind has made an album that manages to hit different marks depending on your mood as you listen to it. The songs work as pure pop songs to deliver us feel-good moments if we want to lift ourselves up. The songs work as emo bangers if we want to know someone else has felt the way we feel. That sort of versatility goes a long way to keeping the album fresh as we go back again, as does the brevity of its running time. This is the sort of album you can listen to, and then go back and listen to the highlights again, all without feeling burned out.

Album Review: Soen - Reliance

I have long had a theory that every listener has a limit at which a certain sound will lose its impact, because we have already heard and absorbed it. That would explain why long-running bands get accused of losing steam, and not making albums as good as their 'classic days', even as they keep gathering new fans to replace the old ones. The bands aren't always (ok, sometimes they are) making music that is inferior, they are playing to an audience that is less receptive to more of the same thing. It's natural to seek out new highs, both for artists and the audience.

Soen has carved out a niche for themselves in the metal world, establishing a sound that it entirely their own. They have honed this across their last four records, sharpening their writing on each successive album. They have mastered the blend of heavy, complicated rhythms and emotional melodies. That those records have finished #1, #1, #1, and #2 on my year-end lists speaks to how fond I am of what Soen does.

That's why I started this review off as I did. Soen is not doing anything different on this album than they have on the last few, but I wonder if I am perhaps different than I was when "Memorial" came out. Since then, the world has been upended yet again, and there are multiple ways of reacting to those events. Soen has put their anger into the music, writing songs about how they think we are straying from the path. I have mostly resigned myself to understanding there are far more people who perhaps don't deserve respect or empathy than I ever believed. Soen is still fighting, while I have lost a lot of hope.

This is embodied by "Primal", a surging cascade of metallic riffs that ebb and flow with Joel's passionate vocal to warn us about the destruction technology is setting upon our lives. I would like to think we have lived with these things long enough now to know how to use them in the proper way, that does not seem to be the case. We become addicted to the information itself, needing more and more to fill the time our minds are no longer capable of filling with thought and contemplation. It's a worthwhile message, but delivered with a bit of clumsiness as the lyric turns to warning about "violent pornography". Compared to "Mercenary" warning us about "turning vultures into kings", the language is stilted, and one of those moments that snaps me out of the immersion.

I have always struggled with visualizing music as math, which means rhythms often blend together. Soen's music relies on chunky, muted bursts of guitar, some of which are becoming difficult for me to distinguish from the rest. There are a few riffs that pop up through the album that my brain tries to fill in with bits from earlier albums. That's a 'me problem', not an indication of the quality of the songs. "Discordia" and "Axis" still hit hard, and admirably fill the roles songs like "Covenant" established.

"How does someone become so heartless," Joel asks in "Indifferent", which is the question of our time. We have leaders explicitly telling us that empathy is a weakness, and that anything short of brutalizing those who aren't on 'your team' is a character flaw. The 'zero sum game' only adds up to zero if you want it to, and somehow we have trained ourselves into believing anyone else succeeding means we must have failed.

In that same spirit, we should not treat art as a competition either. We are guilty of comparing everything to everything else, creating hierarchies where any album that doesn't measure up to the absolute best begins to feel like a failure. That is as ridiculous as thinking that a rainbow drawn with seven markers is an accurate representation of the color spectrum. Nuance is difficult, but without it we will only see the extremes, and miss the majority of existence.

That is to say; "Reliance" is an album I need to keep perspective on. Soen is still operating at a high level, and hasn't lost any of the vim and vigor that has propelled them to the elite of modern metal bands. That being said, this album has not hit me as hard nor as fast as "Lotus" or "Imperial" did. I believe that is because Soen is hitting a spot that has already been bruised and scarred over, so the next impact cannot be felt in the same way. There is a degree of being inured involved, and again, that is entirely on me and not the band. "Reliance" is Soen being as good as they've ever been. I imagine it will dig in deeper as the year goes on, and much of what I've written will be an honest moment in time that is not frozen as such.

Single Review: Morrissey - Make-Up Is A Lie

We haven't heard from Morrissey (at least musically) in several years, as controversy and spite had reportedly led to several full albums being shelved, because no suitable contract to release them could be reached. Who blinked first is not known, but Morrissey and the world have come to terms, and a new album will be arriving in early March. To 'celebrate' this liberation of his music, the first new Morrissey song in years is upon us.

If you can look past the absolute tripe of the photograph chosen as the cover, what we get is a song that echoes that laziness and bad decision making. This is not a lyrical statement, nor is it a bop of a song. "You Have Killed Me" was not a masterpiece of literature when it signaled "Ringleader Of The Tormentors", but it had a compelling guitar hook and a singable chorus. This song, by contrast, is the pencil sketch before the thick black ink is applied to the outlines of a paint-by-numbers template.

The production is a thin warble of electronics that have no power, the limited frequencies highlighting the age in Morrissey's voice. He strains and cracks to deliver a lyric that is barely a lyric. He thinks he is telling a story about the Paris art scene, but the verses are so bare-bones they only say that the narrator is in Paris and with a poet. No other context, no other details. That poet then says "make-up is a lie" again and again, with no further explanation, nor anything to break up the monotony.

It might be argued this is Morrissey's take on the way society views beauty and aging, but that would be us giving him credit for something he isn't saying. There is no insight in the lyric, no commentary about the hypocrisy of men like him being able to get gray and stupid without the same standards being applied, and no indication he's thought this through on a level deeper than the layers of powder and foundation he is singing about. He doesn't wrestle with the implications of women needing to wear a cosmetic mask to garner the attention and approval of society, nor does he even bother to say he prefers people in their natural state. When the third 'verse' mentions seeing those words on the woman's gravestone, it is clear Morrissey is one of those people who would read an epitaph and believe that tells him enough to claim to know the heart of the person they speak for.

I have written before that Morrissey's reputation as a lyricist may have never been deserved at all, but certainly should have been called into question over these last twenty-plus years of tedious and terrible language. "You Are The Quarry" was twenty years ago now, and looking back at the start of Morrissey's 'comeback' is an exercise in how low we set the bar once it has already been cleared. That album featured childish insults, petty whining, and the general stench of someone whose head has been lodged firmly in their own ass. It also featured the one insightful song Morrissey has written in all this time, and the few true melodies he bothered to sing, so the problems were overlooked. With no poetry, no insight, and no melody, Morrissey has nothing left to distract us with.

The only way this song is interesting at all is to consider the title snark, and that the idea of Morrissey making up with the world at large is a joke upon us. Morrissey has, for years, given the impression of being nothing but a musical shit-poster, and if this is a genuine effort to put his best foot forward after years of being rendered irrelevant, it would be yet sadder. The part that angers me is not that Morrissey is disappointing me, because I don't actually care if he ever releases another song I enjoy or not, but that I've already read many fans speaking rhapsodic about this song and this vocal. How? Why? Where can I get lobotomized the way they have?

Listening to this song, and considering the last two or three Morrissey albums, I'm struck by this thought; Is it better to be thought a washed-up asshole, or open your mouth and remove all doubt? That is the question...

Album Review: Alter Bridge - Alter Bridge

When a band releases a self-titled album well into their career, it can mean one of two things; either the band is completely out of ideas, or they are attempting to 'reset' expectations of who they are. Self-titled albums are viewed as being 'back to basics', and all about solidifying the band's identity. Perhaps that's what Alter Bridge needed to do, because they might be losing the thread as much as I am.

Over the years, as Mark Tremonti and Myles Kennedy have embarked on solo ventures, those projects and Alter Bridge have been converging on a single musical focus. Tremonti and Alter Bridge were supposed to be the difference between metal and rock, but these days they are distinguishable only by the different vocalists. Myles Kennedy started his solo work exploring folk and blues, but his latest album was also a heavy rock album not too dissimilar from Alter Bridge.

That leaves us with the inevitable question; if the two writers are already making Alter Bridge sounding music on their own, do we still need more Alter Bridge music?

I'm not sure I know the answer to that question. To be perfectly honest, I haven't been a huge fan of anything they have done since "AB III", which was another quasi-self-titled album whose name could take a few paragraphs to fully ruminate on. What has struck me about Alter Bridge since then is the shift in focus away from the hookiest heavy rock they could write to a sound that feels far more focused on the metallic riffing than on the ear candy that separated Alter Bridge from a lot of other bands. Combine the shift in focus with productions that emphasize the guitars that are tuned down so far they often sound more like basses, and it creates an atmosphere that can feel like an hour of soupy darkness.

The other aspect to the production is that it leaves the entire bright end of the spectrum to Myles' voice, which you might think means he has plenty of space for his voice to shine in the mix, but what it does is make clear the elements of his voice that can read as 'shrill' when he pushes himself. Still, none of this would matter much if the band is delivering top-notch material. The same issues could be raised about "AB III", but those songs hit me in a way that I seldom think about anything else when I'm listening to that album.

There are moments like that on this record. "Rue The Day" is classic Alter Bridge, with all the heavy riffs you could want, and a chorus where Myles locks in and delivers a stirring hook. It's the king of writing that is deceptively difficult, and an album that can do it time and again deserves all the praise we can muster. Unfortunately, these dozen songs aren't able to keep up that momentum from beginning to end. There are stretches where the songs get bogged down in the guitar churn, where Myles' melodies become flat drones rather than moving strings of notes.

Between the production and the melodies, the album's hour-long running time can be a chore. With the exception of the acoustic-based "Hang By A Thread", the rest of the album hits the same tone time and again, and the songs were not uniformly memorable enough to stand apart in my mind. The aforementioned are great, and "Playing Aces" fits that bill, but much of the record blends into itself. Going back for repeated listens wasn't exciting so much as it was work.

I've been wondering for a while now if putting out so much music between all these projects is not only making the sound too pervasive, but draining the creative well too quickly, and those questions are at the front of my mind after listening to this record. It isn't bad by any means, far from it, but it's one of those records I don't find enjoyable to listen to.

Why? "Because The Night", That's Why.

Salvador Dali's most famous painting, featuring the imagery of melted watches, is titled "The Persistence Of Memory". That is an irony, because memory is flexible, fallible, and often a figment of our own imagination. By the time we conjure a memory, we can't be sure if we are remembering the event itself or our prior memories of that event. That is why there is no such thing as a reliable narrator, even when we are telling our own story to ourselves.

There are songs in our lives that become obsessions. These are the songs we came across at just the right time, in just the right circumstances, to become the backbeat of the metronome by which our hearts pump. If we are lucky, we don't lose that feeling as time wears on, and the list of songs continues to grow. That is by no means guaranteed.

One of the songs that has infected me in such a way is Bruce Springsteen's "Because The Night". Over the years, I have listened to the song countless times, I have watched nearly every live performance the search algorithm would provide me. I made sure to use Springsteen's name, because it is his performances that always struck that chord with me, not the version Patti Smith turned into a hit. Why I found myself in the author of the song and not the most beloved rendition is a question I never gave much thought, but perhaps makes sense in the context of my life. Not including it when I made the list of my ten favorite songs ever now feels like an intentional oversight, because part of me still prefers to ignore what connection exists between Springsteen's music and myself.

There has always been something heart-wrenching about a song that opens with a minor key piano figure, as well as something hypnotic about a circular rhythm and melody such as that of the bridge. The composition of the song centers on the haunting piano line (which would resurface in Creeper's "Midnight", a good song that doesn't have the same mesmerizing appeal), before it erupts in the percussive bursts of the chorus. Within the three minutes of the studio version from "The Promise", the song is cinematic in its own way, part romantic noir and part carnal horror. In the expanded running time of Springsteen's live versions, the extended guitar solo is a drawn-out manifestation of ecstasy, where the key change rises like... well, you can draw your own picture.

"Because the night belongs to lovers, because the night belongs to lust," Springsteen's studio version of the chorus sings. Though it was meant in different context, the night is indeed when those subjects come to 'life'. In the song's story, attraction becomes a physical timekeeper as each thrust counts off the increments before the day will surely come. For some of us, night is when we are left to our thoughts and dreams, and we can create a world more accepting of ourselves than the one we live in. Is this why I have never been a night owl? Perhaps. Is it why I have written much of my own centered on the idea of preferring the dreaming state, because that is the only place love exists? Absolutely.

While I often joke that love is a 'four-letter word', it comes from a very real place that exists somewhere between the conscious and subconscious. My family never said that word to each other, and I was once given the dead-serious advice to never seek it out, which combined with my psychological wiring to convince me that my dreams were all I would ever have. So far, that lack of faith has paid off. When I talk about music being my 'currency of thought', this is what I am referring to. Springsteen (and Patti Smith) did not intend the song to mean this, but I found in the words a way of explaining the mental drains my thoughts swirl around. Songs like this one allow me to understand what the chemicals in my head are doing as they poison the well.

I have known all these years how much "Because The Night" haunts my thoughts and echoes in my subconscious. What I did not realize until recently was how my memory had failed me. It was not Springsteen who brought this song into my life, nor was it Patti Smith. It was... 10,000 Maniacs.

Hearing their name come up in a joking context recently spurred my memory, and gave me back the first experience I had with a favorite song. The band covered "Because The Night" on their MTV Unplugged performance, which became their biggest hit. It is that live version that I remember hearing emanate from the car speakers on a summer day as we drove past the lake. It is that interpretation that I remember seeing again and again on tv when music videos were still what their programming consisted of. It is Natalie Merchant's voice that burrowed into my mind in ways I am only now remembering.

Her lilting tone is utterly unique, and matched precisely for the haunting presence of the song. Whereas Springsteen's performance of the song is that of a man exhausted of everything but the fuel for love, Merchant's performance is that of someone weary of living only for the night. The vulnerability of her voice has an undertone in which we realize that love is more than passion, and that whether we are awake or asleep, the dream only lasts for so long.

Even if it is a mere moment in time, it is one I am still trying to inhabit, one I am trying to stretch the way Dali skewed and distorted the watches in his painting. Love is something we cannot live without, but we cannot control. We try to hold onto it when it comes, because we never know if it will come again. Of course, that's if it ever came at all. Until that day, we still have our dreams, "because the night" belongs to those of us who crave the connection.

Singles Roundup: Guns N Roses, NMB, & Blank Era

I never found the holiday spirit when it comes to Christmas, but did I find it when it comes to new music? Let's check out a few new songs and see how generous I'm feeling.

Guns N Roses - Nothin'/Atlas

The string of songs the 'reunion' of Guns N Roses have put out continues here, fleshing out material from the "Chinese Democracy" years with extra bits of Slash's guitars. There have been rumors of the band working on an album, which is not a thought that inspires much optimism from me. One of two things is going to happen; either it will be more "Chinese Democracy" era songs that weren't good enough to make an album people already talk about as one of rock's biggest disasters, or it will be an entirely new batch of songs Axl no longer has the voice to sing.

That's what makes these songs so disappointing; they aren't GNR as they currently exist. We know these songs were written to be produced in the "Chinese Democracy" style, and adding a few Slash overdubs doesn't change the issues with the songwriting. Axl was not writing typical rock songs, and a new guitar solo doesn't make them any less self-indulgent than they already were. For as flawed as the album was, Axl at least wrote a few songs that had artistically interesting melodies interspersed in his experimentation. These songs, like the last few the band released, lack that key element.

These two songs are a good example of the psychological trauma of perfection. By spending twenty years trying to make these songs live up to an idea in his head, Axl has sentenced them to exist in a time and space between versions of GNR. New guitars sit alongside what I assume are twenty year old vocals, attempting to update songs that sound entirely behind the times. It's ironic that going back even further would feel fresh, but that might be the most amusing part of this whole thing.

If this is all GNR has left to offer, I don't think I want to hear any more of it. We've now proven there never were three albums worth of great "Chinese Democracy" songs as we were once told. We don't need to keep getting beaten down.

NMB - Fully Alive

Leave it to prog to continue coming up with ways of annoying me on a philosophical level, before ever getting to the music itself. I was pissed off when Neal Morse and Mike Portnoy used the last Transatlantic album as a vehicle to put out two completely different versions that could not be reconciled without buying both of them, and then burning your own preferred playlist. I found it offensive that 'artists' could not settle on a single vision they believed represented their work. If they had no belief in either one, why should I?

This is less annoying, but the first single for the new NMB album finds those same two once again experimenting with the limits of honesty. This song is the first advertisement for the record, but it will not appear on the album. No, this single is an amalgamation of two tracks, which is a strikingly weird thing to do. If I listen to this repeatedly and love it, I'm inevitably going to be disappointed when I don't hear it as I play the full album. Why set fans up for disappointment?

The good news is the song is not going to cause that kind of angst in me. It continues the long-running theme of Neal Morse's music no longer speaking to me. I don't know if it's the familiarity that does it, if Neal's knack for catchy melodies has been suffering, of it I'm that put off by his continued slathering of effects on the vocals. I swear, Bill's vocal section on this song is unlistenable, sounding more artificial and fake than the music I've heard sung by AI recently. It's perhaps the one thing in modern music I hate more than anything else these days, and Neal is the single biggest offender.

So am I excited for the new album? I think you know that by now.

Blank Era - Yesterdaze

A few years back, A Light Divided ended up #1 on my top songs of the year list with "Rain". They have been on a hiatus lately, which is being filled with singer Jaycee Clark's new project, Blank Era. After putting out an EP last year I did not hear about until months later (hence why I never covered it or included it on my year-end lists last year), she returns with a new single to perhaps kick off a new batch of music.

Jaycee is a unique voice, with a gritty tone that balances melody and aggression in a way few singers can match. She is the highlight of anything she is on, but Blank Era is more than that. This song is a propulsive bit of modern rock that balances electronic atmosphere with crushing guitars, all the while injecting a stirring hook that demands our attention. I would expect nothing less from Jaycee, who has a knack for doing this. Hopefully there will be more songs coming, because she and her band are a bright spot in a modern rock world that often seems colorless and faceless. She is neither, and Blank Era has a lot to offer.

No, I Do Not Like Bob Dylan

Perhaps the most aggravating question that can be asked of someone with fickle, or very particular, tastes is this; "Why don't you like ___?"

It's a simple question, and it's usually asked with genuine curiosity, but it carries with it a subtle implication that the default position should be to like anything and everything until we rationalize a reason not to do so. I fundamentally disagree with this position, and I have found myself vacillating between frustration and anger when I am looked at with suspicion for not being generous enough to the things I come across. There is a discussion to be had about whether an opinion is worth anything if one enjoys everything, and a discussion to be had about what kinds of people are incapable of criticism, but we will leave those for another day.

If we were dealing with an issue strictly of thought and reason, it would follow that our words should be able to explain the process that leads us to our decisions, that explains why we love the art we are fans of. But that is not the reality we live in. Perhaps it is still more of a philosophical maxim I hold than an unambiguous fact, but I believe our artistic taste is not academic, but it dominated by our feelings and emotions. Great art moves us in a way that is hard to explain, because we aren't thinking about why it happens. Songs 'pull on our heartstrings' rather than overwhelm our logic, and that leaves us at the mercy of chemicals and consciousness that has yet to be fully understood by science.

"Why don't you like Bob Dylan?"

That is the question that set me down this path today. As I have mentioned countless times over the years, I am (or was) both an amateur songwriter and a fan of words. It would seem logical, then, to say that I should be a fan of the man considered the greatest songwriter in modern history, and the recipient of a Nobel Prize in literature.

And yet... I don't like Bob Dylan at all. In fact, I have said for longer than I have been writing these things down that Bob is not even the superior Dylan. His son Jakob's work with The Wallflowers has resonated far more with me than any of his father's greatest hits, and I continue to come away more impressed by songs he has written than those that are more celebrated as genius by the mainstream.

Why?

There isn't an easy way to explain that. Academically, I can know how important Bob Dylan is to popular music, and how revered his words are as the voice of a generation. Emotionally, I get nothing out of his work. Whether his metaphors are couched in narrative stories in ways that make them feel dishonest, or his voice is simply too difficult an instrument to take seriously, the songs of Bob Dylan hit me as if unearthing fossilized relics of a previous incarnation of the human species. That's an overly dramatic way of saying what I intend, which is to say I cannot recognize the world Bob Dylan is singing about because I was not part of it. His phrasings might have spoken to people who were coming of age in that time, opening their eyes to the way time was beginning to move to a new chapter, but that isn't all that different than trying to read a book written in old English.

I have tried several times to dive in and find the missing thread I can pull on to reveal the answers, but it never happens. One of my favorite comedies even mentions "Blood On The Tracks" as the soundtrack to our most miserable moments, which is a bit of connective tissue that dissolves each time I try to grab hold.

I keep trying to unravel "Tangled Up In Blue". I hear Bob Dylan telling a story out of time, with no insight, reciting the events as if filing a newspaper report. There is no evidence these characters have ever known what love is, let alone been in that state themselves. Dylan goes from chapter to chapter, giving us no reason why he (or the character) would miss the woman he is singing about, and showing us nothing about their passion.

Reading the lyric along with the song, I cannot escape thinking about Jack Kerouac's "On The Road". That book was written in a manic state as a single paragraph typed across one-hundred-and-fifty feet of paper. Bob Dylan is writing in much the same way, throwing out a frenzy of details of life without giving us the humanity that turns it into art. Kerouac's book was hugely influential on me as a writer, because it showed me everything I didn't want to be. The prose was so bare and arid, it was a book entirely of plot points, devoid of anything interesting for those who didn't care about hearing him count and recount every sexual experience as if he was trying to remember how many miles of tread were left on a set of tires before both would be abandoned for something new. Bob Dylan's language is often much the same, telling stories with no panache, with no care for if he was entertaining the audience or not.

Worse than that, I don't get the impression listening to Bob Dylan that he has even entertained himself. He often sounds bored singing the words that made him famous, save for when he's calling the thoughts of others an 'idiot wind', which serves as context telling me not to care about what he is trying to say. In a way, Bob Dylan is a prophet of language in the same way Yogi Berry was; hitting on genius turns of phrase only by sifting through entire avalanches of the most mundane language.

The more I listen, the more I get distracted by the songs written in narratives and characters. Songs have never struck me as good vehicles for telling deep stories. The limited amount of words we get (I say limited, but like bob Dylan and others, I have had a penchant for using far too many to comfortably fit in a melody) demands efficiency, and the repeating nature of choruses or strophic structure necessitates a phrase or image that can paint an emotion in our minds that sticks through time. Bob Dylan's stories are sepia-toned, like watching a black-and-white movie outside the historical context and knowledge to appreciate the older art form.

The old form is a sentiment I cannot escape. Bob Dylan's music is rooted in both early folk and blues, neither of which has aged well as the world has sped up. His musings and lamentations come often in the form of long-winded recitations of words without concern for songwriting as a different art than journaling. Between his flat delivery and preference for repetitive form, the majority of the songs I have heard could be recited as poetry at an open mic night without missing anything of the performance. Bob Dylan, the greatest living songwriter, doesn't come across as having put much effort or thought into a key aspect of being a songwriter. Philosophically, there is a fundamental disconnect between his approach and my belief of what makes a great song truly great.

And perhaps part of this is that I did not try listening to Bob Dylan until his last 'comeback', when the genius I was reading about released records where he sounded not like death warmed over, but just like death. My first impression was that of someone so far past his prime it was difficult to imagine one existed.

Some people read for the story, praising Ernest Hemingway as a titan of the form. I read his clipped syntax and pine for the artistry that separates writers from storytellers. Bob Dylan is less a songwriter to me than he is a storyteller, and storytelling is not what I turn to music for.

I'm sure many (if not most) who read through the lyrics I have penned would grow frustrated by the way I struggle to say much of anything without cloaking it in a rhetorical flourish. I understand that, and I would not fault anyone who says my style is not for them. By that same accord, I don't think it is incumbent on me to keep searching for something in Bob Dylan's style that would allow me to enjoy his songs. He and I simply do not align on an artistic level in almost any way or form.

Now that I've written this much trying to explain myself, I'm hoping this means I can ignore Bob Dylan in peace for many, many years.

A Short Story: Boxing Day

Editor's Note: Since it's the holiday season, and there isn't much going on in the world of music, I'm feeling festive by instead giving you, the readers, this Christmas-themed short story I wrote a few years ago. Enjoy!

 "Boxing Day"

Strings of lights stretched from pole to pole, carrying the Christmas spirit across the city, casting the bright cheer into any window not covered top to bottom in thick velvet. The light was inescapable, turning the snow a sickly shade of red, the only color lights that were still available in such large supply. The color was one shade of festive, rather sinister when not in conflict with the green of renewal. How an entire industry had arisen from such a violent clash of colors was mysterious, but color-blindness would not be the first or only way people don't see what is directly in front of their faces.

Plumes of smoke rose from chimneys like dirty cotton blotting the black of the night. From afar, they could be taken as signs of good cheer, families gathered around the fireplace to share company and warmth on a special occasion. Or, they could be seen as the industrial incineration of the trappings and wrappings of the day. Paper and boxes being turned into heat, saving money on a heating bill while splurging on the excesses of consumer culture. A healthy thermostat can't be bragged about as can having a television a few inches bigger than anyone else in a social circle. Size envy comes in all forms, after all.

The lights dotted red circles in the snow below their line, but they were not alone. Smaller circles followed the sidewalk, painting the path from one horror to another, not deformed by the haste of escape. They were the art of calm violence, a signature clear enough for anyone to read, if literacy had not fallen out of vogue long ago.

As the morning sun rose, the snow glistened like the tears of a God who could no longer recognize his own creation. Sadness permeated the air, the disappointment of never having enough mixed with the longing for time to move faster so the next bout of hope could be within reach. It was offensive to many that civility was seasonal, so the answer they arrived at was to fight the climate, to stop the seasons from ever changing.

With Christmas dinner still in the bottom of their stomachs, the people stepped out into the crisp air, looking upon the garish displays they plastered across every inch of their town. The trinkets and baubles replaced having to actually care about their fellow humanity, as symbols were just as good as the real thing. Perhaps even better, because they could last longer than the warmth of a hug caught in the fibers of a sweater.

"I know it's early, but we'd might as well get started with these decorations," Morris said.

His family stood behind him in the doorway. The air left their lungs as he spoke, as though they were coughing out the wadded paper that kept their gifts from getting crushed as the packages were shaken while the tree was unguarded.

"But you know the rules," Mickie reminded him.

He would not have argued with his wife the day before, but with Christmas spirit now packed up on Boxing Day, he had no fucks to give for holding back.

"Fuck the rules. There's no such thing as too much Christmas spirit," he bellowed.

"Wait, what?" she asked.

"Did you think I was taking the decorations down? No, we're going to start putting next year's decorations up," he said.

Mickie held her face in her hands, hoping the mottled colors from the pressure pushing against her eyes would be a better sight than her house covered in even more garish accoutrements. If she had known then what she knew now, she would have tied a ring of rope around his neck, rather than put one of gold on her own finger.

She reached down and picked up the newspaper, shaking the powdery snow from the bag. She slid the roll from its sheath, feeling the satisfying thunk of it hitting her outstretched hand. Bad news hit hard, and the metaphor pleased her.

In large red letters, the headline read, "Christmas Killer Takes No 'L' - Wins At Murder Again."

"Look at this," Mickie said. "That Christmas killer struck again."

"Well, that's one less person to compete with in the house decorating contest," Morris said, without realizing the callousness of his statement.

"It says here," Mickie added, "the killings begin and end every year coinciding with Christmas decorations."

"What are you getting at?" Morris asked.

"The police are saying if we all take down our decorations, the killings might stop," Mickie said.

"Balderdash!" Morris responded. "If a few people have to die, it's a small price to pay to rub it in everyone's face that I have the most Christmas spirit."

Mickie wondered if it was possible to murder someone with a newspaper, if the edge was sturdy enough to slash through the neck and drain Morris of the red liquid masquerading as his soul. She hated him, not just because he was growing more cruel by the day, but because he was now extending the holiday season to the entirety of the year, and he would tell her the holidays are no time to leave someone alone. She knew he was controlling her, but she did not think him smart enough to do it intentionally. He was, as so many are, a lucky asshole.

"You do you," Mickie sighed.

As the sun descended, the sky around Morris' house did not grow dark, as thousands of new lights became a glowing beacon, in case Santa got lost and circled back for a second night. Mickie pulled the blanket over her head, trying to find peace, but the incandescence seeped through her eyelids, no matter how hard she crimped them together.

Morris got in bed, his self-satisfaction swollen. At least, Mickie knew, that meant other parts would not be. She would at least have respite from that.

"Say, honey," Mickie cooed. "Why don't you wear your Santa hat with the lights on it? Really get the spirit flowing."

"Great idea, for once," Morris agreed.

He primped the hat, massaging it into the perfect shape, fitting it over his head as though he was being crowned King Of Christmas. He laid down, turning on his side, the flashing lights direction in front of Mickie's eyes. She knew it would be a long night.

As the sun rose again, Mickie felt unburdened. She could not see the flashing lights through her closed eyes, but they danced on the ceiling when she opened them. The light bounced on the points of the stucco, diffusing into a wash of color. She hated painting anything white, but she was sick of red and green.

She turned her head toward Morris, who was quiet. She stared at him, or at least what was left of him. A fake beard was stained red on his chest, two candy canes jabbed through where his eyes had been. A ball of mistletoe was wedged in his mouth, the same one from his obnoxious belt-buckle.

Mickie rolled back over, putting her hands on her chest. She took a deep breath, tasting the calm and peace in the air. Her fingers traced the edges of the Star Of David hanging from her neck.

"Now I get why people like Christmas so much," she said to herself.

The Top Ten Songs Of 2025

Every year, I talk about how the song is the fundamental unit of music. There is nothing quite like writing that one great song that gives you the confidence and motivation to continue down a creative path. There is also nothing wrong with finding that inspiration more sparingly, and putting out singles when you don't have an entire collection of songs that reach the same level of quality. Putting your best foot forward is more important than shoving your foot in the door without anything to say once you grab people's attention.

What continues to surprise me is that despite the nature of the business changing, every year the majority of this list is comprised of songs from my favorite albums. This year, four of these ten songs come from other sources, which feels like a high water mark. Perhaps that is a sign of me finally following some of my own advice, or perhaps it just means being fickle is finally getting overbearing. Either way, these were my favorite songs of the year.

10. The Night Flight Orchestra - Shooting Velvet

I understand the brooding artist mentality from personal experience, so I don't find it a mystery at all that some who make miserable music want to have fun from time to time. I also don't find it a mystery that Bjorn Strid has been far more active in recent years with The Night Flight Orchestra's cheesy yacht rock than he has been with Soilwork. It's fun to have fun, and no song from TNFO is more fun than this one. It's bouncy, seriously cheesy, and one of those songs that has to drive his metal fans a bit crazy. I grew up on cheese, so this is too good for me to care about any of that.

9. Taylor Swift - Opalite

I found it interesting that after becoming the biggest pop star in the world, Taylor Swift largely abandoned the sound that got her there. It returned this year, and in no better form than "Opalite". This song is a wonderful bit of sunny pop, with bouncing melodies playing off the warmer tones, hitting like an updated version of doo-wop for an audience too young to know what that is. Coupled with one of the few lyrics on the album that isn't an embarrassment, Taylor has written her best pop song since "1989", easily. Why this wasn't the single that caught on instead of "The Fate Of Ophelia" is a good question. There can't be that many "Hamlet" fans among her audience, can there?

8. Dream Theater - Bend The Clock

It always feels to me like Dream Theater never realized they're a better band when they embrace their melodic side to go along with the progressive heaviness. That shines through on this song, which is the undeniable highlight of their reunion album. Seven minutes of melodic bliss, the track tones down their metal edge for an approach that has bits of cheese, and perhaps even Broadway, which plays right into James LaBrie's strengths as a singer. The emotional guitar solo only enhances this feeling, and puts this up there with the best Dream Theater songs in many years.

7. A-Z - Now I Walk Away

Maybe it's a coincidence that the one song on A-Z's album that feels most like their progressive roots is also my favorite. There's something comfortable about the groove they settle into, and how Ray Alder's melody finds the space between the guitars to deliver a hook not found in almost anything progressive metal could offer. That is the difference between A-Z and the bands the members come to the group from, and it's what makes this song so good. They leave aside the pretense to deliver metal that is intricate, but also hugely melodic. Doing so is hard, and it should be applauded when done this well.

6. Palecurse - On My Knees

It's hard to be heavy, emotional, and anthemic at the same time. When you're screaming out your catharsis, losing the song is easy to do. Palecurse never strays from the direct path for a single second, as this song hits the chorus with the force of a sledgehammer, begging for a pit to be shouting along at a show. The song tells us about finding our way through situations when we get so caught up in others that we forget about ourselves. This is an anthem to take control of our own lives again, and while the song says she "won't beg you to listen to me", we should absolutely be listening. This is as good as it gets.

5. W.E.T. - Pleasure & Pain

What I love most about W.E.T. is when they reach for just a little bit of extra drama. They're good at rocking, but there's a bit of magic when they pull on our heartstrings just that little bit more. This song is the one on this year's album that does that, not with a string arrangement, but with a slow build that erupts into a chorus of epic scope. Jeff Scott Soto delivers the melody with a passionate vocal, and frankly, this just wouldn't work as well as an Eclipse song. Dramatic rock is a dying art, but W.E.T. does it with aplomb here, and I wish they would do it more often.

4. The Wonder Years - New Lows

Here's an interesting one; this song is the first time I've ever put a wrestling theme on one of these lists. The Wonder Years is coming off an album that won AOTY from me, and here they provide entrance music that doesn't need that context. Though short, it rips as a stand-alone song. The band hits on an epic sounding chorus, where we shout along about being unappreciated yet unbowed, where we are defiant in our own self-confidence. No, I'm not going to be inspired to embrace that bravado and think I can start kicking ass, but the song does help get me up off the mat.

3. Ghost - Lachryma

Despite Ghost being almost incapable of delivering a quality album in full, they always manage a few highlights on each one. This time, I had a couple of choices. "Peacefield" was fantastic, but sounded too much like a Journey song. "Guiding Lights" was close to being perfect, but it fizzled out when it should have built to the epic finish. That leaves "Lachryma" as the obvious choice, as it gives us Ghost at their cheesy best. The song is a bit silly, but ever so fun. Ghost is a pop band at heart, and while they only show that on occasion, when it shines through is when they are at their best. This song is unapologetic about its schmaltz, and that's why I love it so damn much.

1b. Taylor Acorn - Poster Child

"I'm sorry I'm stupid, dammit I'm dumb/Poster child for screwing everything up" she sings on this song. It's framed around a relationship, but it feels like a mantra that can apply throughout life, and it's one I would have uttered many times myself. I've often thought I am cursed with bad timing, and the ability to always say the wrong thing, so it has always felt to me like I have been the one to push people away, even when there may have been no fault to be had. That makes this one of those anthems that rings true, and a song I can listen to and hear myself in. Those are rare, and oh so special. This one certainly is.

1a. Halestorm - Gather The Lambs

It felt inevitable that my favorite song of the year would come from Halestorm, given how much Lzzy Hale's voice reaches my soul in a way only a select few ever have. What I might not have expected is that "Gather The Lambs" would be the song I picked, as "Darkness Always Wins" spoke more to the state I found myself in most of the year, and "Everest" is one of her best vocal performances ever. There's something about the grungier tone of this song that I couldn't outrun, as though it was my own shadow trying to choke me from behind. I love the power of the chorus, and the off-kilter bends in the solo, but what sealed the deal was Lzzy singing, "Say everything we need to say/before everyone is gone/why does everybody run?" I spent a portion of this year questioning the nature of friendship, and contemplating if those connections can be thought of as equations wherein I run 'energy deficits' until people use up everything I have and move on. Maybe that lyric caught me in the right moment, but it fit into the crack I was dealing with in my psyche, and I needed it badly. That makes it the most important song of the year.

The Worst/Most Disappointing Albums Of 2025

Listening to less albums should come with a side-benefit; hearing less terrible music. Unfortunately, statistics are a fungible science, and changing the number of albums I listen to doesn't seem to have much impact on how many of them turn out to exist on the negative side of the ledger. Despite trying to avoid several notable albums I knew were not going to be my cup of tea, I still managed to hear plenty of music that made me scratch my head, if not want to punch myself in the face.

Every year, I divide these records into the truly terrible, and those that merely disappoint me. What I've come to realize in doing this is that the disappointing albums might be the better group, but they hurt to listen to much more, for the simple fact that having hope and watching it deflate is far worse than never having any in the first place. I've used that as a bit of advice for portions of life, despite knowing how depressing it sounds, and lets face the facts; it doesn't really work.

Avoiding the bad doesn't seem possible, so we dive headlong into it. Here we go (in alphabetical order).

The Worst Albums:

AFI - Silver Bleeds The Black Sun

Can this really be the same band that made "Sing The Sorrow"? I don't expect them to ever have a magical moment like that again, but this time around they adopt a goth aesthetic, complete with Davey Havok sporting a 70s porn mustache and a fake baritone voice. The songs themselves are rather boring pieces of goth, but what sets this over the top as being bad instead of merely boring is how fake and artificial the whole thing is. AFI have been around so long, we know what they sound like, we know what Davey sounds like. This is not AFI as they have ever been, it's a band playing the part of something other than who they are. To abandon their identity to make a shitty record is pretty unforgivable. This wasn't them running out of inspiration, this was them giving themselves a black eye thinking it would serve as makeup.

The Darkness - Dreams On Toast

I sort of hate myself for still loving "Permission To Land", because The Darkness have never done anything since then I think is worth a damn. This record might be the worst of them all, as they not only trade in bad 'comedy', but can't even do so with a decent hook or two. The whole thing feels like someone who got sober, only to realize the alcohol was their entire personality. Remember the 'Fun Bobby' episode of "Friends"? That's this album, except for the fact that Justin Hawkins thinks every character needs to be as dumb as Joey. Why else would anyone write a song about trying not to fart/shit on his wife while celebrating their anniversary? I hate them for making me write that sentence. Fuck this band.

Ethel Cain - Perverts

Here's an 'album' that made me question the very nature of what music is. As I skimmed through the very long running time, I was given ample time to ask myself what a song is if it doesn't have a musical idea in it. Ethel Cain is one of those critical darlings who makes the musical equivalent to boring HBO dramas that think pretty camera shots make up for not having a decent script. She drones on through waves of soft noise for more than an hour, never once giving us anything that sounds like a reason why she made this music. I truly cannot tell what in any of these songs inspired her enough to think it needed to be turned into a song. There's nothing here at all... nothing but the bleeding pain in my ears.

Spiritbox - Tsunami Sea

Speaking of critical darlings, Spiritbox is the hottest name in the metal world at the moment, so I gave their record a shot. I really did, if for no other reason than Courtney Laplante being a genuinely talented singer. That's the only good thing I can say about them, as my time with the album consisted of me asking when the songs were going to get good. They either scream their way through one-note breakdowns, or float on ethereal sections that have no melody. It's as if you took two bands trying to be Killswitch Engage, one good at only the heavy and one only at the hooky, and you used the pieces they suck at. I'm so confused.

Steven Wilson - The Overview

Leave it to Steven Wilson to write an album about the effect being in space and seeing the scale and scope of the earth, and having it come out this turgid and boring. His progressive 'songs' are not twenty-minute epics, but strings of shorter songs glued together. It's the laziest version of prog songwriting, but the fact of the matter is that Steven has not been good at writing pop since "In Absentia" twenty years ago. He loves sound, but not songs, and that shines through as he spends more time dialing in tones than he does in writing anything worth playing or listening to. The universe is a vast nothing, and so is this bloody album.

The Most Disappointing Albums:

Avatarium - Between You, God, The Devil & The Dead

I want to love Avatarium. Jenny-Ann Smith is a hell of a singer, and they have a handful of songs that nail the doom atmosphere as well as anything I've ever heard. Their "The Fire I Long For" is a good album, and sadly their only good one. This record finds them once again relying on sound and atmosphere, which they are great at, with few songs able to match the tone. The pieces are there, but they have been regressing since staking their own path. Sadly, I don't know how many more chances I will give them to show they don't have that killer instinct.

Creeper - Sanguivore II: Mistress Of Death

After four albums, I'm ready to write off Creeper. It's bad enough that they are constantly play-acting to the point I don't know who they are supposed to be underneath the costumes and characters, but they aren't able to lean into the camp factor anymore. This record is their second 'goth' album, and after teasing us with two singles that seemed like they had found their way, we discover that was merely a camera trick. Creeper is still bland and boring in this guise, and I'm rather tired of trying to figure out why they can't play music that actually has a human heart to it.

Dream Theater - Parasomnia

The return of Mike Portnoy was supposed to be a huge moment, but to be honest, I miss the Mike Mangini era already. I'm not blaming Portnoy in particular, but the choices the band made for this record play into everything I don't like about their sound. There are more random instrumental bits, more self-aware metal context, and more focus on being heavy above all else. "Bend The Clock" is a stroke of magic, but it's the only song on the album that stands up at that level. The rest of the album is dark and dull, trying my patience in a way the intervening years rarely did.

Ghost - Skeleta

I shouldn't be disappointed in Ghost anymore, since "Meliora" is the only album of theirs I don't need to cherry-pick for the highlights. But after the initial singles for this album came out, I thought they might have swung the pendulum in my direction. I was wrong. Those singles are indeed great, but the rest of the album fell into the put of mediocrity once again. Hearing Tobias singing "love rockets" again and again was not what I had in mind, and his embrace of arena rock came with putting some of the cheesy fun of the band to the background. This actually feels like the most sincere Ghost album, but that's not what we want from a cartoonish band with this kind of lore. At least they make for a good compilation.

Katatonia - Nightmares As Extensions Of The Waking State

"A Sky Void Of Stars" was my AOTY, and now Katatonia is here in the dregs. What made that album so special was blending Katatonia's trademark gloom with just enough energy to make it sound like the back end of a depressive storm. This time, the tempos are slowed again, the production becomes oppressive, and the songs drag along as dirges. That slight bit of optimism is gone, and with it the feeling I was always hoping Katatonia could achieve. Perhaps the band's lineup turmoil had something to do with the writing, but I think it's more likely we were two perpendicular lines, and we're destined to have only connected at the one instant.