The Offspring's One Brief, Bright, "Smash" Of Success

Did you ever have a full circle moment when you realized that art and pop culture were influencing one another, slowly circling the drain until you felt just as empty? Perhaps it's just me, but there are specific instances where I become disappointed, as I realize the reason we use the 'lowest common denominator' is because it is also the largest one.

If you are of a certain age, you might remember the days of syndicated television airing on regional cable networks. You knew you were seeing something the rest of the country was, but no one was watching it at the same time, or experiencing it in the same way. It actually isn't that different from the streaming realities of now, but it was a completely different feeling back then.

Anyway, in the mid 90s there was a renegade wrestling promotion called ECW whose programming aired on one of those networks early on Saturday mornings. I can't fathom why they put the most violent and profane wrestling to ever grace television on when kids were up before their parents, but they did, because that's the kind of world we used to live in. I was one of those who was tuning in before the rest of the house was up, not entirely sure what it was I was so interested in.

One character caught my attention more than the others, because even at that age I felt myself either being or becoming bitter and sardonic. He would philosophize about the meaning of pain, rationalizing his actions as being part of a cruel world that didn't care much for our attempts at morality. Even watching wrestling, I couldn't escape my overthinking ways. His arrival every week was signaled by the guitar riff in The Offsping's "Come Out & Play". I knew nothing of punk, but hearing the song enough times, I would up with a copy of the album "Smash" at some point.

I didn't know what to make of the record at first. I was rather confused by the buzzing guitars, Dexter's oddly nasal vocals, and the lyrics that made no attempt at being what we would call conventionally 'good'. As he got to the end of "Bad Habit" and shouted, "you stupid dumb-shit goddamn motherfucker", I did not realize I was hearing the figurative line between adolescence and adulthood being obliterated. This was a band reveling in their refusal to grow up and have complicated thoughts, instead liking to think of themselves as living in a Tarantino movie, all the while not realizing he was merely re-writing foreign movies and taking all the credit for them.

"Smash" is a landmark album in that it broke open the gates for independent records to sell huge quantities, bypassing the traditional means of distribution. Did wrestling help with that development? I have no idea, but I do think there is a correlation between watching people hit themselves over the head repeatedly and thinking The Offspring were ever anything but jerks who happened upon a few good tunes.

That is the most interesting aspect of "Smash"; it stands with "Dookie" as the two poles upon which the hammock of pop-punk was hung. Two albums of snotty, self-loathing were able to marry the abrasiveness of punk with the subversive charm of power-pop. It's hard not to listen to the jaunty bounce of "What Happened To You?" and not find yourself bopping along, nor is it easy to escape the infectiousness of the "la la" choruses of "Self-Esteem". These were accidents that would later ruin the band, we would learn, but for a moment in time The Offspring were balancing on the knife's edge of being popular in the mainstream and heroes to the underground.

What went wrong? you ask.

I tend to believe the exact moment when The Offspring switched from being cool to lame came not from anything they did, but from Weezer. Yes, once again Weezer is ruining everything, because that's the kind of band they are.

In their song "El Scorcho", Rivers Cuomo wrote a lyric about watching ECW wrestling. For the most uncool person in rock to be writing a song mentioning something cool is to render that thing uncool in an instant. No one wanted to be associated with Rivers at that moment, as his record was rightfully bombing (before it unjustly became a classic), so I look at Weezer's embrace of that culture as the death knell for it. How could The Offspring still be cool if they were part of the soundtrack for something the nerd in the "Buddy Holly" video thought was awesome enough to write a song about?

It hasn't been easy to listen to "Smash" without thinking about how The Offspring became the kind of bullshit posers they were writing songs about thirty years ago. They thought they were being clever throwing in that nearly surf-rock riff as a take-down of the past, not realizing their future would become swallowed by those very gimmicks. When you hear Dexter shouting about how he doesn't "give a fuck 'cause it's good enough for" him, it rings so very hollow today, because he has spent so much time absolutely giving a fuck what everyone thinks of him and his band.

The thing about being anti-establishment is that it requires a degree of commitment. Listening to anything The Offspring did afterward is nearly as jarring as watching Ice-T as an actor playing a cop. Retroactively, they are pissing on their legacy, and telling us not to pay attention to anything they ever had to say.

I could talk about how "Smash" is very much the sound of punk absorbing Kurt Cobain's songwriting talents, setting the stage for pop-punk being the next step in the pop-ification of underground rock. I could, but what's the point?

"Smash" is one of those albums that has to be listened to nostalgically. I can put it on and feel like it's the mid 90s again, when rebellion felt clever because there really wasn't anything culturally to rebel against. They were pissing people off for the fun of it, whereas now they piss people off for not being able to write a good song anymore. "Smash" is a relic of time, and it feels out of place in this current age. It remains an important album, and one that can teach us about how we got here, but it no longer has anything to tell us.

ECW burned bright and burned out, and "Smash" did the same. There's no shame in that, other than trying to re-light the fuel that is obviously spent.

Album Review: Casandra's Crossing - Garden Of Earthly Delights

Sometimes we make judgments about musicians and bands that are surface level, that aren't necessarily fair, but nonetheless give us a shortcut to placing them in the right place in our thinking. With as much music being released as we get every year, there simply isn't time to properly assess and absorb everything. We need those shortcuts if we are ever going to remember each new thing we hear from among the flood of other music we will barely hear long enough to finish listening to.

In the case of Casandra Cross, that judgment came when hearing her singing on the EP from The L.I.F.E. Project. That was a decent enough release, but the thought I jotted down in my mental notebook was that Casandra was a singer very much in the mold of Lzzy Hale, who I have said on multiple times is the greatest voice of her/my generation. So when this album reached my inbox, and I realized who was involved, the note is the only reason I was convinced to listen to yet another album featuring George Lynch.

I say that part because despite his acclaim as a guitar hero, I was too young to ever care about Dokken, and I have not been interested at all in any of the many collaborations he has been involved in for this particular label. Until now, that is. And why? The mental note I made has calcified, as Casandra on this record sounds even more like a doppelganger for Lzzy Hale. And with a more eclectic blanket of guitar sounds to sing over, this record moves from being yet another put-together collaboration to being more of an alternate universe imagination of what Halestorm could be.

When this collaboration works best is when Lynch is being his odd self, utilizing more open strings and ringing chords. That open space is lighter and airier, and gives Casandra's grit more room in the mix to reverberate. When she roars, and the music isn't filling all that space, her melodies are able to hit us with full power. It's almost the case that you can have heavy guitars or heavy vocals, but the combination of the two comes out sounding smaller because they cancel each other out.

That means songs like "Ring Me Around" and "Closer To Heaven" hit a sweet spot that melds 80s rock with the modern day, feeling fresh while also not feeling played out. Maybe it's just my weakness for that particular kind of voice, but Casandra is a star on this record. What is also true is that "Run For Your Life" and "Wicked Woman", which veer toward the heavier side, don't work as well. The tones are right, but they flatten out enough of the melodic edge to sound too predictable, too inconsequential.

All that means is the record isn't perfect, which is something I would say about 99% of the albums I've heard in my life. And since this isn't one of those records that barely cracks half an hour, having one misstep doesn't change the calculus.

There are a few takeaways I have after listening to this record multiple times. 1) Casandra Cross has the potential to be the next singer who catches and keeps my attention. 2) The difference in how I'm reacting to this record, as opposed to one of the Sweet/Lynch ones, reminds me how important singers and vocal melodies are. 3) Frontiers Records has put out a ton of albums this year, few of them have done anything at all for me, and this might just be the best of them all.

That's plenty for me.

It Is VK Lynne, Not The Wayward Son, Who Will "Carry On"

When we need to be strong, we look to our roots.

After a disaster, when we assess the landscape of destroyed lives and altered landscapes, we can see that many of the trees and structures we relied on for safety and security were too easy to pluck from the ground. Some of the most beautiful things are fragile, because they have no depth. Look under the surface, and there is only the void of earth that commemorates the emptiness that comes after life.

Our roots are important, not only because they explain how and why we are the people we have become, but because they are what we return to in times of struggle. There's a bit of advice that tells us 'the only way of getting out is through'. To head through the tumult and storms without losing our direction requires strength and dedication, and those qualities are fed by our roots. We can spread our arms and tilt our faces to the sun, but that is of no use if a gentle breeze can tip us over like a helium-filled cow balloon.

This month, VK Lynne returns to her roots as "The Spider Queen" approaches its end. The 'blues metal' experiment has been a kaleidoscope of sounds and moods, but there is an aperture around which it all swirls. For VK, that is the blues, and "Carry On" is the bluesiest she has been in all the years I have been fortunate enough to know her.

Kicking off with a slow groove bass-line, VK addresses someone who thinks "the whole world is a snow globe in [their] hand". There is a strong, possibly growing, desire in many to exert control over people. I have never understood the impulse, and may in fact lean too far in the other direction for my own good, but the cultural air at the moment is one of stifling suffocation. Everyone has become an 'other' to someone, and the idea of conformity is rising in those who are too weak to bother to explore themselves.

As the guitar chords become swampy, and the melody bends to refract blue, VK pledges to carry on. She will shed the weight of expectations, and the experiences in her life that have kept her from being her truest and best self. The greatest revenge we can have, and perhaps the only healthy kind, is to stip off the layers of life other people have wrapped us up in. Once shed, we are free to be ourselves, and to find our north star may not be the one everyone else is oriented to. That doesn't make us wrong, it means we merely have to find our own way, rather than leaping off the cliff so we can feel for a few seconds as if we have lost weight.

VK tells us "the worm keeps turning like the dust in the dirt", before she segues into a wailing run of notes. The worm slithers through the earth, leaving behind a richer loam for our roots to grow. Likewise, the best of us leave behind a richer world as we make our way through life. We not only dig deeper with our roots, but we send out tendrils that anchor ourselves to one another, creating an entire ecosystem that holds together. At least that is the goal.

The blues is not filled with optimism as a genre, and VK's passionate vocal is a reminder that pushing through the toxic cloud life and people put before us requires work and energy on our part. Carrying on is what we must do, but it is not a certainty. We must want to endure and survive, we must fight off the demons threatening to knock us down, and we must stand firm from our very roots.

"The Spider Queen" has been filled with every color of the rainbow, as is the sunlight refracting across her web. Some are more hopeful, some more angry, but none are as essentially VK as is this song. To "Carry On", we must know from where we came, and that is evident listening to VK exposing her roots.

 "Carry On" releases on Halloween. Pre-save it here.

'Why' Is The Hardest Question. I think I Can Finally Answer It.

My colleague D.M. asked me, I believe when I was eulogizing Jim Steinman, what it is about his music that spoke to me in a way no one else's ever has. My answer was likely incomplete, as I struggle to understand my own emotions, let alone put them into words. Perhaps the reason I spent so much time wrapped up in the idea I had no emotions at all was simply to avoid having to explain them to people when I lacked the means to do so. I wouldn't put it past me.

I wrote recently about having officially declared Meat Loaf and Jim Steiman is/are once again my favorite artist/s, usurping my decades long list-topper, which has given me pause to stop and re-evaluate the relationship I have with that music. To be precise, I was now asking myself the question D.M asked me back then; why Jim Steinman above everyone else who has ever written songs?

I believe I can answer that question better today than I could in the past. That stems from a better understanding of myself, which is another topic I have written about to a degree in recent months. Music and personality are not independent factors that move freely through space and time, they are energies headed in the same direction. They might fluctuate, moving closer and further in imperfect paths, but I am drawn to music that fits my personality just as much as the music I like influences the person I am.

I discovered Steinman's music when I was ten years old, which amuses me, because it was entirely the wrong point in life for his music to have drawn me in. Steinman was perpetually stuck in the tidal pool of teenage hormones, while I had not yet felt them. Would I ever? That's hard to say. The point I'm making is that what makes great music great is the ability for it to speak to us from multiple perspectives, and to grow and evolve with us as we change as people.

As a kid listening to "Bat Out Of Hell II", Steinman's childishness was what caught my ear. I wore a hole in my tape when Meat Loaf sang the line about how you could take the future and "shove it up your ass". Even though I was a Laurel & Hardy person, his reference to The Three Stooges was an amusing middle-finger, although I didn't know to whom.

That young version of myself heard the obvious jokes and got a chuckle. That was why he was interested.

As time wore on, and I felt my soul rusting in its cage, I began to see more that lived beneath the surface of the songs. That line about the future was not just an off-color joke, it was a recognition that the future is a concept we create to give the world meaning. The reference to the Stooges was an acknowledgement that life is an absurdity, as we need to be able to pop the balloon of self-importance.

When Steinman ended "Paradise By The Dashboard Light" with the epic statement, "I'm waiting for the end of time so I can end my time with you," it wasn't merely a pun, it was a painful understanding that being people who live up their promises no matter the consequences puts us in positions where happiness is always on the wrong side of the horizon. Being a good person and being a happy person may not be compatible.

Or when Steinman wrote in "Left In The Dark" that "there are no lies on your body, so take off your dress, I just want to get at the truth," he was navigating the complexities of relationships by understanding that sometimes the lust that gets you through the night is more essential to our sanity than the love that gets us through life.

The older version of myself waxed philosophically. That was why he was interested.

Today, I find myself in very much the same place Steinman spent his life. I feel trapped in a mind and body that doesn't allow me to experience the things I want most. Perhaps it is an "arrested development and just another wasted youth" as Steinman wrote, but I see it as something more insidious than that. Whether you are a philosopher or just someone who gives advice to friends, we have agreed there are certain drives and experiences that make us who we are, that give life meaning, that define the human experience.

Some of us are wired in ways that make those nearly impossible, and the torrent of love songs and Hallmark movies that show us how things are 'supposed' to be only boils the disappointment into a thicker depression. There isn't a place in pop culture for people like me to be anything but the butt of the joke, or the triumph of pity when the lode has finally been mined. (I think Steinman would appreciate how bad that line is.)

Jim Steinman's songs are about love and lust, but they have always been written from the perspective of someone who is never able to get what he wants. Even when he thinks he does, it turns out to be a tragic twist of fate. These songs are a way of working through the existential pain of feeling cursed by whatever force you think guides the universe, even if that is merely the terrible luck of getting corrupted genes.

I struggled for much of my forty-first year not to hate myself for various reasons. I failed at times, and when I did, Steinman's songs were always there for me. They reminded me I am not the only person to feel as if I was not built for this world, I am not the only one whose dreams are encoded in a language only I can understand.

Jim Steinman's music is a lesson that even when it feels as if hope is a four-letter word (one of my favorite jokes), pain can be turned into beautiful art.

The current version of myself needs to believe that. That is why I remain interested.

A Critique Of Pure Criticism

If you were to ask me what the most enjoyable aspect of being a critic is, the answer is two-fold; 1) Writing in purple prose about music that has moved my emotions and taught me about myself, and 2) Writing in acidic prose about music that offends me and drains by bile. They are flip sides of the same coin, the metaphorical 'two cents' we chip in even when not asked for our opinion. Having one is the ante to sit at the table, but only those who are able to think critically and examine the situation will be able to master the game.

The worst thing that can happen to a critic is to be struck by music that is merely average. Those albums and songs are the bane of my existence, because they offer nothing to talk about. They are the musical equivalent of when you meet a person with no personality, and then try to describe them to your friends. As one of those people, I know how hard it is.

Music is the same way. There are plenty of records that serve the purpose of idle chit-chat while you wait in line, but few that are worth remembering when you're asked later on how your day went. As we get older, stimuli need to be stronger to make a mark on us, and the average no longer stands a chance of pounding their shape into the tanned leather of our memories. Perhaps the faintest outline will be there if you stare through a loupe, but you would only be seeing the remnants of lipstick from a kiss whose moisture long ago turned into desert sands.

Writing critically is more than merely sharing an opinion, it's an exercise in explaining your understanding of the world. With so much of the world now boiled down to star ratings, we seldom dive deeper to understand the how and why of our opinions. Do we know why we hate certain records? Why we have an instant dislike of certain people? Why we hate aspects of ourselves?

Negative reviews are some of the most fun I can have as a critic, but not because I enjoy ripping bad music apart. In all honesty, I would welcome having the ability to love the majority of the albums I listen to, the way it must be for people who make lists of their hundred favorite records of a given year. Discerning taste is not a bad thing, although in some areas it can lead to intense loneliness, but I consider it a better option than having no standards at all. If someone tells you they like everything, is their opinion worth anything? Are they possibly happy people if anything at all is good enough for them?

Those are heady questions for another time. I want to focus on negative reviews, because it was pointed out to me recently that the most bitter pieces I write are often the favorites of readers. I get that sentiment, but I do wonder if they are taken the way I intend. While I don't hold back my feelings, and I attempt to find creative ways of expressing myself, I do so from a perspective of trying to explain exactly how and why these albums fall short of the mark.

As a critic, I find it insulting when writers and reactors offer nothing more substantial than "it sucks" as a hot take. While it might be the same conclusion, it is by no means the same evaluation. Criticism for the sake of being mean and petty is not criticism, it is laziness that says as much about the critic as it does the criticized subject. The purpose of criticism is not just to share an opinion, but to be constructive and explain what mistakes can be avoided in the future. It's true that few of the artists I talk about will ever read the negative reviews, let alone take them to heart, but the sentiment is still there. And it has happened in the past that an artist thanked me for a negative review, because I gave them suggestions on how to better their songwriting the next time around.

When I tore into the new album from The Offspring as I did recently, I could have thrown together a litany of insults and pejoratives. Instead, I tried to consider the arc of their career, explaining how they have taken paths that have shot their own success in the foot, and how they no longer understand the irony they used to live in. My essay on the legacy of Blues Traveler's "Four" did the same thing, as I lamented how the band's highest moment was an eclipse that blacked out the awareness of why they became successful. My review of Blink 182's reunion fit this bill as well, as the uncanny valley of that record questioned whether people were being nostalgic for the band, or nostalgic for the nostalgia itself. I doubt anyone, the band included, thought about any of that. But I did.

What I am saying is that being negative is often considered a bad thing, but it is a key element in learning how to better ourselves. Society complains about the paradigm handing out participation trophies to those who don't even try, but we then hold it against those who are honest about the situation.

A friend told me recently that I am too hard on myself, that I am relentlessly negative in ways that push people away. Perhaps that is true, but I would ask a question of them, of everyone; What good does it do to tell people they are wonderful and talented, if they aren't? Much of that negativity I talk about with myself isn't intended as such, but is what I consider a realistic view of the situation. I don't consider it a flaw to admit the ways I fall short of the person I wish I could be. I have come to realize much of that is out of my control, but I know it would be worse for my psyche if I was wading into self-delusion. Of course, those same people who criticize my negativity rarely are able to offer a refutation, let alone an affirmative case to be made on my behalf.

But I digress. The point I want to stress is that music is not a finite battle where only a select number of band and albums can be good. There is no limit to how much great music can be made, and I consider it a duty to tell those who are falling short the ways I think they can improve. I may do it harshly, but some lessons can only be learned that way.

Of course, there are exceptions to every rule, as the saying goes. I won't try to tell you anything I have said about Manowar had good intentions. They deserved it.

Singles Roundup: Dream Theater & Michael Schenker ft Axl Rose

I hope you didn't want positivity today.

Dream Theater - Night Terror

The big news with Dream Theater is that Mike Portnoy is back in the band. That news has little bearing on this song, except for when it does. I'll explain, but it's a bit complicated. The short version of the story is that this new song is standard fare Dream Theater, so your preconceptions are entirely accurate. There is nothing surprising or new at all, so we don't need to get too far into a discussion of what all of this means for the next chapter of the band's career. The straight line will not bend, or break.

The deeper discussion involves the way we listen to music. I am not someone who listens to drums under most circumstances, so Portnoy's return makes almost no difference to me. He plays like himself, which means it still sounds like Dream Theater. Where I think his impact can be felt is in the way the song is arranged, as that is where he was so often involved. That is also where this song feels like a huge step back from where the band has been in his absence.

The biggest issue this song has is in its construction. There are copious riffs, fills, and solos, but it feels like we have gone back to their self-indulgent worst. Ideas are thrown against the wall with little concern about the narrative through-line. Instrumental parts pile up in between the vocals, playing into the worst stereotypes about prog being music for music nerds. When those vocals do come in, it's in the form of a chorus so melodically simple it doesn't grip me at all.

While it's nice that they haven't recycled their usual formula for a lead single, this song is not inspiring confidence in what the new album is going to be. These ten minutes are Dream Theater at their worst, and there is another hour of material still to come. They had focused their songwriting much more during their time with Mike Mangini, and this song feels like when you return to a familiar place to realize you memories sanitized what was never so great.

Michael Schenker ft Axl Rose - Love To Love

I want to thank Michael Schenker for releasing this song. No, not because it's good, which it isn't. I want to think him for finally making it clear the world is better off without Guns N Roses ever releasing a new album again.

Why? If you listen to this song, it's clear that Axl has no voice left. He sounds absolutely horrific trying to softly coo the verses. There was a time he was described as having 'helium voice', and this version of Axl is that, but with even less power. He sounds broken, tired, and like a shell of who he used to be. The fact that Schenker is re-recording these songs is enough to elicit a groan, but to pick an Axl who can't sing to perform one of UFO's most legendary songs is such a stunning lack of self-awareness. I'm truly baffled.

As I was saying, hearing the current state of Axl's voice makes it clear a new Guns N Roses album would be a complete clusterfuck. There is a good reason the reunited band has only put out songs Axl sang a decade ago. Those are the only recordings they can make sound presentable. Unfortunately, Schenker didn't figure that out until he had already committed to Axl being on his record. As much as we complain about people who stop making new music, there is often a good reason why they do. Axl is one of those people I will not complain about if he decides to retire. In fact, I wouldn't have minded if he did so before recording this song.

Quick Reviews: Myles Kennedy & Smash Atoms

For a change, we've got two good ones this week.

Myles Kennedy - The Art Of Letting Go

If eventually everything comes full circle, this album is a fitting example of that. Myles' solo career has now reached a point where he is pulling from all three of his phases, filling the gaps between them in a way that will probably satisfy everyone. This record sounds like what Alter Bridge used to be, with a few hints of their current obsession with heaviness, while also pulling a few guitar licks from his time with Slash. It's very much a melding of everything Myles has been doing all in one album, which happens to fit his voice more than anything else.

Both the production of the last Slash album, and the continued down-tuning of Alter Bridge, have pushed Myles' voice into its most shrill range. He avoids that on this record, and it's all the better for it. These songs are in the right place for his voice to sell the hooks, which he does well. Myles mostly avoids the huge soaring melodies intended for European stadiums, and focuses on more 'songwriter' style melodies.

If you have been a bit put off by Alter Bridge morphing from a rock to a metal band, this album is the perfect antidote. Myles is a rock singer, not a metal singer, and having the proper level of heaviness is key. This record is heavy, yes, but only as a predicate to having good songs. That's a lesson some other bands have yet to learn.

Smash Atoms - Smash Atoms

We have noted there is an increase in the number of bands making attempts at reviving the sound of grunge. Most of those bands do a decent job of capturing the sound, but they don't necessarily capture the spirit. That can be a good thing if you weren't into grunge when it came out (as I wasn't, since I was slightly too young to have been listening at its height), but it also exposes a lack of understanding of what made grunge what it was. The same is true of the retro 70s revival, which underscores either how little thought it given into some of these things, or how much worthless thought I put into it.

Smash Atoms aren't a clone of Alice In Chains, but they sort of are. The sound is ripped straight from their catalog, with the heavy bends in the riffs, and the strained harmonies giving that same haunting tone. The sound of the record is massive, with the guitars filling every corner of the sonic landscape. And yet, there is room for the gritty vocals to stand out.

The band delivers on the songs as well. These songs have big, muscular hooks that play into the power of the sound. I would imagine most people who have spent the last thirty years loving "Would?" and "Man In the Box" will be intrigued by how much Smash Atoms sounds like a rebirth of that period of time. There isn't the same tortured pain to be found here, but maybe we're better off not being so far down that hole. In any case, Smash Atoms is easily the best of these neo-grunge bands that have popped up, and this record has a sneaky chance to be one of the better albums of the year.

Album Review: The Offspring - Supercharged

Punk was supposed to be about being cool, wasn't it? You wouldn't know that from The Offspring, who have now spent the majority of their career writing terrible novelty songs, and throwing in a couple of punk numbers on each album to make it seem like they still have some level of credibility. They don't, and Dexter Holland is a great example of how being smart doesn't mean you can't still be an idiot. To use his own parlance, The Offspring are not fly, even for a bunch of white guys.

Their previous album was not only their worst record by a landslide, it was so bad it felt like an insult to the fans. It was the same kind of half-hearted bullshit effort Green Day put in on their "Father Of All..." album, and I wasn't going to sugar-coat it by trying to find the upside. There was a time when I liked The Offspring a lot, and I'm one of the few people who even liked them into their pop ballad days, but I drew a line. The only reason I'm talking about this album at all is because it happened to find its way into my inbox. I wouldn't have actually put any effort into hearing this thing.

The bullshit starts early, as "Looking Out For #1" not only has terrible spoken interjections, but it entirely borrows the melody and cadence of "Half-Truism" for the chorus. It's enough of a clone that if it struck me the very first time I heard it, the band that has been playing the other song for over a decade should have noticed it sometime in the production and recording phase. But this is late-era Offspring we're talking about, so we shouldn't be expecting anything more.

"Light It Up" follows by completely ripping off "Smash" this time, which at least is the right era of their history to go for. It doesn't do anything to make me think this record had any energy at all put into it, but at least the sound of this one isn't offensive. It's not as good as the source material, but it's not as embarrassing as a lot of their more 'original' sounding material of recent times.

"Make It All Right" has more spoken interjections, this time that come with the sound of the band dropping out, like in the early days of digital music when labels were watermarking promos so they couldn't be spread online. It sounds so ridiculous I'm wondering how anyone can think it was a good thing to put on a record, let alone a group of veterans. Did Dexter decide he didn't have to do an extra take or two of the vocal if they covered it up with a terrible voice-over? That's the impression I get.

Maybe it's just the promo I received, but all of this disappointing music also comes wrapped up in a horrible production. The guitars are thin and buzzy, Dexter's vocals are buried despite being high in the mix, and the cymbals distort all over the place. It's an ugly sound, and lacks any of the charm "Smash" had. That wasn't a 'pretty' production either, but it was clear, heavy, and powerful. This record sounds like it's the copy someone taped on their 1980's boombox while the actual CD was playing.

If that doesn't give you enough of a warning, I'll put it bluntly; The Offspring are no longer a good band. Maybe they put on a decent show if stick to playing the old stuff, but they lost the plot as far as making records a while ago. The only reason to ever listen to this album is feel better about the last time your favorite band disappointed you. The odds are it couldn't be nearly this bad.

Album Review: Ad Infinitum - Abyss

No band sets out wanting to fall into the category of AC/DC or Motorhead where even their most hardcore fans admit every album is pretty much identical. It's one thing to have an identity, and another to have a static identity, and the latter can only work once you have a fan-base large enough to sustain you for the rest of your career. For growing bands, you need to keep people invested, which means doing things that are slightly different, which means doing things that catch us off-guard.

Ad Infinitum had been doing that by sharpening their pop hooks on each album of their three-part cycle, which culminated in last year's nearly flawless "Chapter III". They had finally mastered their craft, writing songs that were modern metal on one level, and melodic joy on another. Combined with Melissa Bonny's immense vocal talent, Ad Infinitum were absolutely one of the few shining stars on the metal horizon.

That's what makes the shift to "Abyss" so jarring. Rather than building on what the previous record did so well, this feels like a jump into a completely different world. The band's penchant for hooks is still there, but the way we get to them is very different, and a change I can't say is for the better. Whereas they were playing a modern sounding version of melodic metal before, they have gone headlong into the depths of modern metal this time.

That means Melissa unleashes more growling vocals, and songs like "Surrender" add in electronics and breakdowns. There is more of a 'core' approach to these songs, which I don't think works on two different levels. There is obviously the level where I simply don't find the growling sections to be nearly as memorable as when Melissa is using her voice in its more natural state. There is also the level where the song construction feels contrived in trying to shoe-horn some of these new sounds into the equation. There is less flow to how the songs move from verses to choruses, and the disjointed nature is a hallmark of modern metal, but it doesn't play well for those of us who are old enough to still eschew playlist listening.

As I said, the album's hooks are still wonderful. The band has been getting better on that front with each album, and they remain at the top of their game in that regard. There are choruses I can hear the crowds at festivals headbanging in time to, screaming the words as a sweaty mass that reminds us how music connects us. I'm not as sure the whole of that horde will enjoy the time between the cathartic moments quite as much.

The dive into modernity is also felt when looking at the track listing. With the majority of these ten songs clocking in at less than four minutes, that means this record is barely over 35 minutes long, which is becoming more common, but feels too short. Honestly, given how quickly this record is arriving after "Chapter III", it almost feels as if the band didn't think they needed to provide us with more of a full album experience. Maybe that's true, and I know my listening tendencies don't mesh with how much of their audience experiences music anymore, but I can only give me own impression. I would have rather waited until the start of next year for the record, if it meant they could write two more quality songs to flesh things out a bit more.

Last time around, I was raving about how Ad Infinitum had finally lived up to the promise I heard in them. I was optimistic about the future, which is a rare thing for me to admit. Now that the future has set in so quickly, my optimism was not entirely a mistake, but at least an overshoot. Ad Infinitum still has all the talent and ability to be great, but if they are shifting their focus, they need to hone the way they work in this style just like they did their more melodic version. Maybe they'll get there, maybe they won't. All I know is that this record, despite its good qualities, feels like a disappointment when I consider where I thought they were going.

"Abyss" is by no means its namesake, but this new chapter isn't stopping me from putting down the book.

Are These The "Futures" We Dreamed Of?

Do you dream in color?

Answering a question that requires you to be asleep may just be an exercise in psychological projection, but even so it leads us in interesting directions. One might think we dream in color because that is the reality we live in, and our dreams are even more fantastical versions of that reality. Much like Technicolor when it first arrived on the scene, color would be saturated to the extreme and distort reality just enough to remind us what we are seeing was never real, but merely a created image bright enough to soak onto film.

Dreaming in black and white, on the other hand, says more about how the world is filled with light and dark, filled with shades of grey in between the extremes of tears of joy and pain. Given that we cannot truly know if we see colors the same way as anyone else without creating a machine to broadcast our thoughts, black and white is the most accurate way of capturing the dreams we conjure for ourselves.

When bands suck the color out of their sound, one of two things will happen; either they will fail miserably with the limited palate, or they will find themselves using the shadows to create shapes of emotion that can cut us deeper than the rays of the sun ever could. It is a difficult trick to pull off, but narrowing the aperture creates a deep focus that brings out the details of pain, that memorializes the cracks in our soul before they scar over once again.

I realized little of this twenty years ago, when Jimmy Eat World put out "Futures". When I initially heard the record, I was the kind of listener who was expecting more songs that sounded like "The Middle" and "Sweetness". I did not understand why a band at the height of their popularity would make such a shift in sound, would suck the shining pop coating off their candied melodies, leaving only the sour core behind. It all makes sense today, and was a brilliant way of making sure the band didn't get caught up chasing after fickle listeners who were going to move on anyway.

"Futures" is a one-of-a-kind record. The guitars are a deeper, thick wash of drop-tuned chords. The production turns down the high end to emphasize the darker and heavier tones. The songs alternate between the band's angriest and saddest reflections of chapters of life they were ready to leave behind, but whose memories they knew they would never escape. They sing about taking pills to forget, and choosing between the drugs and the people, all of which creates the image of an addict to the drama of life. Even if we have moved on, we are never free of the experiences we had, and all it takes is one trigger for us to relapse into the past.

Those chapters can reappear in our minds as historical dramas where we were cast in the starring role, or newsreels to remind us that the news has always been consumed by the worst things that happen on any given day. They are colorless playbacks of events we cannot change, that feel foreign to the current versions of ourselves, but yet circle around our memories as if an old zoetrope attached to a perpetual motion machine.

When we finally get to the line wishing to "kiss me with that cherry lipstick", it is the one spot of color in the entire album, it is the one bright spot we want to remember as the black edges of time and memory collapse in on our past. If we can remember one color, one taste, one feeling, perhaps we can remember who we were. In turn, we can remember why we are who we are today.

The genius of "Futures" is the way it plays with the darkness, using the angry punk energy of songs like "Pain" and the title track to get our blood flowing, which flushes our system with the hormone rush of the painful moments in "Drugs Or Me" or "23". The balance of tempos and tones takes us on a ride, pushing our stomachs into our throats before pulling the rug out from under us. By keeping us off-balance, the record does not let us ready for the next impact. We are hit by it, we are moved by our own memories of coming of age. Some of us are Sisyphus crushed by the rock, unable to push it off us to at least enjoy the sunshine as we toil at our futile task.

"Futures" is not a record for everyone. To truly understand the record, to feel the ways it plays with our emotions, one probably has to be a sad bastard. If you can only see your past in black and white, even through the prism of tears, "Futures" is the sort of record that is essential. The truth exists around us, but sometimes it can only be seen when we close our eyes. "Futures" may be a dream, a fever dream, or a nightmare for some people. Regardless of which option, it is a reflection of the alternate reality some of us spend far too much time living in, one building ramshackle sets atop the stage of the past.

In twenty years, "Futures" has not lost an ounce of potency, because pain never dies. It may fade, but just like running your finger over the spine of an album sitting on your self, sometimes you're just a reminder away from living that moment all over again.