The History Of My Favorite Song/Album:

I am an indecisive person by nature. When decisions come along, I am one of those people who will assume every choice is wrong, and I am merely trying to find the least worst option, which mostly consists of going back and forth until the last grain of sand falls through the timer, at which point all the anxiety tends to disappear. What's funny about that, to me, is how that problem does not carry through to music. When it comes to picking my absolute favorite song and album, I have been decisive, and only changed my mind when slapped upside the head by the reality of how I have changed.

Over the last thirty-three years, I have had very few sit atop those mountains, which I find curious for a multitude of reasons. Am I that reluctant to change? Did I understand my soul at such a young age? Did I fill my head with so much nonsense early on that there wasn't room for anything better?

Perhaps the most generous answer is that I am the loyal sort, and once I find something I love, I hold onto it for all it's worth.

The History Of My Favorite Song:

Meat Loaf - I'd Do Anything For Love (1993 - 1995)

While there was music I liked before this, most notably Alannah Myles' "Black Velvet", hearing this song was the flash point at which my life changed. Music turned from something passively listened to in the car on the way to wherever into an active and passionate experience. I can't remember if I heard this on the radio first, or saw the video on VH-1 (sorry, I was always more of a VH-1 watcher than MTV - I was old when I was young), but the impact was immediate. I knew nothing about Meat Loaf, or music at all, but I was drawn into the world this song created (and no, it was not because of the actress playing the role in the video... at least not entirely). I soon acquired the cassette single, a sentence that makes me feel as old as my currently strained back, then the album. Despite all odds, I felt a kinship with Meat and Jim Steinman, the latter of which would evolve into a way for me to understand myself, and feel understood.

While its tenure as my favorite song would not last long, the impact it made has continued to echo. As I have written about many times, Steinman's voice helped me to find my own, and I would not be the person I am without having loved this song the way I did back then. So why did it not last longer?

Blues Traveler - Hook (1995 - 1999)

The answer to that question comes here, and in part because of the evolution of technology. When I made the shift from cassettes to CDs, the first one I got was Blues Traveler's "Four". That meant I listened to that record time and time again, while the albums sitting on passe tapes felt like relics for the time being. For a long stretch of time, listening to "Four" was a near daily ritual, although often it would get condensed to the 'big four' songs (the last of which would change weekly). I did not understand sarcasm and bitterness just yet, but the tongue-in-cheek nature of the lyric still came through. Add in the harmonica solo that remains my favorite solo of any instrument to this day, and it was easy to see why an impressionable youth like me would be drawn to the song, no matter how it would have been seen by the 'cool crowd'.

By the time the next album cycle started, I had already begun to show the cynicism and bitterness my classmates would be calling out in me, which gave me a deeper understanding of what "Hook" was trying to say. I applied it to a different scenario, where I was able to get through by telling people what they wanted to hear, rather than what I actually thought, but the theme of keeping up appearances (a phrase intentionally picked because I was also watching that British sitcom on PBS at the time) was one that resonated with the version of me that wanted to keep people from ever probing beyond the most perfunctory "How are you doing?" that never intended to start a conversation.

Tonic - If You Could Only See (1999 - 2013)

My mind next changed when I discovered Tonic. I heard this song come through the radio, and I wore out the opening spot on my recorded mix-tape listening back until the magnetic powder began to fail. The lamenting slide guitar echoed in my head as I mused about the meaning of melancholy, and I tried to fit my story into the lyric, which was only possible through the foolish misinterpretation of a not yet poetic youth. Tonic let me say something about myself I had not yet found the way to tell myself, and over the years I would come to find a more suitable way of inserting myself into the lyric. The situation was never the same, but the feeling of trying to convince myself and everyone else a feeling was so real most definitely was.

It was this song that inspired me to pick up a guitar, and to think about music as more than merely something we listen to and love. Music became something I made, something I identified with, something I obsessed over. Music became the way I talked about myself, the very way I came to understand the thoughts that otherwise jostled around in my head until I was lucky enough for one of them to fall through the shape of a phrase. Tonic provided me my voice, which I could not fathom would one day be replaced as the most pivotal moment in the relationship between me and music.

Dilana - Falling Apart (2013 - Today)

That would change when I heard Dilana singing this song. From the first time I heard her voice coming through the television speaker, I knew there was something special about her. I could not explain it yet, and maybe I never quite have, but if such a thing as 'love at first sound' exists, that is what it was. The love was there, but would not blossom until a few years later, when I first heard this song. The video was a blur of digital noise, and the sound clipped the microphone horribly, but even so the song spoke to me in a way only those three listed above ever had. It was telling me what the future would bring before I was ready to hear it.

I had been telling jokes about being 'broken' for years, but I thought they were merely self-deprecation. As time went on, and people's claims that things would get better never seemed to pan out, the humor was being sanded off the comments. At a certain point, Dilana's voice went from telling her story to telling our story. The reason her voice had sparked something from the very first time became clear, as this song started to explain that we were completely different and yet exactly the same. She was breaking from how the weight of the world pressed on her, while I was broken from having never been whole to start with. The feeling of being 'so bloody fucked up' was one we shared, one we have talked about as a reason we feel connected. To quote Hamlet, "Ay, there's the rub."

This song was able to overcome nearly two decades of personal inertia because of two things; my faltering relationship with making music, and the meaning of the friendship it led to. Few things in my life are truly dear to me, but Dilana is one of them. Once I say that, the rest is obvious. And I once again find myself in the position of feeling as if the truth has been etched upon me, and I may never have to update what I am saying right now.

The History Of My Favorite Album:

Meat Loaf - Bat Out Of Hell II (1993 - 1999)

This was not the first album I had on cassette, but it was the first one I listened to as an album, and not the music hanging around the one song I wanted to hear. Every time I listened through the record to avoid having to hear the screech and hiss of the tape rewinding, I heard more fragments of Jim Steinman that felt like they fit in my own personality. His sarcasm, his melodrama, his refusal to give a fuck about fitting in with anything that could be considered cool, it all felt like me before I knew anything about myself. Yes, I preferred Laurel & Hardy to The Three Stooges he referenced, but Steinman was the first person who seemed the least bit like me.

This was the first time music swept me up, and took me to a place other than what is obvious consciousness. Even today, I get a bit lost in Steinman's compositions as they rise and fall, ebb and flow, through an hour of making every little thing sound like the most important thing that has ever happened. Music didn't just become 'a' language when I discovered this album, it became 'my' language. Too much of "Life Is A Lemon And I Want My Money Back" could have come from my own mouth, if I wasn't so bent on writing in more obtuse metaphors. This album was a moment of happenstance where who I was contained just enough of who I would become for the future to reach back through time and bring me on board.

Tonic - Lemon Parade (1999 - 2022)

The first time I heard this album, I did not understand the impact it would have on me. I loved "If You Could Only See", but the rest of the songs left me feeling a bit cold, a bit unimpressed. It wasn't until the brighter and poppier "Sugar" came out three years later that I went back and realized what I had been missing. "Lemon Parade" was the album steeped in the aftertaste of grunge, which was just the right amount of angst and grit for me. Whereas "Bat Out Of Hell II" embodied my cynicism through the sarcasm and nonchalance, Tonic embodied it through the thin layer of grime on he guitars and Emerson's strident delivery. Perhaps that is why I was so inspired to pick up an instrument.

As the years wore on, I kept hearing echoes of "Lemon Parade" in my own writing. Tonic's insistent melodies were my blueprint for writing contours of notes, and Emerson's was close to the voice I heard in my head. That connection was enough to hide the truth, that "Lemon Parade" had been slipping away from me as I realized the stories Emerson was telling had little to say about me or my life. I hung on as long as I could before I could not longer deny that my love for the album was more about what it did for me than what it still did for me. I love it dearly, but in more of an archival way.

Jimmy Eat World - Futures (2022 - Today)

That brings us to today, where I am honest with myself that the one album I keep reaching for more than any other is this one. As time marched along the path from history to today, the way I see myself has changed, even if I have not. As I came to understand myself and my nature, certain things became harder to accept. Those feelings once described as bitterness solidified into a thicker molasses of depression, which would fill the blackness of my slowly fading dreams.

As I dealt with more such episodes, "Futures" was the album that spoke to me. At first that was purely sonic, with the darker guitars and plaintive vocals capturing the sound of what my head felt like. The more I reverted to that world, the more I found the stories showing me those ghosts are not unique to me, they were merely decades late in arriving. "Futures" is an album that embraces the ugliness of feeling hurt, but walks away with a sense of optimism that we are not living in the worst of timelines. When the final song ends with the declaration "don't give away the end, the one thing that's still mine", it does a better job of giving me reason to hold out a shred of hope than any of the people who try to argue everything 'happens for a reason', or is part of 'a plan'. "Futures" lets me feel as if I am not alone in the darkness, even if cannot see anyone else, let alone reach out and touch them.

That's been a needed comfort, and I don't know if it will ever stop being one. I would like to think so, but who knows?

Album Review: Tony Iommi - From The Dark

For some people, including me, Black Sabbath begins and ends with Ronnie James Dio. The combination of Dio and Tony Iommi proved to be one of those magical things in music, elevating both men in a way they never had with any other bandmates. That carried through all the way to the end, with the chapter written under the name Heaven & Hell. While many people have complained about "The Devil You Know", mostly for being too slow, I have always enjoyed that album more than most. The drama of Dio's delivery intertwined with Iommi's guitar unlike anyone else, and the immensity of the resultant sound was exactly what "Dehumanizer" should have been close to two decades later.

When we lost Dio, there was one obvious next step, once the mourning period had ended. The perfect person for Iommi to work with next was Jorn Lande, the man who fashioned himself the modern Dio, and wasn't shy about telling people about it. If anyone could have filled Dio's shadow standing next to Tony on a record, it would have been Jorn. It was too obvious not to happen... and yet we have waited nearly fifteen years for it to come to pass.

"The Devil You Know" is the basis from which we can approach this record, not only because it was the last time Tony worked with a singer other than Ozzy, but because Jorn's approach is very much in the mold of Dio's. The opening "Over The Violent Sun" features a riff reminiscent of "Fear", but played with a bit more restraint. The low-end rumble of Iommi's guitar sets a tone perfect for Jorn's rasp. Jorn doesn't have the baritone power of latter-day Dio, but he brings a touch of 80s Whitesnake in the melodic department that Dio wouldn't have. That mix creates a sound that melds Dio's era with that of Tony Martin's, which gives us a bit of a summation of all Sabbath was in its various incarnations without Ozzy.

"Black Times" slows things to a doom crawl right after, building to a heavier ending the way classics like "Falling Off the Edge Of The World" did, but without the same level of payoff. Jorn is a great singer, but he isn't best suited to those kinds of slow numbers if they don't have enough air of drama, so the record stunts itself before any momentum can be built up. Flipping that one with "World Alone" in the track listing would have helped, as the latter being the most up-tempo song on the album would get the blood pumping enough for a cool-down to be warranted. Contrast that with "Beyond The Dead", which is also slow and doomy, but has strings and layered vocals to create a more epic scene. Jorn is perfect in the role this time, recalling to my mind what his "Dracula: Swing Of Death" album would have been if played without any of the tongue-in-cheek, 60s television Batman camp.

The majority of the album sits in that slower tempo, and despite that being true of "The Devil You Know" as well, I feel the tempo more on this record. Jorn's voice blends into the wall of guitars more than Dio's, which gives the mix a flatter sound, one that gets more tiring to my ears by the time these forty minutes have passed. The biggest issue, though, is what I have noted about Jorn for as long as I have been listening to him; his songwriting is hit-and-miss. He was part of writing great songs on that "Dracula" album, and his hand in the fourth Allen/Lande album was essential to that being as good as it was, but he also has a string of solo albums that all blend together into a pile of uninteresting songs. This record has a little bit of the former, but too much of the latter, because Jorn doesn't have the vocal charisma someone like Dio did. His rasp is amazing, but he hits the same tenor and tone in every moment that isn't a quiet lament, so he lacks the nuances a dark and shadowy noir requires.

This album doesn't live or die on Jorn alone. Iommi brings his trademark riffs to the table (including at last two, one already mentioned, that sound quite like previous ones), but he also uses several songs as attempts to build a dramatic swell that might limit where the melodies can go. There was a point where this album was intended to be instrumental, and I wonder if that's what holds it back. 

And here is where we cycle back to the starting point. Jorn was the obvious pick to carry on with after Dio's passing, but the people saying that were ignoring one major factor; chemistry. Jorn has the right voice for Iommi's music, no doubt, but I don't hear the same chemistry between the two the way I did with Dio, or even with Glenn Hughes. "From The Dark" is a good record, but it doesn't live up to what these fifteen years have let us imagine the combination could accomplish. Having the right pieces in place still requires great songs, and there just aren't enough of them on this album. I like this, but I don't see how it will ever leave as much of an impression as "The Devil You Know", which even if flawed was an album filled with personality. This record is trying too hard to be exactly what you would think it should be, to the detriment of what it could be.

"Blood & Chocolate" & The Beautiful Mess

In 1986, Elvis Costello was in a difficult place. His artistic wanderlust was blooming, and his desire to escape the image his early years had created for him was in full effect. As he was looking to expand his horizons, his band The Attractions were on the verge of falling apart, to a large degree because of those developments. A breaking point was soon approaching, because The Attractions needed Elvis (which they would prove when attempting to make a record of their own), but Elvis didn't need The Attractions any longer. 1986 proved to everyone that such was the truth, but also a fallacy.

The first chapter was the release of "King Of America", an album I have written about several times before, and usually consider my favorite in Elvis' vast catalog. It was an album steeped in America and the music of the early country stars. Working with T-Bone Burnett and members of the other Elvis' band, Costello absorbed and regurgitated the music of a different country in a further attempt to prove he was more than a new wave/punk provocateur. His sound had broadened into various forms of pop, including Tin Pan Alley, over his previous few albums, but the album-long detour was his biggest swing at being taken seriously as a songwriter of future standards.

Despite the culture clash, the album worked better than it had any right to. By stripping away The Attractions' energy, Elvis was forced to hone his wordplay into a series of vignettes that were the comedian taking his first dramatic lead. He had cutting barbs about the ABC News and the difference between speaking American and English, as well as a searing and disturbing song based on using "Material Girl" as a pun. He also had songs that spoke to the unique condition of being in a country that believed anyone could make it here, in part because the bar we set is so low. That's where the ABC joke comes into play.

Like anyone who tries to grow and change, there was a portion of the audience who were frustrated by Elvis' ambitions, who wanted him to return to making the kind of music that made him famous. Or infamous, depending on who was doing the talking. Being the 'angry young man' was growing harder as time wore on, which is an ironic statement when I consider I am currently older than Elvis was when making that record, and I would have more anger in me than perhaps ever before. The Attractions were among those who were frustrated, as they barely featured on "King Of America" at all, as they were not the most suitable band for a record of sparse, quiet reflections on the bare-bones of songwriting.

That led Elvis to "Blood & Chocolate", a record that brought him back to his roots, and gave The Attractions something they could sink their teeth into. When listening to the album, it's hard not to get the impression Elvis' heart was not into the project the way it was "King Of America", as the songs not only bring him back to his basics, but the very basics as well. "Uncomplicated" opens the record with barely more than one chord Elvis hits again and again, while the band pounds out the backing track. If that song feels dashed off, it gets joined by the sprawling "Tokyo Storm Warning" and "I Want You", both of which spend more than six minutes pouring through stream-of-consciousness lyrics that never mold into a songwriting form. They are experiments that shouldn't work, both for the repetitiveness of the format, and because Elvis demonstrates he might be the worst lead guitar player ever put to tape, and yet they do. In fact, "I Want You" is one of his best songs, because he accidentally stumbles into the repetition being the perfect metaphor for the ways in which love and hate both seep and seethe, building until we can hold neither in any longer.

Mostly recorded live, the album bristles with the energy of a band that were barely able to be in the same room together. The quick recording fit what sounds like quick songwriting, leading to an album that feels like an intentional revisiting of the days of "This Year's Model". But instead of moving so quickly because the ideas for the next album were already forming, they were doing so to put the obligation to bed. Knowing this should impact how we hear the record, and yet the trick of it all is that the band's discomfort is what makes the album work. "Battered Old Bird" would not be nearly as effective without Elvis' voice falling out of melody and tune, which I doubt he would have done if he was in better spirits. It is the rough edges and sloppy focus that makes "Blood & Chocolate" come alive, and why the two pure pop songs sparkle as they do. "Blue Chair" and "Crimes Of Paris" are among Elvis' best work, and find The Attractions settling into their familiar place for perhaps the last time.

"Blood & Chocolate" is an angry album, in the sound of it for sure, but also because Elvis seems angry to have had to make it. There was disappointment The Attractions were not able to handle the "King Of America" material, which brought the tensions to a head, as it was becoming clear they would not be able to join Elvis on the musical detours he had planned. This record was the epitaph on their time together, a slapdash record that embodied the relationship between people who were never billed as equals. What is so amusing is that Elvis did not realize the combustion present in the band is what made them great, as even this record leaps out of the speakers as a vital testament to their collection power. When Elvis would revisit this sound in later years, with a different collective backing him, it was the same, but completely different.

These days, perhaps the legacy of "Blood & Chocolate" is mostly as a trivia question, as you can note the signature on the cover painting is that of Napoleon Dynamite. That is claimed to be an unknowing coincidence on the part of the filmmakers, but I don't know if I believe that.

"Blood & Chocolate" is certainly the less important of the two albums Elvis made in 1986, but is it 'lesser'? I don't think I can say that, because they exist as a package, fusing the past and present of music and of Elvis himself. One cannot exist without the other, not as a full story. For as much as "My Aim Is True" and "This Year's Model" are rightful classics, 1986 remains the most interesting year of Elvis' career. It has been for forty years now, and likely will be when I revisit these thoughts again in ten more.

Album Review (again) - Graveyard - "Fever"

(There is, very occasionally, an album of such import that Chris and I both feel the need to take it on. I purposefully wrote this without having read Chris’ review, so it wouldn’t influence me.  I’ve gone back to read it now, and I’m thrilled that we independently hit on so many of the same ideas. Great minds and all that.)

Cutting out a lot of requisite details to the story, I used to work for a guy who was obsessed with the idea that every day, USA Today ran a full-color graphic on page 2.  He wasn’t really all that obsessed with the graphic - he was obsessed with the idea of templating, with the concept that something could follow the same structure, every day, and thus give the end user a predictable and familiar experience.

Graveyard, by virtue of being (the best) retro-rock band, is naturally given over to this concept.  There are only a limited number of permutations fuzzy blues-rock can take at this juncture, and Graveyard furthers the concept by tending to put similar songs in similar slots on their albums.  

That is, until Fever.

What we hear here from the Swedish titans of rock is a stripped-down, disarticulated experience that’s meant as a deliberate counter to the sullen introspectiveness of the previous album, 6. This new record is much closer to the motif we saw the band in two albums go, the thunderous Peace, than any other record in the band’s increasingly impressive catalogue, though Fever is an even more straight-ahead effort than that one.

Case in point, every Graveyard album comes equipped with a slow-burning, blues-muddled dirge, often the best song on the record.  “No Good, Mr. Holden,” “Slow Motion Countdown,” “Cold Love,” “No Way Out”...you get the idea.  Fever lacks any song that would qualify under those conditions and that in and of itself speaks to the band’s intended shift for this new collection of songs.  (The closest analog would be the deeply grooved “A Better Cut (Note to Self,)” and while effective, it’s outside the mold in that there’s a sinister undercut to it that menaces the entire track, and kinda sorta sounds like a Troubled Horse song.)

The musical phrasing on Fever is short and thus more aggressive, more than we’ve ever heard Graveyard to this point, and the guitar tone is appropriately edgy and grinding to match.  Go no further than “A Means to An End,” and hear a stylistic change into something more raw and unrefined. This is a simpler, sleazier Graveyard, which is unexplored territory for the band, and is further punctuated by no song going longer than four and a half minutes (until the very last one.)

Which probably all sounds like a polite way of saying that Graveyard is playing down to their competition.

But here’s the catch.  They’re such good songwriters and arrangers that they get away with it.

To go back to the templating argument, sure, Fever doesn’t sound like the Graveyard template, but take a step back at the larger picture, and see the genius of a head-nodding metronome like “Don’t Shoot!”  That’s where the idioms come into play.  Graveyard, over their last several records, going back all the way to Innocence & Decadence, has quietly and confidently displayed that they can compose in any vein of classic fuzz rock and be utterly compelling.  Fans will hear album opener “Back From the Grave” and at first be taken by surprise with the ferocity and dark-alley atmosphere of the song, but will ultimately grin as they realize the song has simply menaced the roots of “An Industry of Murder,” and given this new version to the world.

That, in the end, is the Graveyard template.  It’s worth repeating - we talk a lot around here about the two ways to be successful in music.  Either do something new, or do the familiar exceptionally well.  Graveyard is the standard bearer for the latter, they’re the top dog of the very idea, and there’s no one especially close to them.

Singles Roundup: Tony Iommi, Slash, Neal Morse, & Sailor Hunter

My thoughts might be starting to turn to what the end of the year means, but there are still new songs we need to talk about.

Tony Iommi & Jorn Lande – Stormwatcher

If the first single from Iommi's upcoming album sounded a bit too much like a Jorn solo song, this one brings us back to where I thought this collaboration would go. There was considerable criticism of "The Devil You Know" when that record came out, but I remain a defender of it. Many people in the metal scene confuse speed with quality, and if the music is on the slower side, they write it off as being plodding and boring. It can be, but that depends on whether the ideas have enough melodic content to them. Dio said toward the end of his life he preferred the slower songs, because they gave him more room to explore his vocal and story. That's actually true, if you think about song construction.

This song takes that to heart, slowing things down just a bit to one of Iommi's signature grooves. Jorn does his best Dio on this one, which sounds like it could have slotted right in with the rest of the Heaven & Hell era. Not only does it have the classic sound, but Jorn largely fits the Dio mold in being better with more room for his voice. When the chorus comes along, the song elevates in a way "World Alone" wasn't quite able to, and even more than a song like "Follow The Tears" did. It still retains hints of Jorn's solo career, but with the balance to sound like a true collaboration this time.

Iommi often plays to the strengths of the singer he is working with. "Fused" was great, but Glenn Hughes pushed his writing in a direction that was a bit faster and brighter. Jorn allows more of the doom to seep through, which is what lets this song hit as hard as it does. If "World Alone" left me cautiously optimistic, this song has me fully bought in that Iommi and Jorn can come closer to the Dio magic than I would have thought.

Slash – Flying Blind

I've said multiple times that the combination of Slash and Myles Kennedy is my favorite vehicle right now for either of them. I have no faith Guns N Roses could write a decent song at this point in their careers (we've talked about their attempts with new music - not good), and I've grown tired of the now massive pile of Alter Bridge/Tremonti/Myles Kennedy records that all traverse the same musical terrain. Slash and Myles are a different color for each of them, and even when the records are flawed, I find them far more engaging than the alternative.

Their next record is not due until early next year, but the first single is out, which fits right in with what I expect from them. Slash continues to find a cache of grimy blues riffs, and Myles wails another chorus that digs in from the very first time you hear it. Is the song anything different than "Driving Rain" or "The River Is Rising"? No, but I'm not one of those people who scoffs at more good songs if they don't happen to be breaking new ground. This song is Slash and Myles doing what they do best, and that's good enough for me.

The best thing about the song is the production, which cures the woes from the last album's live performances being too rough and ragged for my ears. The guitars don't buzz with the same uncomfortable frequencies, and Myles' vocals keep his shrillest tones to a minimum. "4" is the record I go back to the least, because of how brittle the entire thing sounds, but this track if nothing else is an indication they did not trip over their own feet this time.

Neal Morse & The Resonance – Walk On Water

Once again, we are in a year where Neal Morse will be part of multiple albums. After the stellar NMB album "L.I.F.T." (can I just say how much I hate having to type titles like that, especially when the acronym isn't even an acronym), Neal is back with his newest band The Resonance. Their first album didn't win me over, both because I had not come out of my Neal funk yet, but also because it didn't do anything Neal's other groups were not capable of. The only difference between most of them comes in who provides a few additional vocals, which isn't enough to make me excited.

But since Neal got me back this year, I paid attention to this song. The truth of the matter is... I'm still in the same boat. The song itself is fine, and actually quite good. The problem is that while Neal is engaging in his showman evangelist routine, everything feels like it's just another version of what NMB already did this year. The riffs, the lift in the chorus, it's all so trademark that the lack of time between records makes it all too apparent how many times I've heard this before. I loved it the first time, and the next, and so on, until I didn't anymore.

Maybe I would be more engaged if I wasn't still enthralled by "L.I.F.T.", but a second (and lesser) version in the same year is not what I was begging for.

Sailor Hunter – Your Ghost

Across the recent singles the band has released, what stands out to me is Dimitra's vocal dexterity, and the way the layers of her voice allow the songs to wander and explore sonic ground. Wherever the band is pulled, she can follow through. On this song, the band plays things maybe more straight-forward, which gives more of a spotlight for Dimitra's voice to tell the story. She does that with her soft crooning, her emotional lilt, and the punctuated rasps of her screams.

The band hits like a wall of sound, with the saturated guitars stretching across the speakers with blunt force. As they chug a rhythm that fits between groove and thrash, Dimitra pours her heart into the lyric about a person who is better being a ghost in her life, because having them around was killing her. Love is often like that, twisted in ways that play on our dependency, and leaving us feeling worse for having it. When she adds the grit to her voice to tell us there's no way out, her pain comes through and convinces us.

There is something special to that voice, and the way Dimitra uses it. It's hard to explain, but I've heard pieces of it in each of the songs the band has released with her. Those are moments to hold onto.

"Reign In Blood" Sits On The Throne, Forty Years On

The 'Overton Window'... in politics it is the concept that the most extreme positions get thrown into the discourse to make the true intent, no matter how extreme it fundamentally is, seem more reasonable by comparison. This is the theory by which much of what we know is batshit insane can be explained, if we want to grant that we have not collectively entrusted our safety to people with the brain power and morals of a virus.

Music is not immune from this concept. If we look back through the history of rock and metal, we see a continual shift toward the extremes. What was obviously metal in the 70s is barely hard rock to some people today, and the origins of black and death metal sound quaint when compared to things that even get played on the radio these days. When we are dealing with genres that need to push the envelope and shock the listeners, bringing them something new and heavier to lay claim to their importance on the evolutionary ladder, this becomes inevitable. It is why Five Finger Death Punch is one of the biggest radio bands in the country, and not wasting away playing to VFW halls full of people drinking PBR because getting drunk on a bargain is the whole point.

No band embodies this more than Slayer, who went from being the most terrifying band in the 'mainstream' to one that is almost a family-friendly corporate machine. To think that the band who sang about the Holocaust would have products emblazoned with their logo being sold all over the place is the sort of thing that makes you question if any of the art we ever consumed was even the slightest bit honest. That might be the metal version, but we've seen the same thing with Dr Dre, Ice Cube, Ice-T, Snoop, and however more who have either mellowed or sold out to the point of being the inverse of when you first heard Bob Saget tell 'The Aristocrats'.

Forty years ago, Slayer made their definitive statement with "Reign In Blood". In a mere twenty-nine minutes, they re-wrote the blueprint for how metal was supposed to sound, and how far bands could go without going too far. They also wrote the beginning of their own ending with the album, which took three decades to play out, but ultimately proved fatal.

The key to all of this lies in the fingers of Rick Rubin, who for perhaps the only time in his life (along with Trouble's self-titled album) made an impact as a producer. Slayer had been writing long songs inspired by the NWOBHM, drenched in the reverb of the decade, which sounded like we might imagine the echo of hell would entail. Rubin heard something different, and shoved our faces right into the fire. He stripped the band's writing down to the barest of bones, and turned off all of the effects that sat between us and the aural assault of the amps. "Reign In Blood" is the first truly dry metal album, turning the guitars into razorblades that cut through the air faster and sharper than anything we had heard before. Other bands were heavy with volume, but no one was heavy in the way "Reign In Blood" tried to break your nose with guitar riffs.

The album's sequence is perfect, opening and closing with the only songs that stand apart from the whole. "Angel Of Death" blasts out of the speakers with a furious rage, the clarity of the recording making the speed even more terrifying. By the time Tom Araya lets out his inhuman shriek, we're already through at least one circle of hell. As the song tells about the atrocities of the Holocaust, Slayer has found the message that hell is only as evil as our own imaginations can invent. It's a sly twist of psychology, and the single smartest moment the band would ever have. The song doesn't even need 'the riff' that comes in with the bridge and twists Kerry and Jeff's fingers into a hypnotic groove swaying to the tides of the river Styx.

Closing with "Raining Blood", Slayer turns the song into a frenetic heartbeat that slowly finds itself arresting. When the thunder enters, the storm has already gotten too close to run from, and all we can do is assess the damage. In the twenty minutes between these moments, Slayer ripped through eight more tracks that barely stopped to note that one had bled into the next. While that could be considered a flaw of songwriting, in this case it was exactly the point. Slayer were not songwriters in the classical sense, they were a band proving that metal was as much about noise and attitude as composition. For anyone who ever complained that an album had a ballad, or a band had gone soft, Slayer was showing us what it meant to live life turned all the way up.

And yet, "Reign In Blood" was its own counter-revolution. After the record's time had come and gone, the question became what Slayer could do next. Rather than trying to get more extreme than the most extreme album yet made, they slowed down and tried to prove their skills as songwriters. By the time they were ready to reclaim their throne as the heaviest and most evil band out there, the metal world had passed them by. They made a terrible groove/nu-metal inspired album in "Diabolous In Musica" that had them taking punches rather than delivering them, and then Slayer gave up. They realized they could no longer compete with younger bands who grew up getting burnt out on "Reign In Blood", and so the only avenue of extremity left to them was that of stupidity. Kerry King especially devolved as a writer, and Slayer went from a band that catalogued atrocities to point out the evil inherent in men, to one that wrote a song threatening to beat someone up with the limbs from their own carcass. By that point, Slayer was done. They carried on for years, but the very idea of Slayer was dead.

What is most amazing about "Reign In Blood" is how forty years later it still sounds unique, timeless, and as crushing as anything that has ever been released. The album is the high water mark of extreme metal, because everything that came after was muffled by layers of effects or cartoonish excess. What is most terrifying is not the monsters that could lurk in the darkness, but rather the people turning on the lights. 

Slayer knew that once, and perhaps only once.

Album Review: Dead Poet Society - "Monarch"

First things first.  If any listener should take on Dead Poet Society’s new album Monarch without the benefit of proper speakers, the listening experience is automatically a failure.  Compression and tinniness of any kind will ruin the record.  This album can only be listened to with a set of woofers that will properly and truly replicate the fathoms-deep bass and full impact of the arrangement.  Anything else does a disservice to the listener and the artist both.

With that established, Monarch is as unique an album as DPS has released to this point, and that’s saying something for a band who has historically linked the tone of Soundgarden’s “4th of July” to the proto-emo of the turn of the millennium.  Monarch is not an easy album to quantify - as insane as it sounds, the record is half pop emo record, and half Doom soundtrack.  Thumping beats play to a metronome like hammering rhythms pound and never let up - but this is juxtaposed by airy, disinterested vocals, high guitar harmonies and a general sense of emotional unease.  As is often the hallmark of many of the best works of music, it feels like pieces from entirely different jigsaw puzzles have somehow been mashed together to fit, by some miracle without needing tape or glue or rageful pounding of the table.  Ever had a fragile repair or project where someone has said “so long as no one touches it, it’ll keep working?”  That’s kind of how this album is.

Take a listen to the album opener “Hollywood on Fire” (assuming proper speakers.  If not, don’t touch it.)  Skip to about two-thirds through.  There’s a discontentedly yelped section of “oh-ee-oh-oh” which in a different universe, might have been the sing-song outro to some Selena Gomez song, yet underneath it is a thunderous avalanche of music that is inherently incongruous and laughs wickedly at that very idea.

Same goes for “Die If You Don’t.”  There’s a pop song in there somewhere, and not in the sense that all rock-based music has popular elements to it.  Something in structures here is novel and different, as though the band is trying to write true top-40 music, but distorted and warped through the lens of their idiomatic sound. (Coincidentally, when we here interviewed Spider from Powerman 5000 some years ago, he confessed that this same concept is exactly what he’s trying to do.)

While it sounds like the music should be physically exhausting to listen to, it never really is, but the same can’t be said for the lyrics.  This is the third straight DPS album that spends the wide majority of its time crooning about the pain of shitty relationships, most romantic, but also platonic, and the veneer is wearing a little thin.  This is what made “HURT” on their previous album such a success - it was a window into the band’s struggle same as the rest, but about a different kind of struggle, and relatable to anyone who has chased a dream or felt misunderstood while doing so.  Which isn’t to say that shitty relationships aren’t relatable, but only to say they’re not the ONLY thing people can relate to.  

This is what in turn makes songs like “Miami For The Weekend” and “Get Hot” a breath of fresh air on the album’s second half.  Are they the best songs on the record?  Hell, no.  But they’re fun and defiant and offer a mental break from the dirge, not altogether different from when Ice Cube stuck “It Was A Good Day” in the middle of The Predator. “Get Hot” is worth discussion for a second - we stated previously that The Warning took some lessons from Dead Poet Society for their new record, and “Get Hot” might be evidence that DPS took some lessons back in turn.  There’s a rock edge to it that the band rarely employs.

Then we come just about to the end with “The Park,” which is discordant and creepy and weird in all the best ways.  It slams the experience back down to earth after the brief respite.

Dead Poet Society is and has always been a singles band.  No shame in that, lots of good bands could be qualified as such, and with the borderline experimental nature of their sound, it’s hard to envision everything Dead Poet Society throws at the wall working perfectly.  Monarch is riddled with great moments, but also possesses some filler and material that elicits little more than a shrug.  On balance though, the great moments outweigh the quiet ones.  Just make sure you have the right goddamn speakers.

Singles Roundup: Taylor Swift, Taylor Acorn, & Dragonforce

If life is like a box of chocolates, every choice is tempting fate that you're not going to hit the coconut one. In musical terms, one of these singles leaves that rancid taste in my mouth. Let's find out which one.

Taylor Swift - Patient Zero

Taylor Swift is a billionaire (according to estimates - not that I believe those numbers), and she continues to show why people hate billionaires by doing things like this, releasing an expanded and deluxe edition of "The Life Of A Showgirl" a year later. Her most devoted fans already bought multiple versions to get all the color variations and whatnot, and now there are four new songs currently available only through streaming, which means all those die-hard fans who spent their money (sometimes a lot) on the record now have an 'incomplete' version. It's one of those decisions that is unnecessary, and leaves a sour taste in my mouth. If anyone could afford to be kinder to the fans, and doesn't need the help staying in the spotlight, it's Taylor Swift.

Now to the promoted single from this new edition. What this song (and the others) prove are two things; 1) Taylor Swift is far from infallible, and 2) As bizarre as the album was, the right choices were made. The biggest thing about this song is that it is... dull. The album was a technicolor mess of weird ideas and cringe-worthy lyrics, while this song just sounds like a less hazy version of "Midnights". It's pleasant, but that's not what we expect from Taylor Swift. There isn't much personality to the production or the lyrics, which explains to me why it didn't make the cut on the record in the first place.

As much as the songs about Travis' dong were laughable, and fell into the Slayer-verse of getting more immature as we age, there was something oddly fun about how much Taylor was embracing being terrible. None of that is present here, instead returning to the bland platitudes of a writer who needs time to recharge.

Taylor Acorn - Growing Pains

"Poster Child" ended up as my #1 album of last year because Taylor Acorn was addressing existential issues that happened to coincide with a lot of things that had been cycling through my own mind as well. Hearing a part of your own thinking reflected back to you in a song is one of those rare occurrences that reminds me why I am still invested in the search. Finding Taylor's music, and "Birds Still Sing" in particular, was one of those moments that makes the struggles between them worth it all.

This new song finds Taylor in that same place of reflection, this time asking if we've all reached an age where we thought we would be further along than we are. That is something I have certainly tortured myself with, albeit in different contexts. Taylor is writing about feeling she has not yet grown into the woman she was meant to be, haunted by the same feelings she experienced as a younger girl. The whole world is just dressed up high school, people have said. That is the message Taylor is exploring here, wondering when we are supposed to grow out of the pain and demons we had back then, only to come to the conclusion that never happens. The scars might dull, and get hidden by layers of fresh skin and old makeup, but they never disappear. Who we are cannot be without who we were, sad as that is to say.

In my case, I find myself with the same thoughts and dreams I had when I was that age, no longer believing any of them will ever happen. I know exactly what Taylor is singing about, and that makes this yet another song of hers that somehow makes me think there is someone else out in there in the world who might not think my perspective and philosophy is as weird and messed up as most tell me it is.

Dragonforce - Heart Of A Beast

I'm confused. When it was announced Alissa White-Gulz was joining Dragonforce, the band's statement called her their 'frontwoman', and made no mention at all of Marc Hudson. Following the logic of their words, that sounded to me as if Alissa was going to be their one and only singer. That isn't the case, though, as she is joined by a new male singer, as Marc has left the band (at least for now) due to hearing-related issues. This doesn't make much sense to me. Aside from their initial statement feeling either disingenuous or exceptionally sloppy, having two singers for a back catalog that was not written for two singers, raises more questions than it provides answers.

Their upcoming album will be written for this configuration, which is a radical shift I'm not sure anyone wanted. I have no allegiance to Dragonforce beyond enjoying a few songs from their earliest days, but they are taking one of those wild left turns that betrays two decades of history. Alissa is a good singer, but she's not very present as a singer on this song. Oh, she's prominent, but it's mostly providing her growls between the weaker melodic vocals her co-singer is providing. Dragonforce is not, and has never been, a band with death metal elements, so why are they doing that? It made some sense when Alissa brought clean vocals into Arch Enemy, as that band was always melodic in their own way, so she was highlighting and expanding on that.

Dragonforce is about speed and flamboyance, and the growled sections provide neither. It not only drags down the excess Dragonforce exists on, but it saps the band of any of the cheesy fun they became known for. I don't have out credit for trying something new when it doesn't work, and this does not work at all. Dragonforce has been around too long for such a drastic shift in their sound. Luckily, I don't think this song is any good anyhow, which makes a lot of this talk more philosophically interesting then practically so.

Album Review: Graveyard - Fever

This year marks the fifteenth anniversary of "Hisingen Blues", which was the first time Graveyard came to my attention. My colleague here had raved about the album, which led me to listen to find out what I was missing. That initial experience with Graveyard was one I was not ready for, as their vintage blues-soaked version of rock was not something my ears were attuned to. That changed the next year, when I was handed the assignment of reviewing "Lights Out", and everything unlocked for me. I called Graveyard a time machine for those of us who weren't alive during the reign of classic rock, and I have stood by that as the band has released now six albums that put them at the upper echelon of 'modern' rock bands.

That being said, I would be lying if I didn't say there was some truth to the idea that your first experience with a band will always echo within you. While the last three albums have been very good, and earned plenty of plaudits here, the first three are still the ones I keep going back to. There was something special about that period that feels electric when the records play, and that raw feeling is what Graveyard was attempting to recapture on "Fever". Hallelujah?

"Back From The Grave" opens with lo-fi guitar fuzz, and a stomping riff that sets a Sabbath-like tone, complete with a slightly sinister set of notes ending the phrase. Joakim roars his vocals, and the guitar solo bends notes to an uncomfortable relation to the key, all of which makes this the kind of heaviness "Peace" was attempting but didn't quite hit. Graveyard hasn't been flat-out heavy like this very often, usually keeping their aggression to shorter bursts, but this slower wallop right off the bat is a mission statement that is music to my ears.

Graveyard's greatest strength has always been their embrace of simplicity, which allows them to build songs that form hypnotic grooves like "A Better Cut (Note To Self)", and turn the focus into a haze where we can see the forest, but not the trees. Metaphorically, that is. What their approach to songwriting and recording does is form a sound where the whole is more than the sum of the parts. A few fuzzy chords and a slightly distorted vocal turn into the kind of music that defies musicologists attempts to explain everything through theory. Graveyard is about the feeling of getting lost in time, where these thirty-eight minutes can fly by like when you become distracted and realize the clock has advanced further than you expected. These songs return them to that reality, narrowing the ebb and flow so their torrent more easily carves its way into our brains.

The first five songs hit hard, rarely slowing down for Graveyard's usual penchant for somber reflection. The outro of "Year Of The Horse" pulls back a bit, but the band isn't interested in playing with dynamics this time around. "6" was a record that focused on that aesthetic, while "Fever" is the mirror image. Together, they form a bit of a double album in that way. Interlacing them like a deck of cards would be an interesting journey to take, but perhaps I'm overly focused on mood swings at the moment, so the idea appeals to me more than most.

When "Time To Tell" finally does slow things down, the guitars are still bristling with the electricity of amps pushed to the edge, which removes the forlorn mourning of much of Graveyard's balladic writing. That turns the song less into a lament, and more into a statement of simmering power, while the backing vocals that pop in for a brief call-and-response can be heard almost as the devil on your shoulder. It's not quite a return to "The Siren" and its ilk, but Graveyard is hitting hard even when playing soft.

While "Hisingen Blues" is the landmark album, it's actually the debut that "Fever" pulls more from. The prickly production is right out of that playbook, so too the more manic sounding playing. "Hisingen Blues" had a bit more polish and restraint, while this is Graveyard doing nothing to massage the rawness of their performances. When we have talked about Graveyard here, I have been the staunch defender of that debut album, going so far as to say there are days it is my favorite. That makes "Fever" an album directed squarely at me, which is something that hasn't happened in recent years with many of the bands I love.

"Fever" is Graveyard sounding like quintessential Graveyard, and reminding us that the experimentation of the last few records was not because they lost their way. They were finding what they were capable of, fully aware of the way back home. "Fever" might have a hard time competing with fifteen years of listening, love, and memories, but it's exactly what I wanted to hear from Graveyard.

Quick Reviews: Miley, Anthrax, & Europe

They say tragedies come in threes. These might not be tragic, but there are three of them. Themes, eh? 

Miley - Bass Persuades

Inertia is an interesting concept in the context of music. There are times when artists become so big that it feels inevitable their next song/album will go to the top of the charts no matter what it is. We see that when Taylor Swift releases an album with no advance singles, and it breaks sales records. We've seen it throughout history, as plenty of long-time hitmakers moved up the charts with songs that didn't deserve the acclaim, but got it simply because we were all in the habit of listening to anything they put out.

Then there are people like Miley (sans Cyrus now), who defy the laws of cultural physics. After finally breaking through as an artist instead of a Disney-fied remnant, she put out an album that was of the wrong time, and backslid as though it was the latest dance crazy. That brings us to this album, which wants to be a thumping dance album, but never commits to the exercise. The title track is undoubtedly that, but it's a 'banger' in the same way knocking on the stall to check if the person on the toilet has passed out is. Miley has once again lost feeling for songs that will connect with the audience through the energy and hooks, and this time she rarely sounds interested in her own music.

I know a lot of people didn't like "Flowers", but it was slick, and Miley's voice sold her story. Here, she doesn't get above a whisper very often, which might be protecting the damage her voice has taken, but it robs us of the tone that makes Miley sound like Miley. This album sounds like an album made by someone who misheard Hieronomous Bosch's name as 'anonymous pop'. That is a tortured attempt at a pun, but I swear it was the most fun part of spending 35 minutes thinking about Miley's music.

Anthrax - Cursum Perficio

Speaking of sounding bored, Anthrax has returned with their first new album in a decade. One might think that with that much time spent between albums, and with Charlie Benante having been on the road with 'Pantera' (sorry - they are not Pantera, they just aren't), Anthrax would have more energy than can fit on an album. That would be your first mistake. The second mistake would be to commit to playing the album in full. If you've heard the singles, you've already gotten as much as you need.

The thing about Anthrax is that they were always the most fun band of the Big Four. They didn't take themselves as seriously, and their music wasn't interesting in finding some form of extreme to convince you they were more than just another metal band. That doesn't feel true anymore, with the Latin title and the black metal riffs pointing toward something that doesn't exactly feel like Anthrax as we have known them. What's worse is that the sense of fun is all but gone, replaced with songs filled with basic riffs and lackluster melodies. Joey Belladonna tries his best, but the material is so weak he often sounds as if he is holding notes just to warm up his voice.

It could be read into the title and themes of the record that this is the end, and honestly, the record does sound a bit like an elegy. It wouldn't be as embarrassing as Dave Mustaine ending his career by refusing to let go of his forty year grudge, but it's every bit as bland and forgettable as whatever the last Slayer album was called. That's Anthrax's fate.

Europe - Come This Madness

It was a bit of a shock when I heard "War Of Kings", as all I knew at the time was Europe's cheesier 80s material. That they could convincingly be a Deep Purple inspired 70s rock band was hard to believe, and that they could do it so well was truly remarkable. That record shed a lot of jokes Arrested Development had foisted upon the band, and the follow-up record was nearly as good. Making fun of Europe was no longer as much fun.

This new record doesn't undo all that good, but it does disappoint. The shift isn't drastic, but there's just enough of a tilt back toward the slicker sound of the 80s to change bearings in a worse direction. This is not a full-on return to "The Final Countdown" by any means, but the sound is a bit less organic, and through that a bit less authentic. The extra sheen makes it harder for the songs to cut through, and that's the biggest issue. This record just isn't quite as strong as the last two, and it would be easy to blame that on the production choices. I don't think that is the cause, but correlation and causation often get mixed up.

Like with Anthrax, this is another case where I might be a bit more generous if the gap between albums hadn't been so long. After nine years, I suppose I expect a little more than this.