Singles Roundup: Creeper, Spanish Love Songs, The Wonder Years, & Avenged Sevenfold

This week, we almost have a perfect emo theme. Let's dig in.

Creeper - Cry To Heaven

The biggest release this week is the first single from a new Creeper album. Their first two albums have been wildly different, but tons of fun. This new chapter seems to once again be going down a new path, with a heavier 80s influence seeping into the music. The synthetic sounds dominate, but like a plastic fondue pot, still give us all the cheese we could ever want. What I love about Creeper is how you can hear they don't take their ultra-emo completely seriously, and that is why it works so well. In a way, this song reminds me of what Ghost was doing on their most recent album, but with their camp factor still in play. I'm not super keen on the 80s stuff, to be honest, but Creeper is giving me reason to think they can pull it off.

Spanish Love Songs - Haunted

I didn't quite 'get' "Brave Faces Everyone". Many people talked it up as a life-changing album, and while it did make my Top Ten list that year, all the lyrics about drug abuse and whatnot didn't resonate with my life experience. It was a great album, but one I couldn't get as close to as I would like to have. This first taste of their new album tells me that experience was probably a one-off, as I don't understand this track at all. The viceral power from the last album is completely gone. There's almost no energy to the music or the vocal delivery, and the roaring hooks got sucked into the needle, and never got dispensed back to us. I now have very little expectation of liking the album.

The Wonder Years - Goddamnitall

Celebrating the tenth anniversary of a record, The Wonder Years have given us a new song just months after their triumphant Album Of The Year. At some point I will have to dive into their past and hear what I missed out on, but for right now this track is doing a good job of it. The power I was talking about being missing from Spanish Love Songs is all over this track. The Wonder Years dig in and play like their lives depend on it, and you can hear the difference when a band is pouring their everything into a song. This is what we need more of.

Avenged Sevenfold - We Love You

Now isn't that an ironic title? They certainly do not love us by putting this song out, as like their last single, it is a baffling composition whose appeal is entirely lost on me. This one doesn't just suffer from bad production and even worse vocals, it's the kind of song that thinks it's smart in hiding a crayon by shoving it up its nose. The song has multiple parts, and while none of them are particularly interesting, there's no effort at all to tie them together in any way that makes sense. It jolts from one bit to the next, making me think back to the days when CD players were apt to skip. It's absolutely horrid songwriting, and I know we all have different taste, but to hear fans praising this makes me wonder if music is a shared experience after all.

Album Review: Matchbox Twenty - Where The Light Goes

It wasn't that long ago when I thought all the bands from my formative years were done making music I would ever care about again. But after a down period, Dave Matthews Band came back with the wonderful "Away From The World" to remind me that giving us may be too easy. While my favorite band has yet to release a new album just yet, but The Wallflowers made up for the only dud of their career by coming back with "Exit Wounds", which is a marvelous album I continue to find myself enchanted by. And now, a decade after Matchbox Twenty disappointed me with their more pop-leaning and forgettable last effort, they too have decided t give it another go so long after their heyday.

The reason I was so disappointed in "North" was the feeling the band had abandoned everything they were to go chasing the pop trend once again. "Mad Season" was also a pop record, but in a weird way that was only accidentally successful. "North" came across much more calculated, and given how Rob Thomas has spent his solo career trying to replicate whatever adult pop these days is, it makes sense why the band hasn't released anything in so long.

This record should come as no surprise then. Once again, all vestiges of the Matchbox Twenty that made "Yourself Or Someone Like You" and "More Than You Think You Are" have been erased, replaced with the blander sensibility of a band that wants to be the less embarrassing version of Maroon 5's selling out.

That doesn't make me happy. I wish I didn't have to say this stuff, since those three Matchbox records were hugely important to me, and I've found myself listening to them a lot again recently. I would love nothing more than to be able to get back on board with a band that has meant so much to me, the way I have with The Wallflowers. But while that band updated their sound while bringing back their identity, I don't get that impression here. This does feel like a Rob Thomas solo album, and those have been getting worse with each one.

It's that age-old story about people growing in different directions. The band and I have different ideas of which way we're heading, and while there are a couple of songs here I could find myself enjoying, it's not a record I'm ever going to feel deeply about. They are now a band of my past, and until and unless they decide to embrace that past, I don't think we're ever going to see eye-to-eye again.

Album Vs Album: The Dio Final Four

Some people will say Metallica's first records are the best stretch in rock/metal history, some will say Led Zeppelin deserves those honors, others Iron Maiden in the 80s. Those are the most common names that pop up, but there is one that I feel trumps them all, if we allow for a bit of latitude in what qualifies. Ronnie James Dio managed the feat of putting together an astounding run, but with three different bands.

Rainbow came first, with both "Rising" and "Long Live Rock 'N Roll" establishing his stature, and enduring as classics to this day. Then came Black Sabbath, where "Heaven & Hell" and "Mob Rules" were completely different, yet equally legendary. And as if that wasn't enough, he then established his own solo band and put out "Holy Diver". That's five albums in a row that are considered among the very best of their kind, and the one common feature is the voice driving them. If you ask me, Dio took all of those musicians to new heights, helping them achieve their greatest results.

But which album is the best? That is the question I am here to answer today, and it's quite the difficult one. Over the years, I have gone back and forth which album from each band is my favorite. I can see the argument for them all, but for the purposes of this task, only one can stand at the top of the peak. "Holy Diver" is great too, but as I would easily put it fifth out of the five albums in that glorious run, so it doesn't make the semi-finals. If I'm being totally honest, it's not even my favorite Dio (the band) album, so including it would feel a bit disingenuous.

"Rising" vs "Long Live Rock 'N Roll"

After a first album that had its share of growing pains, Rainbow turned around and wrote one of the greatest rock/metal songs of all time.

"Stargazer" alone would be enough to say Rainbow were legends, but the rest of the album holds its own. "Tarot Woman" doesn't get talked about enough, but it comes out of the gates with a classic Blackmore riff that gives Dio the fantasy landscape his lyrics need. The roots of power metal can be heard there, and it was just the first hint of what Rainbow had become. The middle tracks would show the more commercial direction that would eventually splinter the band, but Dio could do no wrong at this point. Even "Do You Close Your Eyes", which is often criticized, is a jaunty little number that worms its way into your head, and it serves as a necessary bit of levity before the album takes off.

The last two tracks are the meat of the record. "Stargazer" doesn't need anything more to be said about it. Along with "Stairway To Heaven" and "Hotel California", it is one of the holy grails of epic classic rock. It is a stunning vocal performance from Dio, and the symphony is classy, powerful, and dramatic. There is a reason it is so beloved. The one issue with the album comes when it ends, as we then move into "A Light In The Black", another eight minute epic. While it is a good song, the sequencing of the album has always bothered me, as not only can no song follow "Stargazer", to put the two similar songs back-to-back is asking for trouble. I am exhausted after "Stargazer", and an inferior epic right after is the last thing I want to listen to. The album is barely over half an hour as is, so wanting to skip a quarter of it is a serious blow.

That problem does not exist on "Long Live Rock 'N Roll". The sequencing of the album puts the two longest tracks on separate sides, and "Rainbow Eyes" is a ballad. Some people have criticized the song for that very fact, and I get it. Ballads are not what you think of with either Rainbow or Dio, but he was able to sing anything. I will grant that it is about two minutes longer than it needs to be, and it makes consecutive albums with a less than ideal finish.

Up to that point, Rainbow is at their best. They are heavier than ever, while also being more melodic. "The Shed" and "Sensitive To Light" pound away with metallic fervor, but "Lady Of The Lake" and "LA Connection" balance that out with their most mainstream sounding tracks. The album is entirely cohesive, but has more diversity than you might think at first. And then there's "Gates Of Babylon", which you could say is an attempt to recreate "Stargazer", and you wouldn't be wrong. It also happens to get far closer to that majesty than it had any right to, and hangs only a fraction lower. It's certainly the song I listen to more often.

I have waffled on this many times, but today I feel confident in my choice. Both albums are among the very best of the 70s, but one song does not the classic make. From top to bottom, I find "Long Live Rock 'N Roll" does more than "Rising", and it gives us both more music and more sides to Rainbow. When I want to listen to Rainbow, four out of five times I'm reaching for "Long Live Rock 'N Roll". That's the deciding factor.

Winner: "Long Live Rock 'N Roll"

"Heaven & Hell" vs "Mob Rules"

This is an interesting comparison, because in my mind they are essentially the same album. The structure and sound of the two is nearly identical, which has always struck me as the band trying to recapture the magic through whatever means necessary. It doesn't feel quite as honest, but I won't hold that against "Mob Rules".

Both albums start off with short, up-tempo rockers. "Neon Knights" and "Turn Up The Night" are cut from the same cloth, and right off the bat make it impossible for me to hear "Mob Rules" as a unique record. Both do the job, but "Neon Knights" is easily my preferred song. "Lady Evil" and "Voodoo" have similar themes, but also ride similar more bouncy grooves. Again, I find myself liking the first track more. "Heaven & Hell" and "Sign Of The Southern Cross" are slow build monsters, their epic statements of doom and fury. In this case, I will give the advantage to the latter. Then there are the comparisons of "Walk Away" against "Slipped Away", and "Lonely Is The Word" against "Over And Over". In both of those cases, the former are the better songs. "Wishing Well" versus "Country Girl" is a tie, but I find both of those songs far, far better than most people do. Those are true highlights of the records.

So what we have is "Heaven & Hell", which from top to bottom is nearly flawless. Depending on the day, I might say it's the best metal album ever made. "Mob Rules" has a handful of the band's best songs, but between the similarities, the comparisons, and the worthless inclusion of "E5150", this shades of gray choice is made easy.

Winner: "Heaven & Hell"

"Long Live Rock 'N Roll" vs "Heaven & Hell"

Now we come down to the real battle, which serves as a proxy for Rainbow versus Black Sabbath as a bigger question. What we have here are two amazing records that cover the same territory, but in drastically different ways. Blackmore was a more classical guitarist who used nuance and technique to propel their fiery rock, while Iommi was the sledgehammer using sheer heaviness to overwhelm. They are both records as much about hard rock as they are heavy metal, but the different directions they arrived from give the two records entirely different personalities. Rainbow's record is more energetic and musical, while Sabbath's is deeper and more powerful.

Looking at the highlights won't get us to an answer. The best songs on both records are amazing, and at that point all we are doing is splitting hairs. To truly figure out which album will float just a bit easier on the surface, we have to nit-pick the criticisms I would usually gloss over.

On "Heaven & Hell", there are a few things I could take issue with. The first is "Lady Evil", which while not a bad song, doesn't reach the same heights as the rest of the record. It has a bit too much boogie to it, when everything else is screaming to be heavier rock. In the title track, the acoustic outro doesn't feel necessary to me, and it could have been cut down to save a few seconds. Likewise, the ending to "Lonely Is The Word" is unsatisfying, not because it ends on a lengthy guitar solo, but because it feels like it was missing one more vocal coda from Dio before it did so.

On "Long Live Rock 'N Roll", the obvious flaw is the length of "Catch The Rainbow" to end the record. I like the ballad, but seven minutes of it is too much without a better construction. The song doesn't build to a climax, so staying in a calm and chill tone throughout makes it feel every bit of its length. Trim it to four minutes, or add a powerful solo near the end, and it would be better. The title track can be repetitive, from a lyrical standpoint, and I have never enjoyed songs extolling the virtues of rock and/or metal. Then there's "The Shed" and "Sensitive To Light", which bring the album toward its conclusion with Rainbow's heaviest songs, but they need a bit more melodic flair to balance things out.

Taking all that into account, the decision becomes clear. While both records are classics, "Heaven & Hell" is the closest thing to perfection Dio was ever a part of. The flaws are so minor, I have to look hard to find them. Black Sabbath flourished with Dio as their singer, and there may not be a better statement for the power of metal than "Heaven & Hell". I would also narrowly take Dio's time with Sabbath over his time with Rainbow, but honestly, those four albums we've been talking about are untouchable.

Winner: "Heaven & Hell"

The Conversation: 40 Years Of "Holy Diver"

To celebrate the 40th anniversary of Dio's seminal "Holy Diver", we sat down to discuss the album, Dio, and all manner of tangential thoughts we had.

Chris C: I don't mean to start with a joke, but forty years sure is a lifetime, isn't it? That's how long Dio's seminal "Holy Diver" has existed, in addition to a couple of less important things..... so maybe it's no wonder it feels like Dio is timeless. Dio was before, Dio was during, and Dio endures after.

Is "Holy Diver" Dio's defining statement? We can start with that question, perhaps. What I can say for sure is that this album is the one where Dio became Dio. He was already Ronnie James Dio, the incredible singer, but the image of Dio as we think of him started here. Dio proves he didn't need an already established guitar hero to be a force, he more or less created power metal with the swords-and-rainbows schtick, and he earned so much good will the resulting decades not living up to this standard wouldn't really matter. Dio was now Dio.

So let's begin our conversation with two questions; 1)Is "Holy Diver" your favorite Dio album?, and 2)What have forty years of "Holy Diver" taught us, both about Dio and the metal scene in general?

D.M: Addressing your questions in order:

1) I mean, yeah.  What else could it be?  Maybe there's a case out there to be made for "The Last in Line," but it feels like that argument would be contrarian more than anything else.  Do "Dream Evil" or "Killing the Dragon" both have a couple good tunes?  Sure.  but "Holy Diver" is the icon, and while it's the obvious answer, that doesn't make it wrong.

2) Ultimately, I think it's hard to separate the legacy of "Holy Diver" from the legacy of Dio as a musical icon, but I don't know that that's a bad thing.  I think it speaks to the heart of what the album was really about.  Dio was Dio before his first solo effort, but he was never going to emerge from the shadow of Black Sabbath or Rainbow (or Ronnie Dio and the Red Caps,) because of either previously established legacies or other top-name personalities involved (thinking specifically of the already established accomplishments of Ritchie Blackmore.)  Dio wasn't RONNIE JAMES DIO, worthy of naming a fantasy football league after (inside joke,) until "Holy Diver."

But to answer the question you actually asked, I think what we learned from the album is something you said in the preface, when you made the reference to swords-and-rainbows (and yes, I see what you did there.)  Prior to this record, the combination of aggressive music and fantastical themes was nigh-unheard of.  Okay, fine, purists would tell me Cirith Ungol, and that's true, but 1) nobody listened to them, and 2) their brand of fantasy was specific to Lord of the Rings (see also: Zeppelin, Led.)  And yeah, there were a lot of progressive rock bands out there that were working in similar veins, like ELO, Emerson, Lake & Palmer, Yes, Asia...shit, even the Crazy World of Arthur Brown.  But none of those lived in the metal world.

Metal had certainly found its fill of illustrative doom-and-gloom, evidenced by Black Sabbath and Pentagram, but what "Holy Diver" brought to the table was a sense of...I don't know it levity is the right word, but the idea that you could take on light fantasy with bright melodies, and without singing about the end of the world.

Moreover, and perhaps this is what I'm really trying to say, I think "Holy Diver" ushered in an era where it was okay to, for lack of a better term, to be literate in heavy music.  Now, Dio wasn't alone in this, Iron Maiden made a lot of inroads in the same space, but it also signalled a transition away from the depths of Cold War nuclear fears and into a different era of lyrical thought.

As we continue the conversation, I've been wracking my brain and coming up empty - is Dio the apex of the narrow category of 'replacement singer in a famous band who went on to solo glory?'  He sure as hell beats out Ripper Owens in that argument.

CHRIS C: I asked the question, because on certain days I can go either way with it. "Holy Diver" is fantastic, but so too is "Dream Evil", and I've always had a soft spot for "Master Of The Moon" (there's a point I might come back to there, since I find it fascinating). Depending on my mood, and how much the terrible production of "Dream Evil" bothers me, I will often lean in that direction. "All The Fools Sailed Away" is right up there with the big three songs on "Holy Diver" for me, and it isn't as overplayed. I know I can be a bit of a contrarian a lot of the time, so it's always worth asking if there's an odd opinion here and there.

What I take away from "Holy Diver" more than perhaps anything else is that Dio was always at his best when he had something novel to work with. He was amazing with Blackmore, and left before it could get tired. He was amazing with Iommi, and left before it could get tired. He was amazing with Campbell, and then it did get tired. And then he got tired in general, and recyling the same people for the rest of his life didn't give him the same spark as when he was at the height of his powers. It was almost as if he needed the challenge of proving to himself he could make a new band as good as the ones that came before. Being uncomfortable was what prompted his best work, and it was when he only started to work with people who made him comfortable that Dio became more of a myth of the past.

I think we're both dancing around the subject; was Dio the instigator of 'nerd metal'? You called it literary, but I think nerdy might be a more all-encompassing way of saying it. We've all heard in recent years about how the nerds will take over the world, and while they might be true in technology, Dio might prove it can also be true in metal. And if we're being honest, metal can be far nerdier than we like to think, now can't it? Zeppelin was singing about hedgerows and magic, but Robert Plant was probably stoned out of his mind. Dio sang about a wizard in "Stargazer", and you knew damn well he was putting his heart and soul into it. That's some serious nerd dedication.

Perhaps it is underrated in this regard, but "Rainbow In The Dark" was a big factor is helping metal move into the mainstream. Everyone might have thought that keyboard riff was lame as hell, but it turned that song into an MTV staple. Dio paved the way of the metal pop single, in many ways. I'm sure a lot of people are going to cringe and wish he had never done that, but it's interesting to think about whether the Metallicas of the world would have had an even harder time breaking through if Dio hadn't shown that a metal band could cross over to a degree already.

You ask a hard question there, for a couple of reasons. First of all, it's tough to call him a 'replacement singer' when he started out in Rainbow. We could call them a replacement for Deep Purple, but that doesn't seem entirely fair. Second, while Dio is far more successful in terms of sales, I would personally say Bruce Dickinson's "Accident Of Birth", "The Chemical Wedding", and "Tyranny Of Souls" trio is above and beyond any three Dio-the-band albums. But in general, yes, I think Dio would be most people's pick. His solo career is far more important than Sammy Hagar's, for example.

So let's dive into the record. Favorite song? Least favorite song?

D.M: Well, it's hard to know exactly what the right word for Dio is when it comes to nerd metal.  Because, let's just call it what it is, metal has always been saturated with nerd-dom.  With the possible exception of Pantera, virtually every metal act, and the tough-guy ones in particular, are solely populated by downtrodden nerds.  I mean, it takes a certain level of obsession to be good enough at the arts to make a profession of it in any event.  Already we're narrowing down the field of players to those who spend a lot of time with art, who can, with all apologies because I count myself among the injured party, safely be called nerds.  And the more aggressive the music, the higher the bpm goes, the more nonsensical the imagery and themes, the nerdier the audience gets.  I'm thinking of one particular Cannibal Corpse fan that you and I used to happen across in days long gone.  (Sidebar: I think there's a whole corollary discussion here about the nerdiness of metal contributes to its exclusionary fan bases - people who have been excluded finally have the power to exclude, etc.  But I don't know that that's for today.)

But I told you that story to tell you this one - I don't know that Dio was so much the instigator as the vanguard, in some combination with Iron Maiden (once they got Dickinson.)  Dio made it, well, perhaps 'cool' is too strong a word, but 'publicly acceptable' to sing about dragons and wizards and rainbows and use power chords while doing so (that last is an important caveat.)

Getting to your ending questions, I'm going to be cliche' again.  The Big 3 songs on this album are the classics for a reason, and "Stand Up and Shout" is just so good.  It's not only the most straightforward riff with the best giddy-up, it also is the track where Dio seems to be having the most fun.  Nobody think of this as the best Dio performance on the record, but there's an authenticity to it, like Dio is not only telling us but himself that he's mad as hell and not going to take it anymore.  The song is even better for the fact that it's the album's opening statement.  In this era of metal, there are a lot of contenders for a list of best album openers, but "Stand Up and Shout" prefaces the whole of "Holy Diver" in a way that even "Hit the Lights" couldn't.  You only get one chance at a first impression, and "Stand Up and Shout" makes a better statement than all of its contemporaries.

On the flip side, I'm going to dodge the question a little, because there are a handful of cuts that I don't personally like, but are probably just victims of the era they were written in.  What I will say is that "Gypsy" is a bad song.  It sounds like a lazy cover of an AC/DC b-side, and it doesn't play to any of Dio's strengths as a vocalist, or the band's that set the table for him.  It's a gross miscalculation that breaks up all the momentum from the first two cuts on the record and takes us out of the magic into a direction we didn't need to go.

How about you?

CHRIS C: I find that rather fascinating about metal and nerd-dom, considering that metal fans love to talk about how cool metal is. Perhaps that plays into why I think metal songs about metal are so lame. To paraphrase an old friend of mine, it goes something like, "I'm not a nerd. You're a nerd, nerd." Sounds ridiculous, but you're right that it is rather common in metal. But when we're talking about music that has always been made by and for outcasts, being cool and popular shouldn't be expected.

I think I lean toward Dio being the main instigator, if for no other reason than he made it far more obvious. Maiden writing about the old tv show "The Prisoner" was definitely nerdy, but it could also be heard without the necessary context as just another metal song. And with them looking more the part, they could skate by to the people who didn't know much about history or the arts (and I think they leaned more into it over the following years, after Dio got a head start in the mainstream). Dio's nerdiness was front-and-center. You can't hear a song about a wizard as anything else, and we have all seen the video for "Holy Diver", right? That's awfully close to being full-on LARP-ing.

Your thesis makes sense to me. It might not be intentional, however. The nerdy metal fans who had always been excluded might not being trying to exclude others from their metal haven, but rather are so uncomfortable with 'their thing' going mainstream that they self-sabotage it. Attention is hard to deal with when you aren't used to getting any.

I will also agree with you that "Gypsy" is probably the worst song on the album. I know it fits the same mold that "Lady Evil" and "Voodoo" did on the two Black Sabbath albums he was coming off of did, but it's rather forgettable. I'm guessing the other songs you don't care for are "Caught In The Middle" and "Invisible", the former of which I actually like a lot. Dio every once in a while was sneaky about throwing a great almost pop song into the mix. "Invisible" would be my choice for second worst.

I was tempted to say "Holy Diver" itself should be on that list, as I have never begun to understand the thought process behind putting that minute-plus of wind and noise as the intro to the track. You want to talk about killing momentum, there's no way to build any of it with that standing in the way. Bands have been throwing those kinds of things on their albums forever, and I just don't get it. Do you?

My favorites are the big three as well. No offense to the rest of the songs, but sometimes classics are classics for a reason. What I hadn't necessarily had at the front of my mind before is how "Holy Diver" is more like a third chapter to the "Heaven & Hell" and "Mob Rules" era than it seems. Structurally, Dio wasn't deviating that far from how those two albums had their tracks laid out. The different sound of the band covered a lot of that up, but they weren't reinventing the wheel.

So here's two big questions; 1)Was "Holy Diver" so great the Dio band was destined to fall apart trying to recapture the magic?, and 2)Which nerd-tastic album we've talked about do you go with; "Holy Diver" or "Number Of The Beast"?

D.M: An ancient memory kindled by our conversation: My dad (still) owns a copy of Black Sabbath's "Master of Reality" on vinyl, but he never listened to it, so I was never curious about it (especially since the cover cool in a minimalist way, but that didn't appeal to fourth-grade me.  It was the '90s, I wanted everything to be lasers and the colors of the San Jose Sharks.) The kid who lived next door to me was a year older than me, and as we hung out, we would compare musical fandom notes.  One day, he came to me and said "I just got this, it has angels smoking cigarettes on the cover, it's called "Heaven and Hell."  I don't recall actually listening to it with him, but it was always in his room on his music rack when we were playing video games.  (Sidebar: he is also the reason why, to this day, Bone Thugs-n-Harmony's "1st of Tha Month" occasionally gets stuck in my head.) 

Dude, the "Holy Diver" video.  You know what Dio really was?  Dio wasn't the first nerd in metal.  Not even close.  But he was the first to not feel any kind of shame about it.  And perhaps that was the revolution of the man, even beyond his music.  Without the video for "Holy Diver," I daresay we'd never have gotten the video for Grim Reaper's "Fear No Evil" two years later, which might be the most ridiculous music video ever made (challenged only by Master P's "Make 'em Say Ugh.") That in itself dovetails into another point - there was an era there, contained entirely in the '80s, when artists could make videos like that and it was unquestionably awesome.  There was no judgment, no ironic sense of self, just bombast and bravado and spikes.  Hair metal, of course, ruined the party for everyone by taking this image to its illogical extreme, a saccharine, styrofoam copy of something that was, if not artistically challenging, at least pure in its own way.  What happened to that?  And why has it never come back?  Or has it?  Will we look at Powerwolf videos in the same way twenty years from now?  Is the difference just emerging technology and more affordable production?  Either way, Dio ushered in an era of, for lack of a better term, over-the-top innocence, which I think we could all use in an era where we take ourselves very seriously.

I actually don't mind either of those songs.  My only issue with "Caught in the Middle" is that it sound akin to Judas Priest's "Devil's Child," which predates "Holy Diver" by a year and is a superior song.  I don't know that I personally would reach for them a lot, but they're tight and well-performed, and even if a little ham-fisted, they both are trying to put voice to some forward-thinking messages, especially for 1983.  As I mentioned before, some of the songs on Holy Diver are a product of their era, and that can only be counted against them so much, if at all.  Better question: correlation or causation?  Was Holy Diver the wellspring of what we think of as '80s metal? (Excluding thrash?)

When you address the question of how the band could never recapture that magic, I think it's important to remember that the magic was all within Dio.  The other members of the band, talented though they were, didn't have the ability for musical or thematic manipulation that Dio himself did.  This is evidenced by a simple glance down the members' discography, where they were very accomplished, but always as a replacement for someone else, or as part of a band with a lesser legacy than Dio.  And RJD by this point had already been making rock music in some form for a good long time - the advent of his solo band comes at what would have been the middle or even the end of a more typical established career.  So how much more did Dio have in the creative tank when "Holy Diver" was written?

As for the song "Holy Diver" itself, I've always theorized that it was originally intended to lead the record, until someone stepped in and said "you can't start an album with a minute of silence, it doesn't set the tone, and you've got a perfectly good banger right here that should hit lead off."  By then, the recording was probably done and mastered, and couldn't be altered for the album.

To that end, despite a lot of well-wishing critical acclaim, I wasn't a big fan of the album Dio made under the moniker "Heaven & Hell" late in his life.  To your point, I thought his reunion with Iommi sounded very same-y, and uninspired.

And I know we're here to extol the virtues of "Holy Diver," but I can't lie to you - I ride with "Number of the Beast" on my shield.  There's only one bad song on there ("22 Acacia Avenue," and there's something perfect about the orchestration and arrangement of that album, never mind the talent of the personalities involved.  It's also, to me, aged much better.

CHRIS C: I've got a thought, and it might be wildly ridiculous, but it's the first thing that came to mind to answer your question. Here goes; I think what might have ended that period of metal ridiculousness is the rise of social acceptance. By that, I specifically mean the rise in how open and present gay culture became in our society. When Dio was doing his thing, and Manowar were wearing loincloths, it was still at the tail end of a time when that sort of thing was considered manly. But once gay culture became accepted, and those musicians saw the way their image was copying aspects from the other side of the tracks, it lost a lot of its cool factor. The lameness was always there, but it wouldn't have been obvious to nearly as many people in Middle American that Manowar looked like part of certain fetish cultures. Not like it is now. And given that Halford was borrowing from that scene, and very few people realized it until he came out, I think it bears out.

That's my theory.

I'm not versed well enough in 80s metal to say for sure, but I would put "Holy Diver" as a strong contender for the wellspring. There were elements of those two Sabbath records that starting things out, but I think Viv's guitar tone really crystalized what the 80s were going to sound like. There's a big difference between the metal of the 70s and of the 80s, and the amps themselves were a big part of that. The 80s were all about saturation, and it was a wholly new harmonic world we were dealing with.

Oh man, have you heard the two bands the former Dio guys put together since his passing? They're both just so, so bland. Goldy is a boring guitarist (and I say that even having a couple of his Dio albums among my favorites) without Dio around to pour charisma on them, and his band is the better of the two. For all the animosity that existed between Dio and Viv, to have him start up a band named after "The Last In Line", gather up the old troops, and become a f'n blues rock band by their third album, just goes to show how little he probably ever had to do with the Dio band's success. Between how much bluesy stuff he's done, and how happy he was to play Def Leppard's pop hits for decades, do we really think any of "Holy Diver" was Viv's vision?

Heaven & Hell the band wasn't great, no, which was quite the disappointment. The three songs they did for the Dio-era compilation were great, and the lead single "Bible Black" is one of their best songs ever, but the rest of it fell short. I thought Dio was gearing up for one last great statement, but alas, we didn't get that. I'm assuming your main complaint will be how slow it was, which gets back to the point I was hinting at earlier on. Dio once said he liked doing the slower stuff, because it was easier to write lyrics and melodies with more room to work with. I find that rather interesting, because few people outside of doom tend to like slower songs, but also because he's right. It is harder to write something deep and captivating when you have fewer notes available to you. It's another case where what works for the musician doesn't always work for the audience.

I'm going to have to side with Dio on this one. It's not that "Number Of The Beast" is noticeably weaker in any respect, but "Holy Diver" competes as my favorite Dio album, while you know I love the first four reunion era Maiden albums the most. Something doesn't compute in my mind saying Maiden's fifth(?) best album could be better than perhaps Dio's best.

Before we get too close to wrapping things up, I will ask the associated question which I am going to answer in more depth in a separate essay; Do you prefer Dio the band, Dio with Sabbath, or Dio with Rainbow?

D.M: I freely admit that I avoided The Last in Line (the band) solely on your recommendation that I do so.  Like we said, the other musicians in the band weren't really the reason anybody was listening.  Now, they were certainly more than contract mercenaries like some solo efforts become, but they weren't what was selling tickets.  I mean, when Dokken fell apart, people were interested in what material George Lynch could punch out himself.  I can't recall anyone asking the same about Viv, and let me also admit that I've never once thought about it.  You remember when Fear Factory had all those legal troubles (the first time,) and it ended with Ray Herrera and Christian Olde Wulbers forming their own band, Arkaea, that wasn't good and no one cared about?  This is much the same.

I personally prefer Dio as a solo artist (so, the band, to answer your question,) because it's the only time where I feel like I get the unadulterated picture of Dio's personality on full display.  It's the one place where he didn't have to mix with someone else's vision, and there's an undeniable charm to the way Dio thought about music, presentation and his own voice.  For my money, when I think of Dio, I think immediately of two things 1) the horns, which metal owes him forever, and 2) Dio pacing slowly waving a sword larger than him in the "Holy Diver" video.  (If there's a third thing, it's Dio, the great thespian, pointing to his wrist while singing about time in the "Rainbow in the Dark" video, while not wearing a watch.)  And I say these things in earnest, without a hint of irony, because they make me smile.  I don't get that same feeling from his more collaborative projects.  Dio the band was who RJD was always meant to be.

I'm going to let you take us home, but I do want to ask one question as my getaway: is Dio's ultimately legacy ultimately altered because he is so frequently mentioned in the same sentence as Ozzy (who is, fair or foul, the more reconigizble and famous vocalist?)  Or is Dio able to stand freely on his own, on his own merits?

CHRIS C: I completely understand your reasoning, but I'm going to have to say Dio the band comes in third for me. It might be the purest form of Dio, but his cadre of guitar players just aren't as interesting, on the whole, as Blackmore and Iommi were. That's a style thing, though, much like how I'm probably one of a very select number of people who prefer Roy Z's playing with Bruce Dickinson to what Smith and Murray do. I'm a weirdo.

I don't think Dio suffers in any way from the comparison, because it always comes with the acknowledgement Dio was the better singer. Being so great you could replace a character like Ozzy and be successful is something only a few people could have done. Besides, Dio is in the pantheon of great metal singers. It's pretty much always Dio, Halford, and Dickinson whenever the subject comes up. He might not be as known in the mainstream, but Dio's legacy in the metal world exceeds that of Ozzy. One is a character, the other is a true legend.

Dio will live on, and on, and on. All these years later, no one has ever really topped him. I'm not sure they ever will.

Album Review: Dave Matthews Band - Walk Around The Moon

The second half of Dave Matthews Band's career has been quite an interesting development. With their reputation as a jam band, and their penchant for excess during their concerts, somehow their records have been getting more introspective and somber. Part of me wonders if Dave saw the reaction to "The Lillywhite Sessions", and now realizes that record was a more fulfilling exercise as a writer than trying to write more songs like "So Much To Say".

Regardless, the recent DMB albums take time to develop, with plenty of quiet songs that meditate on Dave's acoustic guitars, his voice often staying a mumbled whisper until the climax. While I liked "Come Tomorrow", and have grown to really love "Away From The World", it's still jarring to put those records on after listening to my early memories of Dave shredding his throat singing "Halloween".

The first single for this new record album felt like a return to form. "Madman's Eyes" had more use of the horns, and brought back a bit of the Eastern atmosphere from songs like "The Last Stop". I had been thinking about the anniversary of "Before These Crowded Streets" already, and hearing something familiar made me wonder if this album might be a bit of a nod to the past.

The following singles, "Monsters" and "Walk Around The Moon" answered that question with a firm, "Not quite". The latter did have a looser feeling, but the songs are still built from the quiet foundations of recent years. "Before These Crowded Streets" could also be a quiet record, especially on the second half, but it used that as a balance to the more boisterous numbers early on. Since the band has been doing less of that as they go along, the albums have become more focused. Focus isn't a word we've used that often with DMB, so it's another slightly odd experience.

Half of the album's tracks clock in at less than three minutes, leaving them feeling a bit incomplete. They don't have enough time to build and develop, and there are too many of them to be segues into the more substantial tracks. Even those fail to break five minutes a single time. I'm not saying longer songs are a necessity, or would be better by nature of the extra time, but the tracks we do get don't have enough weight to them to anchor these shorter pieces in importance. They're putting down an anchor made of sponge.

Those gripes only come to the surface because the songs themselves aren't brimming with riffs and melodies that stand out to my ears. The title track has a lovely chorus, but it's one of the few times I felt really engaged with the record. Dave's guitar is either picking out wandering sets of notes, or it's completely inaudible. His vocals croon rather flat melodies for much of the record, and when he does try for a stickier chorus, the way the harmony vocals are layered in has an echo or phase issue that reminds me of sea-sickness. I don't recall ever having that sensation from a DMB record before.

I say all of this knowing something full well; recent DMB albums have taken a lot of time to win me over. My initial impression of them is not what I think of them now, so there is some hope this record will grow on me the way those did. That said, there were more initial ideas on those other records I could hold onto than I hear on this one. This record isn't a disaster on the scale of "Stand Up", but what I'm feeling right now is disappointment that this record straddles two eras of the band's sound, but doesn't have solid footing on either.

Check back with me later to see if that feeling holds up, but for now I have to say this record has left me wanting more.

Singles Roundup: Alicia Witt, QOTSA, The Warning, & Matchbox Twenty

We've got quite the grab-bag this week.

Alicia Witt - Witness

A lot has happened since Alicia Witt released her "The Conduit" album. Life has been full of twists and turns, and this song tells about the importance of having people to rely on during those difficult times. Having someone to witness what you are going through, who can see the toll that's being taken, is crucial. This song is a sweet testament to that power, and a bit of relief that black clouds can't hold off the sun forever. Alicia has a great ear for melodies that accentuate the delicate nature of her voice, and this song continues to deliver on the feeling her music gives me that is unlike anyone else. I'm certainly looking forward to the new EP that is on the way.

Queens Of The Stone Age - Emotion Sickness

"Songs For The Deaf" was cool at the time, but QOTSA had no staying power at all for me. By the time their next record came out, I had moved on, and the entire stoner/jam thing held no appeal. All these years later, I have not come back around. There isn't really anything at all about this song I enjoy. The production is the hazy desert sound, which I don't find very interesting. The riffs are decent, but hardly anything that will stick in my head. The vocals are boring, and when Josh switches to his higher register for the 'chorus', it sounds entirely limp and lifeless. Maybe this sounds better if you aren't sober, but I am, and this was four minutes of watching the clock.

The Warning - More

Every time they release something, I can't help but think about how far apart the band is from where I am. I liked their first album a good deal, and they have evolved their sound to become more modern, while I shudder at much of what is now popular. This song is a perfect example of that, as there is a decent chorus when you get to it, but that road entails a glitchy electronic verse that rubs me the wrong way. When you have good players, I would rather hear them play. I know this is what rock is for a lot of people these days, but it isn't what I want to hear. Sorry.

Matchbox Twenty - Don't Get Me Wrong

This is more like it. I don't have many expectations for a new album after all these years, and even more years since the last record I liked, but this song piques me interest. The first single was too much of the pop from the last album, but this one strikes a better balance between that and some of the "More Than You Think You Are" approach. They're never going to sound like they did in the 90s, and that's fine. They're older, and in different places in their lives, so I would never expect that. If they can keep a bit of their rock roots, like they do here, I'm comfortable enough to go along for the ride.

Album Review: Sarah & The Safe Word - The Book Of Broken Glass

Genre labels can be a pain in the ass. We all know this, and have encountered some of them that make us shake our head and wonder what hellscape we live in that we have to go to such lengths just to describe a bit of music. The flip side is that, while we can go too far, we do need words to prepare us for what we're getting ourselves into. Music is hard to describe, and our language sometimes struggles to have an easy way to point us in the right direction. That feeling came to me when I first sat down to listen to Sarah A& The Safe Word's new album.

The best way I can sum up their sound is with a phrase I saw; cabaret rock. If you start with an early 00s emo band, then add in the smoky sense of an old cabaret show, you might be able to imagine what the band has to offer us. Blending emo with violin might sound like an odd thing to do, but the authenticity of the instrument gives so much resonance and richness to the sound.

My first exposure was through the song "Old Lace", which caught my attention because of how many times over the years I had run across and watched pieces of "Arsenic And Old Lace" on the classic movie channel. The memory was enough to make me curious, and the song provided me something I don't think I've ever heard before. With a bit of Vaudeville vamp, and a whole lot of pop stickiness, the three minute ditty lifted the curtain and opened me ears to this new kind of show.

During the first full song, "Ruby Off The Rails", the chorus ends by singing, "time is only a construct". That is rather fitting, because the band's sound is pulling from today, the early emo wave, and the music of the distant past. They take those pieces of the past, and use them to construct something that stands apart from all the bands that copy the classic pop/punk and emo down to the letter. Sarah And The Safe Word are a bit like listening to a revival show, living in two eras at the same time.

But none of that would be effective if the band didn't deliver songs to back it up. To go back to those emo comparisons I have been drawing, this album was released around the same time Fall Out Boy made their return, and it isn't going very far to say Sarah & The Safe Word delivered the better set of songs from top to bottom. Whether it's the throat-shredding hook on "A Little Evil Never Hurt Anyone", or the sweeping bombast of "Sky On Fire", these songs are sticky pop songs dressed up so you don't realize who exactly is tempting you into the booze-soaked night air.

There are certain genres we listen to where it feels like we're being given the exact same thing time and time again, so it's easy to feel bored by music sometimes. That's what makes Sarah & The Safe Word so exciting; I'm not sure I've ever heard a record that does what this one does. It's something unique, which not only feels fresh, but is able to occupy a different space in my mind that has yet to be cluttered by countless other records.

If I look through this broken glass, I can still assemble a mirror that shows me an image close enough to reality. This is one of those records that caught me off-gaurd in the very best way, and now I wonder what else this year can match this wonderful little surprise.

Quick Reviews: Sweet & Lynch, and Circus Of Rock

Sweet & Lynch - Heart & Sacrifice

I would probably be a much happier person if I grew up a few years earlier than I did, and I had fond memories of the 80s. An album like this, with two 80s stars pounding out more 80s rock, might actually appeal to me if I did. I keep giving stuff like this a chance, since it doesn't seem to be going away. I keep hearing people say Lynch is one of the greatest guitar players ever, and Stryper was always better than their cheesy image suggested, but I don't get it.

This is the third album these guys have made together, and I've listened to all of them. Each time, I keep wondering what I'm missing that everyone else hears, because this is the very definition of bland to my ears. Lynch sounds like he barely cares what he's playing, and Sweet is belting out lyrics without a single hook on the whole record. The record sounds like every bad memory I have of being a kid, except this time I'm old enough to realize how boring it all is.

Luckily, being boring means it's also easily forgotten, so this is one of those album sure to slip out of my memory in short order. The downside is that if they ever make another one of these, I'm still going to be enough of a sucker to think there might be something worth hearing on it. There really isn't on this one.

Circus Of Rock - Lost Behind The Mask

Yet another jukebox album has arrived with a cast of singers I barely recognize. Like the Sweet & Lynch album, this one is awash in nostalgia for the 80s. There are plenty of synths that bring that decade back from the dead, but the songs never evolve past the point of pastiche. The riffs and melodies are so basic and bland none of these songs stand out, let alone have personalities to make you remember them. They're basically giving the same blank canvas to each of these singers, and hoping their voice is enough to make us care about them.

They aren't.

Like a circus, you're getting a different act everywhere you look, but I find that approach completely counter-productive. Aside from the fact this album doesn't sound that much like an album, when no one has a chance to establish their identity for more than four minutes, every song winds up as a feeling-out process. It's like going on nothing but first dates, then wondering why you don't care about any of the people you've seen. All I've learned about Circus Of Rock from this album is the 'mastermind' either can't decide on a singer to make this a real band, or they want to show off how many connections they have in the industry.

Everyone is still trying to be Avantasia, but they miss the point; Tobi is not only one of the best songwriters in metal, but he's always there to serve as the band's anchor. This might as well be a 'not so great, not even hits' collection. The name means next to nothing.

Album Review: Blood Ceremony - "The Old Ways Remain"

The last time we heard from Canada’s Blood Ceremony was 2016, seemingly in a different lifetime, for the sublime and timeless “Lord of Misrule.”  That album was a lustrous black pearl of occult rock; soaked in warm, amplified fuzz and full of leering eeriness and dread.  It was an album a reality apart, the kind of record that took the listener to a frightening, curious and exciting world, akin to the great works of Shirley Jackson, Guillermo del Toro and Mike Mignola.

Some seven years later, the band returns to a wearier Earth with “The Old Ways Remain,” a prophetic title, but one that also belies the album’s true nature.

This new record maintains the Old Ways of Blood Ceremony in that the bones of this lich remain true; songs that swarm with the aural locusts of yesteryear, born from fantasy and imagination and psychedelic rock.  What’s new is that this album leans heavily into the psych rock of the late ‘60s and early ‘70s, the kind of motif that we last saw the band dabble in for the positively bopping single “Flower Phantoms.”

In contrast to the catalog we’ve come to the know from the band over their seventeen years, “The Old Ways Remain” removes much of the existential dread that Blood Ceremony trades in so well.  That might be a misstatement, let’s be more precise – the crises of a haunting past and an uncertain present still ring true in the themes of the songs, but there is a sense of immediacy that’s been stripped away.  No longer does an uneasy and likely grisly fate lurk just around the corner with ragged claws and fangs that glint in the full moon.

The real takeaway though, is that even for the stylistic shift, “The Old Ways Remain” is a damn good listen.  In music, the best accomplishments often fall into one of two categories: the thing we’ve never heard before, and the thing we love done exceptionally well.  “The Old Ways Remain” falls firmly into the later camp.  The guitar tone has the perfect temperature for an album that aspires to channel the great fantasy/occult/folk rock of old.  The album feels familiar, even as the listener hears it for the first time.

And for all the focus on the flute that’s made Blood Ceremony so distinct on all their records, the overlooked hero of all their albums, including this new one, is the flawless timing of the guitar of Sean Kennedy.  Go no farther than “Ipsissimus” to hear Kennedy tail the song with a solo that fits perfectly into the pocket of the rhythm and melody, accentuating the previous three minutes and adding some snap to the outro.

“The Old Ways Remain” then moves in a few experimental directions, starting with “Eugenie” which sounds like a flute-heavy soundtrack piece, the kind of funky walking song that would be right at home during the opening scene set of an exploitation movie, following the main character as he walks through town and we see his life through his own eyes.  It is atmospheric in all the right ways, even if these are ways we’ve never heard from Blood Ceremony previously.

“The Bonfires of Belloc Coombe,” incorporates some accenting violin throughout which adds dimension and depth to the piece, while the highly enjoyable “Hecate” lives at the strangest of all intersections; that of ‘60s progressive folk rock jam and ‘80s sitcom opening theme.  These are all new facets of the diamond of Blood Ceremony, all unleashed at once in a single album.

If there is a place where the album could have used a little of the old menace, it would be for “Powers of Darkness.”  There’s nothing wrong with the song on its face, except that the lyrical theme is the kind of thing that Blood Ceremony did with such accomplishment and aplomb for so long.  To hear a song that in theory would be right up their alley consciously eschew that style is off-putting, and fans will miss the blackened edges of the band’s bread-and-butter.

That’s only one song on the album though, which is otherwise an unqualified success.  It’s rare for a band to be able to recognize and utilize their old roots while simultaneously showing new elements and patterns in their music not just for one song, but for an entire record.  Blood Ceremony should be lauded not only for the attempt, but for the success of their versatility.  And all this is without even taking the time to address the steadying hand of Alia O’Brien’s vocal performance, which provides the anchor point between the band’s past and present.  “The Old Ways Remain” is an enjoyable album for long time fans of Blood Ceremony and a good jumping-on point for those willing to dive in.

Only Five Albums, Only One Year.... Forever

We've probably all faced the 'desert island' thought experiment, where we can only take a finite number of records with us to a desert island to satisfy us for the rest of our lives. It's a fun thing to think about, because it cuts to the heart of what exactly our favorite musical things are, and which ones we don't think we can live without.

I recently saw someone ask a different version of the question that puts even more limitations on what we're going to do. As a way of asking what our favorite year for music is, the question was asked which year we would pick if we were only allowed to listen to five albums from the same year for the rest of our lives. A tough one, perhaps?

Yes and no. Narrowing my choices down was easy. I thought about what music is most important to me, what music defines me in ways I can't do without, and the window of time narrowed significantly. Nothing before or after that narrow band would suffice. The only decision is which of the two years has the superior roster.

My first choice is 1996.

First and foremost, 1996 gives us Tonic's "Lemon Parade". Tonic remains my favorite band (for now), and this album spent many years as my favorite album of all time. Not having any Tonic with me would be a hearty disappointment, and even if I think I would rather have "Head On Straight" with me for repeated listening, I can't complain about which great record I wind up with. This record put 1996 on my radar, the rest made the choice easy.

Next would be Weezer's "Pinkerton". For as much as I have talked about the record's issues, and how difficult it can be to listen to with a current cultural mindset, it remains one of those fundamental records of my youth. If I can put the lyrics out of my mind, it's a wonderful little record I know I can listen to countless times.

There is also The Wallflower's classic "Bringing Down The Horse". While I prefer "Breach" as a record, The Wallflowers are another of those fundamental bands that have greatly influenced my taste, and my own musical psyche. I would not be the person I am without Jakob Dylan's songwriting showing me the way, so I can't gripe about having to listen to "One Headlight" and "Sixth Avenue Heartache" on repeat.

Just as important, there is Matchbox 20's "Yourself Or Someone Like You". I have vivid memories of anticipating the day I got to unwrap the CD and play the record in full. While I may not have learned as much from this record as some others, I've always seen some of my own weirdness reflected in Rob Thomas's unusual vocal tone. It was a good year for formative records.

And finally, we have Dave Matthews Band's "Crash". Far from my favorite DMB album, getting to listen to "Two Step", "#41", and "Lie In Our Graves" will satisfy the part of me that wanted to pick up a guitar in the first place. The riff from the last of those mentioned songs was one of the first things I wanted to learn, and all these years later, is still one of the patterns my fingers fall into when I pick up an instrument.

My other choice is the year 2000.

First, we have The Wallflowers once again, but with "Breach", which is my second favorite album ever. It's one I already have listened to endlessly, so keeping that up seems like no problem at all. There are plenty of lyrics scattered throughout this record to engage my mind in ways most albums don't, and give me the inspiration to create for myself.

Then there is Dilana's "Wonderfool". It's hard to imagine not hearing a favorite voice ever again, and thankfully 2000 provides me with the opportunity to avoid that fate. Her voice warms my heart and makes me happy, and few things are as beautiful as her voice as she sings "When You're Around". Praise be.

There is also Green Day's "Warning", which has always been my favorite album of theirs, despite its relative unpopularity. It is a record I go through binges with, listening to it half a dozen times in a matter of a fortnight, so the infectious nature of this power-pop masterpiece would be right at home.

Avantasia released "The Metal Opera Pt II", which is the superior one to my mind. For a stretch, it was my favorite metal record ever, and the diversity of the songs and the cast of singers makes it an easy inclusion. I love the grandeur of this record, and maybe it would help me deny reality.

Finally, Matchbox Twenty (with the spelling change) put out "Mad Season" in 2000. It hasn't aged as well for me as their first album, but it was my pick of the bunch for many years. "Bent" is one of my favorite songs ever, and the rest of the album is a lovely kaleidoscope of pop sounds. What it may lack in visceral 'oomph', it makes up for with a diverse appeal full of its own charm.

So which year do I choose? One year has what was once my favorite album, in addition to more formative records, while the other has something I don't know if I could do without. Both feature records by the same two bands, which end up a wash when I prefer one from each. Really, I would be happy with anything from those top records, so what makes the decision for me are the fourth and fifth records. To this day, I listen to those Green Day and Avantasia albums far more, so I have to go that way.

For me, the most indispensable year in music is 2000.

Album Review: Metallica - "72 Seasons"

Editing seems to be a lost art.  When it comes to art in all its popular forms, more and more commonly referred to in our modern lexicon with the vulgar epithet ‘content,’ we seem to want more, without limit.  Creators are no longer hemmed in with reasonable constraint; instead they are allowed to tell their stories in whatever time they deem necessary.  To posit an example, Christopher Nolan was such a hot property coming off the success of “The Dark Knight” that no one dared take the editor’s scalpel to “Interstellar.”  Since then, feature films have increased in length in direct proportion to the fame of the director, with no particular end in the near future.  That’s not a sin in any way, merely a notable trend, as even the newest John Wick chapter is greater than two and a half hours in length, unheard of for an action movie (the two parts of ‘Kill Bill’ and ‘Red Cliff’ notwithstanding.)

Enter Metallica, a band whose pendulous history seems itself a series of wanderings worthy of a Homerian epic.  Each Metallica album is a story unto itself – if space aliens landed and demanded of you “tell us the complete story of Metallica in three albums or less,” you’d be unable to, because all of the band’s records could be subjected to a graduate-level case study (good or bad.)

With those two concepts as the backdrop, we come to Metallica’s new album “72 Seasons.”  Metallica is no stranger to the concept of artistic expression through the lens of a ponderously long thrash song.  In seriousness, you’ve no doubt listened to “…And Justice For All,” which is the poster child for meandering riffs and tangents that ultimately attempt to weave a tapestry that’s something other than a tangled mess.  You can probably sense where some of this article is heading.

“72 Seasons” exists at an extraordinarily novel crossroads.  It’s Metallica to be sure, living creatively unrestrained, as sharp and accessible and intuitive as they’ve ever been, and also transitioning back toward the style of rock ‘n’ metal which was the source of such acrimony among their fan base some twenty-five years ago.

The album kicks things off with the title track, which is a meaty listen at seven minutes, as so many cuts on the album are.  It’s never boring, though – the cut grabs immediate notice with a tension-building staccato opening that sounds like…Dick Dale’s “Misirlou”  If that sounds strange, that’s because it is, but that’s what it sounds like.  The song never quite channels that energy again, but the basic idea of a riff that constantly pistons throughout is pervasive for the duration.

We then move seamlessly into “Shadows Follow”…a little too seamlessly.  The next six minutes of the record feels like an extension of the first seven minutes, not a separate track in its own right.  This is where “72 Seasons” starts to get complicated.  At the risk of spoiling the rest of this article, the album is a good album, but it contains too many stretches that sound, for lack of a more erudite journalistic expression, same-y.  Inevitably, when there’s a lot of long songs that start to sound similar, an album treads into dangerous territory of fading interest.  

As mentioned above, we’ve heard this from the mighty Metallica before, but where this new effort deviates from the accepted curve is that there are whole stretches where Metallica doesn’t sound like Metallica.  Or at least, not any Metallica we’ve heard before.

Setting aside that James Hetfield’s characteristic rasp has receded somewhat, as he takes on a less aggressive affect for this record, listen to “Screaming Suicide” for a minute.  Catchy tune, hits a lot of the right tones, but does this honestly sound like a Metallica song?  The song is a banger to be sure, but it sounds like a southern rock trucking anthem more than anything else.

Later on, the single “Lux Æterna,” perhaps not coincidentally the shortest song on the record.  And it’s slick and tight and great, but it’s also akin to a B-side remix of Motörhead’s “Overkill,” right down to the false ending.  

It’s easy to get too caught up in the constricting conventions of genre definitions when such things are lazy and immaterial, but at this point in “72 Seasons,” it’s hard not to consider the question of whether this is a metal record or a rock record?  And what are the implications or inferences, if any, both for the album and the band depending on the answer?

There’s only song on the album that really doesn’t work at all, which is “Crown Of Barbed Wire” immediately following “Lux Æterna.”  The central riff is fine, but it never leads to anything, and the way James whines out the chorus through gritted teeth just doesn’t fit within the pocket of the song; the cadence is awkward at best.

Skipping past “Chasing Light,” which is generic, store-brand Metallica if ever there’s been, we get to “If Darkness Had A Son” which will tie all these points together.  This song is everything that is right and wrong with “72 Seasons.”  The riff is snappy and idiomatic for a band that’s given us some of the great metal riffs of the genre’s history.  The chorus is big and bombastic and the verses properly foreboding.  Kirk unleashes a signature Kirk solo.  But it’s six-and-a-half minutes, and it takes too damn long to make a decision about when to move between pieces.  It reminds of some of the cuts on Lazarus AD’s debut “The Onslaught” where there was fat that could have been trimmed but wasn’t.  Lazarus AD was guilty of being young, raw and undisciplined in their songwriting.  Metallica is perhaps guilty instead of simple hubris; the belief that listeners are willing to wait for them because of the name at the top of the album.

In so many ways, “72 Seasons” calls back to “Death Magnetic,” but pales just enough in imitation to remind that it is not “Death Magnetic.”  That prior album certainly had its healthy share of songs that got long in the tooth, but they never lost direction or purpose.  Metallica now seems to believe they can write like that all the time, attempting with some vanity to capture that lightning twice.  Near the end of this new effort, we are given the closest taste of that former album in “Room of Mirrors,” which might be the best song on the album that sounds like a Metallica song.  The pacing is right, the groove is right, the energy is high, even if the song doesn’t have that signature Metallica threat leering over it.  This is Metallica at their creative best, laying harmonies in the solo to give the listener the kind of artistic depth that we expect from a legend.

To read this back in conclusion, it probably seems like “72 Seasons” has few if any redeeming traits, which isn’t true at all.  Please don’t be mistaken, aside from “Crown of Barbed Wire,” every song on this record has a part or a piece that’s interesting.  This is Metallica, after all; the talent and know-how of the players involved ensures that the experience will never be boring.  “72 Seasons” is actually better than its cumbersome predecessor, “Hardwired…to Self-Destruct,” but it is flawed in that it drags on because Metallica refuses to edit themselves into smaller pieces.  This is the “Interstellar” to “Death Magnetic’s” “Dark Knight.”

No Points For Consistency

What are we to make of consistency?

I'm not talking in terms of the music we listen to. I would dare say we all admire consistency, and admire the ability of certain artists to continually release music that meets our standards. To be endlessly productive without a major dip in quality is something to make note of, because it's a rare feat of both creativity and self-editing.

What about us, as listeners? Human psychology often pushes us toward consistency as well, even though it makes far less sense on our end. When we talk about politics, we often hear praise for those who say they have never changed their views on issues. Their consistency is looked at as a sign of their sincere belief, and is often promoted as a reason why we should trust them.

But that's completely ass-backwards.

Consistency can be those things, but it can also be the hallmark of someone who is not self-critical, who doesn't think about why they believe the things they do, and who ignores the world around them. On practically any issue we can think of, the world today is a different place than it was ten years ago, twenty years ago, and so on. To hold the exact same opinion on an issue when the world has changed immensely doesn't make a whole lot of sense, now does it? The reality on the ground has shifted, so why wouldn't our opinions change along with them?

I think they should.

When it comes to music, making lists is one of the things many of us enjoy doing. It's fun to categorize and compare, and sometimes it simply makes it easier for us to organize and understand our own thinking. I know there have been times when I have only realized something when I was sitting down to place an idea on a list. This is not a criticism of that mentality, but rather me wondering if we revert to the reflexive answer too often, without asking if it is any longer the truth.

The last time I sat down to make an updated list of my favorite albums ever, the answer changed for the first time in at least fifteen years. I didn't realize it was going to until I was in the process, and at first I was caught off-guard by it. I was so used to answering the question without even thinking about it, I would have told you the answer was never going to change. And then it did.

I am no longer consistent in one of the most fundamental questions you can ask a music fan, and that fact is actually reassuring to me. By changing my mind at this stage, after all this time, I'm relieved to know I am still examining the world around me and the way I interact with it. I am not checked out and giving answers simply because they are already on the tip of my tongue. I am considering how I have changed over the years, how what I want out of music has changed, and I am acting accordingly.

It would be easier to be consistent, to make up my mind and never waver. What would be the point in that, though? No one besides myself really cares what the answers are, so it isn't as if I am upsetting anyone or stirring up drama by changing my mind. All I'm doing is being more honest with myself, which is exactly what we should be doing. It's as easy to lie to ourselves as it is to anyone else, and half the time I don't think we ever realize we're doing it.

Consistency has its time and place, but we need to be careful not to give too much credence to it. Like everything, there is a time and a place for it, and there is a time and place for admitting when you have changed. There is no shame in evolving. There is shame in refusing to accept the truth.

Album Review: Jax Hollow - Only The Wild Ones

The funny thing about time is if you aren't paying attention, you don't notice when the scenery changes from being out the windshield to being in the rear view mirror. At a certain point, one generation slips into the next, and you find yourself feeling out of place. Or, as Abe Simpson put it; "I used to be with 'it', but then they changed what 'it' was. Now what I'm with isn't 'it', and what's 'it' seems weird and scary."

That's taking things to the comic extreme, of course, but the point I'm making is that somewhere along the way, I went from being young to not being young. Maybe I always was in a way, but when you start covering artists who are growing up before your eyes, and you realize how long ago that was supposed to happen for you, there's a bit of a haze that you need to wade through.

Jax Hollow is a young artist finding her way, developing her identity, and wringing all she can from life. This new record is a soundtrack for that growth, telling the stories of someone garnering the experience to put her talent and drive to use. If her first record showed that Jax had the voice and the chops, this record shows she also has the songs and the maturity.

The record opens with the mission statement "Wolf In Sheepskin", where a nimble-fingered blues riff saturates the air, and Jax's voice sounds sweet as she sings about being too full of life to be held tight. There's a passion and fire in her waiting to burst out if you clutch too hard, and the music is like that as well. You can hear the amps breaking up when she digs in, but she always pulls back before ripping our faces off with a solo. She may not be tamed, but she is in control of when she leaves a mark.

"Wallflower Girl In Bloom" switches to acoustic guitars and violins, which not only highlights the youthful nuances of Jax's voice, but thematically takes us to the most organic and natural of feelings. The strings of her guitar vibrate just like the metaphorical strings of our hearts, and not having the grit of bluesy distortion on the notes allows the song to sound more honest and earnest for the decision. Compare it to "Ride Or Die" that follows, which is a lustful song with a more fleshed out sound. The power of the animalistic hunger comes through, especially when Jax opens her voice up for that soaring chorus in a way that can rightly be called a climax. It's the other side of the way love and lust can weave together, and each is given its own time in the spotlight.

I will probably be alone in this, but the bitter look back that is "Stepping Stone" is foreshadowed by the early lyric, "I thought we were sweet, like wine." Alcohol has never been anything but bitter to me, to the point of being undrinkable, so in a way I saw the rest of the story coming as soon as I heard that line.

The record unfolds as a tightly wound batch of songs, jabbing us with a feeling and a melody, never staying too long on one theme before needing to tell another batch of truths. It's as if there isn't enough time on a record to say everything Jax wants to say, so she flies through the songs to get as many of them in as possible. That gives the record momentum even in the quieter moments, and a sense of urgency I don't always hear in bluesy music. The only drawback to this approach is that there may not be enough times Jax stretches out and shreds the fretboard. For as sensual as the record can be, the guitars could use a bit more of her fingers dancing across the neck the way they do on the skin of the characters in the songs.

This is where the generational divide I was talking about comes back into play. Jax sounds youthful singing in all her revelry, enjoying every minute of her self-discovery. That is a process I should have completed already, and is full of regrets and depression for the ways it hasn't come to pass. We are in different places in our lives, and I can't muster the same optimism for the future that Jax has. It's admirable, and it makes for a better record than the alternative.

There is clear growth from "Underdog Anthems" to "Only The Wild Ones". Jax sounds more assured, more resolute, and more like an artist who knows exactly who she wants to be. Judging by this record, that is more than enough.