Album of the Week

Mindless Self Indulgence: If

As hard as it may be to believe considering what usually gets covered here, I'm actually a pretty big MSI fan. Call it my guilty pleasure; my favourite band might be Pearl Jam and I may gravitate toward more organic rock and metal, but sometimes it's necessary to step outside the comfort zone, so to speak.

Back in 1999, while working in radio, I discovered MSI via "Bitches", which was an absurd attempt by Warner Music to earn the crass, far from mainstream band radio play. Nevertheless, I listened to the track and wasn't all that impressed... until a few days later, when I couldn't get that song out of my head with a crowbar. After picking up the 30 track rapid-fire masterpiece "Frankenstein Girls Will Seem Strangely Sexy", I found myself oddly enamored with the spastic techno-metal stylings and utter lunacy of Little Jimmy Urine's lyrics and vocal delivery. At the time, I didn't even understand what the hell I was listening to; I just liked it, and that was that.

Their long-awaited follow up, 2005's "You'll Rebel to Anything", found them changing it up a bit; the songs were longer, it was sonically more diverse, and had their inexplicably entertaining cover of Rush's "Tom Sawyer". Altogether, though, its ten songs brought the proceedings to a close way too soon (at just over 26 minutes). It hardly seemed worth waiting six years for.

Now, back on a major label (Sony this time), MSI delivers "If", which turns out to be a fair split between the first two records. No one can help but to grow up at least a little over nine years, so "If" doesn't really have anything as amazingly immature and crass as some of "Frankenstein"'s choicest moments (though "On It" and "Issues" come close). Thankfully, MSI recognize that most fans aren't looking for world events, and nothing on "If" is dreary. Big, bad beats are everywhere on this album, from the Timbaland trumping club thumper "Bomb This Track" to the trip-hop freak-out anthem "Revenge". It's more adventurous musically than most DJs ever dream of. The fact that there's a band there to flesh out the sound is gravy.

All this said, it's worth noting that the most notable improvement on "If" is songwriting. The gift for hooks that first got me in 1999 is still ever-present on "If", especially on "Animal"; the track plays like 2-1/2 minutes of nothing but hooks. "Money" is probably the closest thing to a conventional song in the band's catalogue. Then, there's "Mark David Chapman", a song whose conception was remarkable (written with fans using weekly questions on the band's Myspace page). The only thing more remarkable is how it turned out; its scattershot progression recalls Mr. Bungle, except with more samples and synth.

If you're looking for solos and soaring epics, you're shit out of luck. If you're looking for social commentaries and causes to believe in, look somewhere else. "If" is pretty much impossible to categorize with confidence; it's like the audio equivalent of "Tim & Eric Awesome Show", except with more midi sounds. It's like a watching a mash up of "Tron", a Gwen Stefani video, and "Dawn of the Dead". Simply put, it's an awesome example of what happens when a band's focus is placed on having fun instead of having hits.

"If" is in stores Tuesday. This is their website.

Album of the Week

Cancer Bats: Hail Destroyer

Being in cahoots with the Alexisonfire camp has the tendency of making me not give a shit about your band. No offense to AOF or the kids who love them, screamo just isn't my bag. Which is why I was surprised by the Cancer Bats' debut, "Birthing the Giant". I avoided it for months, expecting it to be a clone of Alexisonfire's uninteresting At the Drive-In worship or, worse, a clone of Dallas Green's wretch-inducing sentimentalism. Finally, "French Immersion" made its way to my ears, a roaring hardcore throwback worthy of whiplash by headbanging. I was almost as astonished by that track's ferocity as I was by the fact that the rest of the album was just as good.

Of course, there's bound to be changes on album two. Thankfully, they're not so drastic as to completely alter your opinions on the band. Sure, there's a little more metallic screaming (see the title track), and a few more actual hooks (see "Deathsmarch"). And, in a case where change is definitely good, there's the staggering "Bastard's Waltz", a track that gets across a bevy of menace despite its slower tempo, thanks in large part to its "coughing up blood" refrain. It's only trumped by its cousin "Lucifer's Rocking Chair", complete with slide guitar riffage and sinister groove. They take it the other direction, too, especially on the absolutely crushing diatribe "Sorceress". It's like the song Hatebreed's been trying to write for ten years. And the 90 second scorcher "Pray for Darkness" hits you in the skull with such speed and fury that the half-time breakdown is necessary to catch your breath.

All in all, though, this is the same band with the same love for monstrous riffs and chaotic gang vocals. But they incorporate enough new elements to their sound to dissuade any naysayers who would accuse them of being a one trick pony. "Hail Destroyer" may not be as consistent as "Birthing the Giant", but it is most certainly more rewarding.

"Hail Destroyer" is in stores Tuesday. Check 'em out online here.

Rapid Fire Reviews!



THE RACONTEURS: Consolers of the Lonely
****
"Consolers of the Lonely" is pretty much an extension of last year's White Stripes triumph "Icky Thump"; also recorded in Nashville, all very loose sounding and fun. It's also notice served that what was kind of cool in the White Stripes' intimate setting absolutely shreds with the backing of a full band. Lyrically, there may not be any tracks as poetic as, say, 'You Don't Know What Love Is'. But, when the monster riffs of 'Five on the Five' and 'Attention' smack you in the skull, there simply isn't much need for fancy wordplay. There's also much more stretching out to be heard, as a veritable smorgasbord of instruments get their due (including fiddles, banjos, horns, etc.).

Throw in a good old fashioned murder ballad (album closer 'Carolina Drama'), a swampy country stomper ('Old Enough'), an obscure seventies rock cover ('Rich Kid Blues') and the freakishly electric dance rock inferno of lead single 'Salute Your Solution', and you've got something for everyone. The best part is that it doesn't sound like a half n' half mix of Jack White and Brendan Benson songs (as the previous album, "Broken Boy Soldiers", did); it's the sound of two songwriters in a room cranking out ideas and having a blast. And creating a damn fine record in the process.


REM: Accelerate
***1/2
Let's forget about "Around the Sun", and how awful it was. In fact, let's forget "Reveal" and how awful it was, too. Hell, let's just pretend that "Accelerate" is REM's first record in twelve years. When health concerns prompted the band to move on without original drummer Bill Berry, it's as though he drove his band mates out to the middle of nowhere, dropped them off, and sped off into the night, leaving them lost in a frozen tundra of keyboards and string sections. At first, they were weary but still excited to be in new, unfamiliar territory (the decidedly sombre "Up", my submission for Most Ironically Titled Album Ever Award). After a while, they started to become comfortable out on the tundra, and even tried by times to make it feel like home (the soundtrack submission 'The Great Beyond', "Reveal"'s first single 'Imitation of Life', the unearthed early-career throwaway 'Bad Day'). Problem was, no one was fooled by these mirages of a band that still rocked. They were, after all, still on the tundra and, try as they might, the blandness wasn't going anywhere. So slowly, they trudged onward, looking for escape from this deliriously boring place. The epic journey out of suckdom almost killed them; if "Around the Sun" didn't sound like a band sucking wind on one knee, I lost my ears in a horrible fire.

So here we are, twelve years later, and we answer the knock on the door to find REM, clothes tattered, egos bruised, asking for a place to crash. You'd be forgiven for slamming the door in their faces, but you'd also be a fool. Think about it; REM was stuck on the tundra for TWELVE FUCKING YEARS. It's no surprise that they're pissed off, looking for vengeance and rocking out like their lives depend on it. At a shade under 35 minutes, "Accelerate" is a rapid dose of vintage REM, from the punk overtones of 'Living Well is the Best Revenge' and 'Horse to Water' to the muscular new wave flashback of 'Man Sized Wreath' and 'Supernatural Superserious'. It's not all upbeat, but the slow tunes are much more reminiscent of "Automatic for the People" era tunes than those of the last three albums. In fact, the only real knock on "Accelerate" is that it's such a return to form it sometimes sounds too calculated to be genuine.

At the end of the day, I recommend that REM be forgiven even if "Accelerate" is a contrived effort to buy back the fans who left them in droves over the past twelve years. The way I see it, if I were stuck on the tundra for over a decade, I'd be rocking out too. Because, above all, I'd be really fucking glad to finally be home again. And if "Accelerate" is any indication of what's to come, then I'm really fucking glad to have REM finally come home again.


THE SWORD: Gods of the Earth
***
The Austin metal gods return with a more sloppily produced, less Sabbath-inspired disc. The result is still more thrilling than most modern metal, but I hoped for better. Don't get me wrong; I dig the faster tempos and the riffs are still monstrous. I just expected they'd be leaving all other metal bands bloodied in the killing fields and eating the innards of the genre itself by now.









BLACK TIDE: Light from Above
*1/2
If you've been waiting for the sign that power metal's triumphant return is jumping the shark, here it is. A band of teenagers with an unmoving devotion to both Dragonforce and Motley Crue and about as much songwriting talent as the security guy working either of those bands' concerts, "Light from Above" sounds like that album of early recordings and demos that gets unearthed about five years after a band makes it big. Where most bands grow and mature before getting their debut on shelves, Black Tide has been swept up, packaged ever so neatly and thrown into the spotlight far too soon.

But, that's the way fads go; remember the 90's, when grunge exploded and record labels snapped up every Nirvana prototype they could find? A group of teenagers with little actual talent were signed to a contract in 1995, releasing a trite, immature (but loud) album and becoming famous before evolving as a band, making better music, and losing their entire fan base. Congratulations, Black Tide. You are the new Silverchair.



MESHUGGAH: obZen
****
Meshuggah takes a lot of shit from "true" metalheads because they started out as a thrash band, evolved musically, surpassed most other metal bands in musicianship, and slowed down the tempo. For shame! On "obZen", some of the thrash elements are back without sacrificing the awesome prog-inspired riffage, shredding vocals or Tomas Haake's sheer lunacy on the kit. But, because it's not the first album and they've gained a high profile within the genre, the new album sucks. If that's the "true" metalhead's perspective, I'll be a "poser" and listen to this awesome new Meshuggah album while you stay stuck with your one dimensional metal. But just so you know, I'm a total music whore for life and that includes metal, so chances are I was listening to Slayer and Annihilator (hell, even Cannibal Corpse and Deicide) before you were born. Seniority rules, and so does this album.

Obligatory Update
(or, How to Waste Time with Flair)

Since it's been three months, I guess I should say something, lest they yank this site from existence. Since we last spoke, I've been very busy. You see, I got Rock Band on Boxing Week, and Burnout Paradise at the end of January. So, pretty much all of my free time has been devoted to either of the two.

I shouldn't have to tell those of you who still read this thing, but Rock Band is an evil, evil thing. When I first unpacked the drums, I knew that nothing good could come of it. That feeling was confirmed when I actually started playing the drums. I swear to Christ, it's like the video game equivalent of Pringles. I popped, and damned if I stopped. After two days with it, I was ready to quit my job (stupid job interfering with the rawk). It pretty much took all I had to post the top 5 albums (because we all know if I had failed to live up to that, both of you would have died from the suspense).

Fast forward to the end of January, and I was finally getting everything back in order. No longer cursing my employment, I was able to balance my personal and professional lives. It helped immensely that Carrie was also into the rock; otherwise, I would be posting this from the street (they have wi-fi in cold, dark alleyways, I'm sure).

Of course, another major distraction was in order. I shouldn't have to tell those of you who still read this thing, but Burnout Paradise is an evil, evil thing. If Rock Band is Pringles, then Burnout Paradise must be Lay's. Mark Messier hasn't slept in two months since buying this game. It's retardedly addictive; I've got a problem and I fully admit it, so kindly leave me the fuck alone when I'm wearing the Bluetooth yelling at some kid to stop crashing into me when my car is stopped and I'm trying to eat these Goddamn potato chips.

In all seriousness... I really have been playing video games the whole time. I vaguely recall visiting the kids, showing up for work and cuddling with my girl at various points, but what stokes me the most about 2008 is scoring 100% on "Epic" and landing a 6x barrel roll.

So, here's the sitch; we've got about a month before GTA IV comes out. I've already pre-ordered the special edition with lock box and duffel bag (why are these things necessary? They're not. They're special), and when you're saying hello to April 29 you can say goodbye to me 'til the fall. In the meantime, I might just update this thing. Maybe. It's possible. I think.

Probably not.

Top 20 Albums of 2007, Pt. IV (5-1)


5. Down: Over the Under

If you ask any old-school metalhead (by which I mean a metalhead in his/her late twenties to early thirties) what their all-time favourite band is, a lot of them will likely throw up the horns and yell "Panteraaaaaaa!!!!!!". The funny thing is, the majority of them hate the band's singer, Phil Anselmo. It's because of the interview he gave mere weeks before guitarist "Dimebag" Darrell Abbott was shot and killed on stage with his post-Pantera band, Damageplan. In the interview, Anselmo made hateful comments toward Abbott which some believe caused the mentally unstable Pantera fan to kill the guitarist (before firing, he allegedly screamed, "You broke up Pantera!"). This is the kind of fanaticism that Pantera generated.

Now, years removed from the tragic death of Dimebag, Anselmo returns with Down, the side project turned full time band for Anselmo and Rex (of Pantera) with Pepper Keenan (of Corrosion of Conformity). Over the Under is soaked with sorrow, not only for Anselmo's fallen comrade, but also for the fallen city of New Orleans, a town close to Anselmo's heart. The album plays out like a slow building headache in its tones and lyrics. From the emotions over Abbott (which range from mourning to contempt to isolation, often within the same song) to the skin of the teeth struggle to bounce back from Hurricane Katrina, Over the Under is Anselmo's holy bible of overcoming adversity. The ending is simultaneously exhilarating and unnerving; the closing moments of "Walk Away (Nothing in Return)" consist of the band striking up a soaring crescendo as Anselmo repeats, "And when we walk away / There'll be no coming home". Whether he's intended the passage as a tribute to Abbott or New Orleans, one can't help but be afraid of another meaning; if this is the last album we hear from this band, it will be a travesty. Because it's better as a whole package than any album a member of the band has made in the last ten years.


4. The White Stripes: Icky Thump

For all the non-musical publicity the White Stripes received this year (drummer Meg had to deal with the fake sex tape and her acute anxiety disorder, forcing the cancellation of their world tour and possibly all future touring plans), not a lot was said about Icky Thump. Sure, it was a big hit and all, but no one really talked about it much. Which is a shame, because it's head and shoulders above all of their previous albums (including White Blood Cells, the album that turned me into a rabid fan). When you consider the mixed results in their past experiments (2005's Get Behind Me Satan, with all its pianos and odd percussion pretty much fell flat on its face), Icky Thump is quite a marvelous accomplishment, as it allows Jack to rock the fuck out and play with new sounds successfully. The title track is probably the best song of 2007, with Jack's heavy Zeppelin riffage combined with Meg's bludgeoned, screaming drums. Throw in some whacked out keyboards for flavour, and you've got a departure that feels like home. The same can be said for "Prickly Thorn, but Sweetly Worn", a scottish-themed singalong complete with bagpipes. It's like we expected something this strange (yet awesome) from the White Stripes. This is probably why no one bats an eyelash when the mariachi horns show up on "Conquest", a thoroughly metallic take on the old Corky Robbins song. And, when Jack does a full on rock battle with the horns, you can't help but smile, shake your head, and marvel. We've always known that the White Stripes were really good at making a big noise for just two people. On Icky Thump, the noise has never been so pleasant.

3. The Arcade Fire: Neon Bible

One of the most difficult positions for a young band to be in is to have to follow up success. There are so many different paths to take after a successful first album, and many of them are dead ends. So, what to do if you're the Arcade Fire, and that first album was the critically praised, cathartic listening experience that was Funeral? After all, that was a conceptually morose album centered around the numerous loved ones who died while they were recording it. Would they build on those themes? Would they completely sell out? Would they go in a different direction entirely? It was anyone's guess, but Win Butler fully embraced the challenge of following up Funeral. On Neon Bible, it's as though he carried the team on his shoulders and charged through to the end zone. Thematically, Butler takes a stand on Neon Bible, planting his feet against the sonic avalanche of his bandmates and yelling above the din about religion, politics, celebrity and anything else on his mind. That he does it all with such a manic fervor and delivers such a potent lyrical tirade on the band's second album is downright astonishing. This is not your typical sophomore release, to be sure. Faced with the pressure that comes with putting a city on the map (and, in the Arcade Fire's case, you could argue they've done it for the whole country) and the millions of eyes looking in your direction, the Arcade Fire have stubbornly defied any outside influence; the music is a steady progression from Funeral, while the lyrics are not so much a response to the success of Funeral as it is a state of the world address. If you'll forgive another sporting analogy, it's like baseball. The Arcade Fire were 1 for 1, and could have easily settled for a walk. But, on Neon Bible, they swung for the fences and left everybody (including Barry Bonds) with their jaws dropped. While touring Funeral, the Arcade Fire opened a few shows for U2, and the group clearly took something from that experience. With its abundant melodies, heavy subject matter and solid songwriting, Neon Bible is the Arcade Fire's Joshua Tree.


2. Wintersleep: Welcome to the Night Sky

When I get excited about something, I tend to overdo it. I have written a five star review for Nine Inch Nails' live album. I have tried hard to memorize every line of Pulp Fiction. I once claimed to see the face of Jesus in a cheeseburger. And, when Welcome to the Night Sky was released, I said it could be the best album of the last five years. Again, overdone a little. But, after spending a few months with it, I'm convinced that Wintersleep really have turned out the best album ever recorded by a Maritime band (sorry, gNosh; there's always next season).
Welcome to the Night Sky is a very dark record, to be sure. So, if you're more into bunnies and sunshine than poignant self-examination and questions of humanity, this album probably isn't for you. Not to say that it's all doom and gloom... but it pretty much is. If the album has a theme, it's "I'm going insane and the world's about to end, what's not to be depressed about?". What makes Welcome to the Night Sky so great isn't its subject matter, though. It's the mammoth leap forward in songwriting and musicianship from their last album just two years ago. There wasn't much of anything wrong with the sparse arrangements and emotive vocals of the first two records, but this time they're rocking harder, playing more intricately, and using a wider range of singing. It's ironic; for an album so bleak lyrically, Wintersleep has never been so alive musically. Whether or not it's intentionally designed to distract you from the lyrics (I reiterate, they're quite melancholy) is beside the point. The fact remains that Welcome to the Night Sky has propelled Wintersleep from "that little band from Halifax" to "the best band in Canada" (sorry, Arcade Fire; there's always next season).



And the winner is....


















1. Clutch: From Beale Street to Oblivion

With every passing album, I'm more and more in disbelief that so few people love this band. For fifteen years, they've been underdogs; they've been dropped from a label at least three times, have yet to have a "hit" in the purest sense, and seem destined to a life of smoky clubs. Which is completely fine, because smoky clubs are what From Beale St. to Oblivion was made for. Over the years, Clutch has messed around with different styles, from hardcore to stoner rock to nu-metal to doom metal... you get the picture. Only recently, there's been more blues popping into their records. It was hanging around on the fringe since Pure Rock Fury, but when 2005's Robot Hive/Exodus ended with the one-two blues punch of "Gravel Road" and "Who's Been Talking", it all started to make sense. Clutch have been leading up to From Beale St. to Oblivion for fifteen years. Or so it seems; from one end to the other, the album plays like a career defining moment. From the raucous salvo "Can't Stop the Progress" to the stoner boogie/government damning statement of closer "Shiny Mr. Cadillackness", it's like listening to a lifetime of rock in one sitting. Yet, through it all, the blues is there, fading in and out like a good high. Whenever the proceedings stray too far, a thick southern guitar lick brings it all back. And, when they see fit to let the blues take over, it's pure magic. "Electric Worry" is the song no Clutch fan saw coming in 1992; it's straight-up blues boogie goodness, right down to the harmonica. It's the first time Clutch have fully thrown themselves at the mercy of the genre, and the results are stunning. It's the kind of song that makes you forget everything else the band has ever done and convinces you they've been a blues group all along. At its end, the song seamlessly glides into "One Eye $" (a song originally recorded in 2000 for Jam Room), and brings with it the realization that the song was more than just a one-off jam; it was foreshadowing of their finest moment.

**********

And that's it. Hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it (so as to say, initial excitement followed by growing indifference before giving way to sudden realization of time constraints and hurried finish). See you next year!