The spirit of former Dave Matthews Band saxophonist LeRoi Moore, who died during recording from complications from an ATV accident, infuses every bit of Big Whiskey and the Groogrux King. His licks open and end the album, and Matthews sings quite clearly about his missing friend on several tracks, most notably “Why I Am” — but rather than feeling morose, Groogrux King instead seems to be a celebration, a fitting tribute to a musician whose sax had helped define so much of the band’s sound. First-time DMB producer Rob Cavallo brings a welcome warmer, more lush tone to this record.
Grade: B
(Sometimes — not always, but sometimes — these 100-word constraints are problematic.)
Metric provide catchy, edgy New Wave which blindsided me, burrowed its way into my brain, pitched a tent, rolled out its sleeping bag and now refuses to leave. Emily Haines’ voice, which vacillates between sweet and throaty, isn’t overpowering or bombastic, but it doesn’t need to be: its softness works well with the band’s solid pop hooks and James Shaw’s fuzzy guitar licks. Some of the lyrics take a serious turn toward the vapid, but I’m willing to forgive that affront when the melodies are this strong, such as on “Sick Muse,” “Girls Gold Guns,” “Gimme Sympathy” and “Satellite Mind.”
Supergroups aren’t so much in vogue anymore, but Tinted Windows — Fountains of Wayne’s Adam Schlesinger (bass), Smashing Pumpkins’ James Iha (guitar), Hanson’s Taylor Hanson (vocals — yes, really, that Taylor Hanson) and Cheap Trick’s Bun E. Carlos (drums) — might just re-spark the trend with how good their debut is. Schlesinger’s insanely catchy songwriting is all over this thing and Hanson’s vocals fit the upbeat, muscular pop perfectly. Unsurprisingly, Tinted Windows sounds like Fountains of Wayne with a big extra helping of testosterone. ”Messing With My Head” and “Can’t Get A Read On You” stand out among the album’s eleven addictive tracks.
If Little Earthquakes was a towering first-inning leadoff home run, Tori Amos‘ last few albums have all been solid stand-up doubles. The Beekeeper was a Pete Rose-style sliding-headfirst triple. Abormally Addicted to Sin, though, is a weak hit into the shallow outfield followed by an errant throw to first, so that the runner manages to reach second anyway. (Okay, that metaphor is now officially abused.) It’s certainly not bad, but it’s far from her best work: I’ve listened to it four times and still haven’t found a single song which grabs me enough even to note its name.
21st Century Breakdown is no American Idiot…but that’s really praising with a faint damn, as Idiot is my favorite album of this century so far, and Breakdown is certainly a worthy follow-up. Breakdown may not be as musically cohesive as Idiot, but that’s on purpose: more songs here venture into new territory and incorporate different styles and genres (though always maintaining vintage Green Day punk-pop sensibilities). Billie Joe Armstrong’s gift for catchy pop melodies — still among the strongest in the business — shines throughout these 18 songs, most notably on the title song, “Know Your Enemy”, “Peacemaker” and “21 Guns.”
Grade: A
(Apparently I should note the fact the illustration above was indeed by me — seems that wasn’t obvious at first, which I totally take as a compliment!)
It has been known to happen that I fall in completely love based entirely on a voice. Not often, but it does happen. When I saw a performance of Les Miserables in Orlando way way way back in ‘92, f’r instance, I completely fell for the girl playing Eponine… even though I was so far back in the auditorium that I have no idea whatsoever what she looked like. Her voice was powerful enough and gorgoeus enough that it truly didn’t matter — the voice was enough to hook me. And one of the events which cemented my falling for my wife was watching her play guitar and sing. (I’m sure my girlfriend at the time wasn’t quite as enthusiastic about my enthusiasm for Terry’s voice, though.)
Anyway, turns out it happened again yesterday.
This is Allison Crowe, a singer-songwriter from Canada I’d never heard of before twenty-four hours ago:
Up until yesterday afternoon, Jeff Buckley’s version of “Hallelujah” was the definitive one for me, the one to which I had the strongest emotional attachment. I don’t think that’s true anymore. Crowe’s version — which has something of an automatic leg up on Buckley’s because of my Thing For Women Playing Piano — immediately moved me in a way that even Buckley’s doesn’t, and that’s not an unimpressive feat. And not only do I love listening to Crowe’s passionate, beautiful voice, but I enjoy watching her sing: I like the movements of her face as she sings, her smile, her eyes, the fact that she looks so much like she’s into what she’s doing. That combination of talent and passion is awfully damn sexy.
While cruising around YouTube looking for something else entirely, I stumbled across this video from Dominic Frasca, a guitarist from New York. I almost hesitate to call him a “guitarist,” for while the term is certainly accurate, it doesn’t seem to convey the skill on display here. Frasca apparently plays a custom 10-string guitar which also features extra tools allowing him to play a variety of percussive bits, too — his playing makes him sound like a multi-instrumentalist, but with only one instrument.
I’m now on the waiting list for his newest CD at CDBaby. Impressive stuff — I can’t wait to hear the whole album.
We now break with this nice stream of blogging silence we’ve actively cultivated for the following emergency message:
Next Monday, July 15, new royalty rates go into effect for Internet radio stations which will effectively kill the entire ‘net radio market. These new rates are upwards of ten times higher than any other type of radio broadcaster must pay (and are retroactive to January of ‘06), and most ‘net radio stations would end up having to pay amounts far, far greater than their profits would allow. The new rates say that stations have to pay 33 cents per hour per listener, so a station with only 5000 listeners would have to pay royalty fees of almost $1.2 million per month to continue broadcasting. And that’s a fairly small station. The RIAA got this legislation passed so they could kill ‘net radio and make more money for themselves via record sales and larger broadcasters; it looks like their strategy is going to work if something isn’t done.
(EDIT: I got my math wrong, or rather, my figures: it’s not 33 cents per hour, it’s .33 cents per hour. Still, that figure represents far more than the profits most stations make. A station with only 5000 listeners having to pay $12K month in royalty fees is still excessive. But man, doesn’t $1.2 million for 5000 listeners sound more terrible and impressive?)
If you ever listen to any ‘net radio — whether that’s Radio Paradise or Pandora or AOL Radio or anything in between — please visit SaveNetRadio.org to see what you can do. Really, at this point “what you can do” means “call your Congressional representative(s) and tell ‘em to support the Internet Radio Equality Act.”
Light up those phones, people! Save Internet radio! Give those asshats at the RIAA what-for!
For most of this week, I’ve been afraid my iPod had died. Afraid and terribly depressed — the thought of an iPod-free life was quite funk-making.
Everything was working fine up until a Tuesday or so, when I noticed that the battery was dead dead dead, which struck me as very strange as I’d just charged it the night before. But dead dead dead it was, and I spent the next two days trying to charge it with no success. After several attempts at charging it across two different computers, I bought a new charger/sync cable last night which charged the thing right up. (The old cable apparently still works just fine for syncing, but won’t pull in enough power to charge the battery anymore. Strange.)
Anyway, my iPod was so happy to have a fully-charged battery again, it blessed me with a blood-pumping collection of favorites on the drive into work this morning. It would seem charging it up has also made its built-in moodometer function properly once again, as said blood-pumping songs meshed beautifully with the gorgeous, gorgeous spring morning we’re having here in N.C. Here, have a look:
“Rabbit Run” – Eminem. I have an entire post brewing on this very song. I kid you not.
“All These Things I’ve Done” – The Killers. I have not much to say about this song other than I loves it. It’s one of those songs that goes straight from my headphones to my spinal cord.
“Behind the Wall of Sleep” – The Smithereens.She was tall and cool and pretty and she dressed as black as coal. No wonder I love this song, as I think that lyric described most every woman I crushed on in my early-to-mid 20s.
“The Waitress Song” – Blue Sky Salesmen. Very, very few of you reading this will have ever heard this song, and those that have will understand and know why it brightened my mood this morning.
“Holiday” – Green Day. This song brought on a most impressive fit of air guitar-n-drums from me this morning. My hands still hurt from enthusiastically pounding the steering wheel in time with Tre Cool.
I still like action figures. I admit it. Yes, dammit, I’m a 36-year-old man who still digs action figures. My favorite present I got for Christmas last year was the two-pack of Superman and Batman figures based on the artwork of Ed McGuinness — of all the Superman figures I’ve ever owned, and that’s a decently high number, this one’s by far the coolest.
Also, and I think this fact has now been established beyond all doubt, I used to be into hair metal in the 80s and early 90s. But you know what? Everybody was into it back then. I feel no shame.
OK, well, only a little.
But even with my love for metal-lite and for small posable toys… I’m still somewhat disturbed by the concept of these Bon Jovi action figures.
Yes, you read that right. Bon. Jovi. Action. Figures.
There’s three scenarios I can envision that might have led to these action figures being produced, and none of the three of them will really help me sleep any better tonight. One: the people at McFarlane Toys did some market research and decided there was enough of a market for Jon Bon Jovi and Richie Sambora dolls that it made financial sense to move forward with the project. Two: Todd McFarlane himself is enough of a Bon Jovi fan that he decided this was a project he wanted his company to put into action regardless of the potential profit involved. Three: Bon Jovi and Sambora really, really wanted to see themselves as action figures and paid McFarlane Toys to make it so.
However they came to be… I’m sorry, but these things are too lame even for me, and I’m usually not scared off by lame. Hell, I’ve been known to snuggle up in front of the fire on a cold night with a steaming hot mug of lame while wrapped in a warm blanket of goofy.
But this is where I draw the line of lame.
(You know, I’ve never really seriously considered getting a tattoo. Were I going to, the only symbol that’s ever meant enough to me to even consider getting emblazoned on my body forevermore is Superman’s S-shield. Well, I can’t do that, and you know why? Because Jon Bon Jovi has that same symbol on his right deltoid. Talk about lame — why would I possibly want to be ink brothers with this man, this handsome, internationally famous, multi-gazillionaire likely future Rock and Roll Hall of Famer who’s gotten to simulate sex with Cindy Crawford? I’m sure I could find better role models than that.)
My questions about the toys’ origins aside, my other big question is this: who’s actually going to buy these things? I mean, of course, besides people named Bon Jovi or Sambora. There can’t be that many people still that rabidly passionate about these guys, right? I mean, of course, outside of New Jersey…?
And then I remembered that yes, there are still quite a number of Bon Jovi-philes out there, as is made obvious in this documentary video (now several years old, but still pertinent, I feel):
There’s three scenarios I can envision that might have led to these action figures being produced, and none of the three of them will really help me sleep any better tonight. One: the people at McFarlane Toys did some market research and decided there was enough of a market for Jon Bon Jovi and Richie Sambora dolls that it made financial sense to move forward with the project. Two: Todd McFarlane himself is enough of a Bon Jovi fan that he decided this was a project he wanted his company to put into action regardless of the potential profit involved. Three: Bon Jovi and Sambora really, really wanted to see themselves as action figures and paid McFarlane Toys to make it so.
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