Axl Rose spent a fortune in litigation fees suing a guy who leaked these songs on the web. Ironic, right? If the Cornrowed One had released this thing on schedule, he could have sidestepped online piracy altogether. You can't have an "Internet leak" without the Internet.
Because teens still shop at Hot Topic, skinny jeans are recession-proof and Pete Wentz is still the object of many tabloids, Fall Out Boy continues to release products under the this-ship-hasn't-sailed "emo" label. Is this an accurate description of the band's sound? Please. "Folie A Deux" reeks drama, from its meaty, disco-nicking first single "I Don't Care," to the ohh-ohh crammed "She's My Winona," right down to the pretentious song titles - file the song "Disloyal Order of Water Buffaloes" under 10 Phrases More Preposterous Than "Folie A Deux." Thankfully, as evidenced by lyrics like "Nobody wants to hear you sing about tragedy," the boys are in on their own joke and pretty much insulated from backlash. Let those of us without tight pants cast the first stone.
In a small village in El Salvador, one man has not left in 10 or 12 years. So much time has passed that he can't remember the last time he left. The nearest stream, which is barely a trickle, is a 10 minute hike over hills and poor health conditions prevent many people in the town of El Limon from leaving.
How about some role play with your rap music? A technique long ago mastered by those cheeky Wu-Tang lads, the tempting habit of cramming one's album with scripted banter and wink-wink inside jokes occasionally sidetracks the Brothers Lindsey. Yet when Al and Krispy focus on the actual songs, the young duo confirm themselves as genre-bending hip-hop impresarios. "Bang! Bang!" would make a devastating TV on the Radio cut as it begins a Matrix-worthy techno rocker before exploding into electric, rhyme-heavy verses. Likewise, side one of "Remind Me" is an exercise in style-mashing precision, but when the half-assed skits creep in during the second half hour, one gets the sense that The Knux could be truly great if they could only consistently answer the classic actor question: What's my motivation?
Bryan Poole, guitarist and singer for the indie-pop band Of Montreal, said the band recorded its latest album with the help of Georgie Fruit, a "64-year-old black she-male who's been in and out of prison a couple times."
Temptations disciple Raphael Saadiq just beat out 007 and ice cubes in a cool contest. His throwback style has more soul than a shoe factory. Soda fountains think this guy has retro down pat. You get the point - the man is fly, and on "The Way I See It," he channels a radiant, doo-wop-era rhythm and blues that tips a suede top hat to Berry Gordy and Phil Spector. "Keep Marchin'" reconnects with the effortless groove of early Motown classics, exuding a lighthearted confidence laced in tambourine percussion and backing falsetto. "Just One Kiss" pops with orchestral flourishes and female harmonies, but neither element matches the zeal of the show-stopping lead vocal. How does one account for Saadiq's silky delivery? Like satin pajamas and other sides of pillows, some things are naturally smooth.
For one Gainesville band, a day in the life involves a walk down Penny Lane, past the strawberry fields, across the universe and back in the U.S.S.R.
The cover art of Valencia's "We All Need A Reason to Believe" features five guys striking contemplative poses in the middle of the desert, no doubt asking themselves, "How can we make our predictable emo shtick appeal to people with ears?" Unfortunately, this fleeting practical thought escaped into the cool evening air, and our skinny-jeaned friends promptly built a ceremonial bonfire to summon the spirit of Pete Wentz. Perhaps taking mushrooms with Vince and Ari would have been a more constructive wasteland endeavor because "Free," "Holiday," "Safe to Say," etc. prove that there are three certainties in life: death, taxes and the shameless pairing of soft, gut-wrenching bridges with loud, bombastic choruses. The sun can't set on this band fast enough.
From the first endearingly fragile a cappella notes of classic "The State I Am In," a bashful Stuart Murdoch symbolically declines an invitation from England's prying radio ears: No thanks, we're staying in today. You see, back in the mid-90's, Belle & Sebastian was the would-be prom queen still too shy and self-aware to realize her own beauty. "The BBC Sessions" dusts off a snapshot of the sleepy collective in their formative years, before Isobel Campbell fell for the bad boy, and when the singer nervously laughed at himself just in case you thought he was a joke. These tracks are unnervingly intimate, even for this band, and that's why this rare look-in is so special - because B&S, a bedroom act if there ever was one, was never meant for the light of day.
Q magazine calls this album "essential," which suggests that Snow Patrol has pictures on the editors of said magazine. The two defining elements about this hook-challenged, wuss-rock are its neutrality - this is the Switzerland of pop music - and "If There's a Rocket Tie Me to It." Great title. "Take Back the City" and "Please Just Take These Photos from My Hands," which have ho-hum titles, are actually peppy, catchy little numbers. "Peppy" and "catchy" cannot otherwise be associated with this record. For those who noticed the inconsistency of this review - a neat line or two scattered amongst sketchy, bland ones - now you know what it's like to listen to "A Hundred Million Suns."
You say you want a revolution, and you got one, Tom Gabel. Now what? If the measure of a good protest album is that it still sounds important when there's not as much to protest, then "Heart Burns" passes with flying red, white and blue colors. Detached from its weighty political agenda, the fearless screamer's solo EP would still rouse a sweaty, brothers-in-arms battle cry, due in no small part to impressive sonic diversity. Opener "Random Hearts" works as a new-wave dance track while the folky "Anna Is A Stool Pigeon" - best line: "Eric fell in love with an FBI informant" - peels back layers of calloused tattoos to reveal a soft side. In these lighter moments, Gabel's message becomes clear: When you talk about destruction, don't you know that you can count me out.
Fast women. Fast cars. Fast-forward - all of it. Hinder looks like they're posing for the next episode of "MTV Cribs" on the cover of "Take It to the Limit," and their look-at-my-bling posing proves to be, by a long mile, the most tasteful element of this Mötley Crüe tribute package. "Use Me" kicks off the testosterone-fueled showboating with a dazzling display of cocksure guitar rawk sure to boil the blood of any aspiring Ultimate Fighting champion. The Bon Jovi-ripping follow-up "Loaded and Alone" will stoke your hair-metal hunger pangs by prompting a crazed YouTube search for "Livin' on a Prayer." Let's be frank: Hinder is compensating for something. You know what they say about bands with big vocals and bigger guitars: small ideas.
Ever wondered what would happen if the Girl from Ipanema bumped into one of the Strokes in a tiki bar in Waikiki? Meet "Little Joy." A happenstance collaboration between Fabrizio Moretti and Rodrigo Amarante, the debut album from the prince of New York and his new Brazilian bud taps into a wistful, pre-rock 'n' roll era sound brimming with bossa-nova charm and Rat Pack cool. Chock full of ukulele, staccato guitar and love-styled horns, these woozily delicate lounge-pop songs, especially standouts "Keep Me in Mind" and "Brand New Start," carve out a singular niche: irony-free indie for hipsters who dig hula and Frank Sinatra. This might well be a come-and-go one-off, so here's hoping LJ's "aloha" means hello, not goodbye.
When Von Iva takes the stage, it doesn't just play - it bursts your eardrums, tears the roof off, electrifies the floor and brings the walls down.
Album review: The Cure - "4:13 Dream"
Imagine a world where music is free: Where struggling bands can survive without charging fans for their albums. It's not a socialist society, and it's not a utopia. It's already happening.
Album review: Eagles of Death Metal - "Heart On"
The CD spine says Lady GaGa, but music for "The Fame" was actually co-written by Bilal Hajji, Josh Schwartz and a handful of other less attractive, more talented songwriters who churn out star-making cuts for the likes of Britney Spears and Nick Carter. You won't see the funnily-named song writer Brian Kierulf on "The Hills," but GaGa, a Factory Girl in training, hit up an Audrina party on said program thanks in large part to catchy, beat-heavy club cuts like "Paparazzi" and "Money Honey." Don't equate GaGa with fluff. She flourishes lyrically - "Let's have some fun, this beat is sick." And she pulls her weight in marketing: Rob Fusari can't rock jet-black spandex, and Martin Kierszenbaum doesn't sell records.
Alert the accent authorities. Joining a long list of faux pond-hoppers - Madonna, Johnny Ramone - On "Not Only … But Also," The 88 take their sunny, So-Cal pop tunes and cake them with a heavy layer of English inflection. You can't blame these lads for wanting to sound like the Beatles, but fact is, their talents lie elsewhere. For instance, Keith Slettedahl manages some Blind Melon-esque notes on uptempo ballad "Sons and Daughters." "Save Your Breath" fits the heart-on-sleeve, crooner mold, though impressively displays powers of ESP with the line "I don't want this anymore." Mind reader! Still, bogus Brit-pop influences undercut melodies like, "I'm gonna run through the door/ talk to the floor/ it must be true." A word of advice: Lock the door. The British are coming, sort of.
Lots of chatter coming out of Montreal these days. With Arcade Fire on hiatus and Of Montreal not actually of Montreal, Land of Talk now generate the most noise in this ice-cold indie hotbed with dense, groove-oriented music evocative of Neil Young in all his "Ragged Glory." On "Some Are Lakes," atop layers of distortion and heavy-handed drumming, Elizabeth Powell offers up cryptic poetry about the perils of darkness in a gentle, inflection-free tone. Perhaps her singing lacks emotional resonance, or maybe the pounding rhythms simply drown her out. In this case, it lacks volume, though she does speak up on "Young Bridge." Chiming guitars and harmony galore give way to the line "There's no light underneath you," another mystery phrase that deserves a follow-up question: Is Land of Talk in fact saying anything?
Solutions by The State News
