Blackline

I have come, gentle readers, across a new band that warrants some attention. Blackline, as they’re known, have left a sizable impression upon my overly jaded ears. I typically troll the back channels for new music, looking for hours through myspace or lastfm to find something new to submerse myself deeply into, and when I came across these dudes, I was impressed. Once again, though not nearly as often as one might like, I’ve found a band that embraces the straight-forward, no bullshit allowed rock and roll tradition that we grew up with. No synthesized Nine Inch Nail-type shit to pollute the speakers with industrial crap equals a happy Waylon, and when I’m digging on their tunes, I am a happy Waylon.

For the most part, the self-titled debut disc is a mix of darkly influenced tracks that the deep-voiced, though admittedly several octaves higher than Peter Steele, Steven Slate commands with authority. There isn’t a lot of amazing fret-work on the disc, but the inspiringly ‘meat and potatoes’ style of riffing is endearing in context with the band. It’s almost reminiscent of the early-nineties rock that fit only loosely into any category that, then, existed — at times bordering on grunge, and at others, quietly fraying around the edges of alternative and always knocking on the door of the metal world.

Armageddon Soul is typically seen as their trademark song thus far, but the upbeat tempo and rockingly smooth chorus of the track in question pales, in this fan’s eyes, to the subsequent, Repent. I can’t say what it is about the song that’s so alluring. The main riff is characteristically simple in the way of rhythmic, muted power chords, but it tends to pull me in from the opening bars, oddly enough. The lyrics and style that they implore quickly bring in an ominous tone with them, and by the time we reach the chorus, it becomes an offbeat and catchy example of what this band can bring to the table.

Wherever is another tune that comes to mind when recommending the band to a friend. It’s a soulful ode to a lost love that bleeds with emotion, and whose acoustic performance bends beautifully to the vocals. Powerful is the word that I would use to describe it; somewhere between weeping and emotionally discontent is where I’m left after listening to it.

Overall, the disc is littered with songs that you can bang your head to one moment, and then kick back with a tear-drenched beer the next. I would recommend this band to anyone, regardless of musical tendencies because you can rarely go wrong with guys like these who only bring to the table what they know. The odds are that if you have ears, then you’re going to find some jewel in this cd to keep you perving over for the next few months. My winamp player has been working overtime with these guys lately, and I can’t say that I’ve disappointed a friend that I’ve recommended them to yet.

Go check them out. And then thank me by sending me some beer.

www.myspace.com/blackline

Another Black Blog

So, since my last post about Floridian band Another Black Day, this aspiring writer/dubious blogger has been lucky enough to receive a copy of the demo cd that is to comprise the breadth of the band’s major label debut. The last time I thrust my thoughts about the band into the annals of cyberspace, I did so without the facts. The facts are these: the band is signed to Bieler Brothers Records, along such bands as Nonpoint, Skindred and Karnivool, and is set to release their debut on May 20th of this year. The band, however, at the behest of drummer Angel Hernandez, was kind enough to send me out the aforementioned demo cd from the days when they were still operating under the alias of From the Ashes. And with that, I’ve gotten the opportunity to get a more in-depth look at the band, as opposed to the four song snippet that I had before. I’m happy to report that I wasn’t let down in the least, and my appreciation for the band is twofold from where it was.

The demo begins with the song Take Back, and it’s the perfect song to kick things off on any disc, brandishing an old-school Metallica feel of an intro-solo that is kicked off with the type of double-bass-pedal-driven drumming to rival a young Lars Ulrich, or even the timeless Vinnie Paul style from the best of the Pantera days. The song is angry enough in its berating of the song’s antagonist (whom we can only assumed ended up with their ass kicked) during its heavier moments, but the bridges are what really make this song powerful. It’s these moments in which Wilkof gets to show off his vocals a bit. These breakdowns are what I think sets the band apart from other metal acts, and I think it’s worth delving into with a little bit more experimentation. Wilkof has that type of voice that’s somewhere between Chris Cornell and David Draiman — the songs that highlight that really stand out.

The song Of Angels and Devils is a song that does that phenomenally well in this category. It starts off hard, breaks down into a layered texture that perfectly suits its singer, but then goes off pace in a few areas. The bridge between verse and chorus of “God, I hate myself,” though, makes the flow of the song almost contradictory in and of itself. It’s not the lyrics, but as we ride this train of progression through a song that takes you on a beautifully melodic (and sometimes Egyptian-inspired picking) trek into chaos, this sharp turn of the tracks almost makes the train derail. But then again, that’s just one person’s opinion, and the song still works really well — it’s one of my favorite tracks, still — and I’d recommend it as one that highlights the band’s potential.

Stand Up, Anymore, and Crickets (one of the songs when you get the rare Cornell range of vocals spaced sporadically throughout) are other standout songs on the record that most any metalhead would enjoy. Actually, there isn’t a song on the disc that I haven’t listened to about a dozen times in the week or so that I’ve had it and not enjoyed. The drumming is extremely tight, the vocals are well-suited for any occasion, and the rest of the band pushes to one extreme or the next, and makes you either want to cry like a baby pulled from tit or to break something like you were a pro wrestler. It’s a twelve-song experience that constantly changes gears, but never stops to let off the gas while doing so. It’s a fun ride, and very polished off already for a demo, so I can’t wait to see what tricks the guys have up their sleeves when they come out of a professionally produced session.

The only negative feelings I have at all are that the moments in which it seems like the band is still searching for its sound. Every now and then (typically at the beginning of some of the songs, or during the interluding material), you get the feeling that you could be listening to any number of bands, and that’s a concern for me. But at the same time, when those moments pass, the band, as a whole ensemble, has a unique sound of their own.

All in all, I still have no doubt that, much like Ron Burgandy, these guys are going to be kind of a big deal, and people are going to know who they are.

So mark May 20th on your calendar, and watch the websites for tour dates. The guys came within a few hours of me, but I missed them due to that pesky currency problem that we all seem to be experiencing! Maybe you’ll have better luck than I.

Hellyeah!

When Hellyeah! is mentioned, some inevitably say supergroup.

But I think that term is passed around like a two dollar hooker outside a bank that distributes two dollar bills. Any time that any member of a previously (quasi, even) successful band joins another, it’s immediately dubbed a supergroup by some member of the press that has no concept of the word. If Hendrix spontaneously burst out of the grave, returned from the dead, along with Dimebag Darrell, Layne Staley, Cliff Burton, and John Bonham — that would be a supergroup. Otherwise, let’s either call it a side project, or a collaboration.

That said, when you’ve got Vinnie Paul Abbott and Chad Gray in a band together, it’s verging on super territory, isn’t it? Vinnie’s restless drumming vengefully pushes songs into new directions while Gray’s blend of beautiful harmonizing and agonizing screaming brings it all home. These guys, it seems, were destined to work together.

We all waited patiently while Vinnie Paul took his time off after the death of Dime, hoping that he would eventually choose to return to music. It would never be the same without his brother, obviously, but it could still work. And it does. Nearly four years after Dime’s death, he burst onto the scene with Chad and both of Nothingface’s guitarists, ready to kick the hell out of something, and to inevitably melt faces with their power of their rock.

There are songs on the record that seem too Mudvayne, if that makes any sense. The songs that just seem to leave you in a state of confusion because they blew by so quickly and never paused for a breath or soft note. Those aren’t what makes this band great. The ones that are, however, are summed righteously up by the self titled song HELL YEAH. Probably more than anything, it’s the attitude of that song that brings out the inner badass of anyone who partakes in its wisdom. Gray does his best Popeye impression when he sings:

Fuck the norm, I can’t understand
Live my life, by the rules of no one
I am me, that can’t be wrong
I do what I do, when I do, that’s how I like it
Conformity, amputate my soul
Made of stone, smashed the mold
Indifferent, so fuck you all that
Whine, bitch, nag, complain, cry

It’s not Plato, but it’s the kind of philosophy that we might do well to have more of today.

The other thing that comes as a bit of surprise on the disc is that Vinnie’s Southern roots make a dramatic impact on songs like YOU WOULDN’T KNOW and ALCOHUALIN’ ASS. It was cynical of me, I know, to think that Vinnie’s true colors wouldn’t shine through, but I didn’t think I’d see Gray wearing a cowboy hat and singing about moonshine. It’s an odd thought, but it works.

All in all, it’s a disc in which you have to take the good with the bad. Not that there’s a lot of bad songs, but like I mentioned earlier, there are a few of the more bland songs as you get further into the experience. It’s a great listen, though, that makes you want to find the nearest pit and whip some little punk’s ass when he thinks he’s bad.

I’ll blindly follow Vinnie Paul into any endeavor that he deems worthwhile. And he hasn’t let me down yet.

The Deep End

Drowning Pool is a band that I’ve follwed for several years now. I saw them playing in a small tent at the Summer Sanitarium Tour back in 2000, and with their energy and stage presence, it was hard not to be entranced by what we were hearing. Then singer and leader of men, Dave Williams, had my hung over friends and I rocking our asses off at 10:00 in the morning. Later, I would come back to see them a few times in Dallas, for the release party of their indie cd Pieces of Nothing, which would form the breadth of their commercial debut Sinner, among others.

It was really cool when they started to take off and their music showed up all over the place because I had the smallest of connections with those guys, having been digging on their tunes for the past few years. It was a truly sad day when I heard of the tragic death of the aforementioned Williams, because of the few times that I met him, I could tell that he was a geniuinely nice guy that appreciated his fans to the umpteenth degree. I am, however, glad that the band pressed forward after said tragedy because they’ve put out some music that I can really get into since.

Their latest offering, Full Circle is one that I’ve had some time to sink my teeth into after I had awaited its arrival with some anticipation. For one thing, I heard that it featured the former Soil frontman, Ryan McCombs, whom I’ve really admired since his work on the album Scars.

The only somewhat shaky question for me, going in, was that, despite my admiration of Ryan, this is the band’s third singer in as many albums. That’s a troublesome statistic for any band. I feared that it would change the band’s tone completely, just as it did when former vocalist Jason Jones joined the band with Desensitized — not that the change was for the worst then, but still… as a fan, it’s a bit worrisome when the creative direction of the band is altered completely. My worries of a new direction were well founded as it turns out. This album is almost a complete 180 from their previous. That fact, however, isn’t an entirely bad thing.

With the last album, it was more Nu-Metal, short bursted songs with a growling singer. It was catchy and I could get into it, but it lacked that layered, somehow meaningful sound that catapaulted it above the Nu-Metal tag. That problem seems to have been rectified with Full Circle. The presence of McCombs is apparent from the first few bars of the opening and title track “Full Circle.” It’s a more naturally progressive sound for the band, taking the music back to the roots of past songs like TEAR AWAY, in which guitarist C.J. Pierce cranked the wah to and fro like he was trying to shake off a bad case of crabs.

The rally point of the disc, and something that has admirably been pressed to the forefront of their creative drive, is the song SOLDIERS. In a time where the hippies of our generation, just like those of decades past, are unable to discern the difference between soldier and politician, the boys of Drowning Pool are reminding people that our soldiers deserve our support, regardless of what they’re ordered to do. The song itself isn’t even one of the disc’s best, but the message that it sends is powerfully well done.

One of the disc’s lighter songs 37 STITCHES is treading new ground for the band. It’s a catchy, vocally driven and acoustically hollow ode of love and hate. The lyrics are engagingly responsive, and the guitar work, while nothing groundbreaking, is strangely alluring; it, along with REBORN are probably my favorite tracks.

Overall, the disc really seems to work. It may be a bit too progressive for some metal fans, and a slightly less edgy offering than the previous disk, but creatively and artisically, I think it stacks up against the others. McCombs’ aforementioned presence with the band affects the tonality of the band more than you’d expect, and it’s something that takes a bit of getting used to. The sound that we’re left with, like McCombs’ voice compared to Jones’, seems to be an octave higher than Desensitized. The addition of the Billy Idol cover REBEL YELL, may really deter the more hardcore of metal fans as well, but it’s a great rendition to that song.

It may not be the Drowning Pool that the city of Dallas knew almost a decade ago, but the album does its fair share of rocking, and I would reccommend at least a listen to most people. I guarantee that you’ll find a few songs that keep you coming back for more until you know the cd by heart.

Kudos go out to guitarist C.J. Pierce, Bassist Stevie Benton, and drummer Mike Luce. It’s good to see you guys still rocking all these years later. And here’s to the induction of Ryan McCombs into the band. I look forward to jamming this cd more often, and to seeing you guys on the road again.

www.drowningpool.com
www.myspace.com/drowningpool

Way of the Bullet

Bullet For My Valentine is a band that I’m often oddly intrigued by. On one hand, they come out with the album THE POISON that has one of my favorite songs, HER VOICE RESIDES on it. The song is gritty, fast-paced, and powerful enough to put you on your ass. On the other hand, though, the disc is also littered with songs like ALL THESE THINGS I HATE and FOUR WORDS, which are the kind of pop-esque inspired ballads of mainstream calamity that typically turn me away from any band. They are, of course, threaded with fibers of the metal world (which, admittedly, the band tends to pull off well) that make it a bit easier to digest, but I always tend to feel like a poser when I’m listening to these songs.

I’m not going to say that these guys don’t know their shit, by any means, because they’ve got a musical sound that’s mostly inspired by their metal roots (the early 80s thrash metal, in particular) that works tremendously well. I think it’s the blend of the new school of music that is their downfall, insofar as I’m concerned, anyhow (and just to show what the fuck I know, they sell records like they’re Led Zeppelin). Trying to infuse the more popish elements of today’s music works well for those that are into that scene, and helps this band to transcend the oft-blurred line of genres to bridge a bit of the metal world into the mainstream, but it also fends off the traditionalists like me, for the most part.

I think that their sound works best when they’re actually picking a side to champion. TEARS DON’T FALL, to me, is where their sound is most grounded. And I can dig that song. HER VOICE RESIDES, also, is a piece that can encompass the whole of a band’s sound very well. And I obviously dig that. It’s just the aforementioned in between that hands them their dunce cap.

Feeling the way that I do, I was waiting excitedly to hear the new disc Scream, Aim, Fire. I had heard the single, and dug it well enough, but I wasn’t sure how they would handle the rest of the album. To my distaste, it was more of the same gray area. The title song is catchy and rocking, but the majority of the space reserved for the rest of the album is not so much to my taste. Maybe it’s the singer’s screamo-type voice that puts me off so much. The music is there most of the time, and the fretwork is top-notch, but it just doesn’t click for me, overall.

The new album will probably stay in my playlist for a while because I liked to give music a bit of time to sink in (not everything can immediately hook you, after all); and also because I’m still digging the title track. I can tell well enough, though, that it’s not going to be on my top albums list anytime soon; nor is the band going to breech a like category.

They’ll just be in that fuzzy gray area (that they tend to inevitably populate) somewhere in the middle of bands that I occasionally have the hankering for.

www.bulletformyvalentine1.com
www.myspace.com/bulletformyvalentine

Laurie In The House

Dr. House, o how I envy thee. You are the epitome of everything that an asshole like myself could ever aspire to be. You wield sarcasm like a blood-spattered broadsword, and you pit your employees against each other in a conspirator’s battle royale. If only we were all so witty and ruthless… or at least, only I was. Sure, you’ve got the bum leg, but that’s a small price to pay for brilliance, so sign me up.

In the latest — and what I can only assume is the last until next season — episode of House that aired, I laughed my ass off as though we had not been denied the episode for a month’s time. It was a bit hard to put to the back of one’s mind, though, with all the Christmas cheer (or Christmas debauchery, as it were), parties, and presents. Still, seeing all the newhires together for the first time, plotting how to still keep their jobs, and also how to please House with a Christmas present. Olivia Wilde is still referred to as only 13, something I read about as being a little in-joke of sorts.

There was also a limited family of a little girl and mother whom never told one another a lie (or so we’re led to believe), but House hounds them both (inappropriately, of course) until the levees finally break, and he gets some semblance of satisfaction in finding a moment of utter, brutal honesty. You sick bastard.

And, of course, being the equal opportunist that he is, House had a slew of racist jokes to go around for blacks, Jews, and anyone else within earshot. “Happy solstice” was Wilson’s way around enticing House into a theological debate over the holiday. And I’d be remiss if I didn’t note the ostensibly philandering, ill-reputed girl who performed the donkey show. I wonder if that is (or was) going somewhere. It appeared as though House was oddly intrigued in the last scene, after all.

But, alas, we’re left with nothing from Hugh Laurie or his band of merry ass-kissers until either sometime after the strike ends (if the studios make a last-ditch effort to win back audiences this season), or next fall when we’re all so unfamiliar with our favorite shows that they all seem new again.

Goddamn those studio execs. You guys are definitely the spawn of Satan himself.

Until we see him again, though, let’s wish House that he does get laid with the church-going, donkey riding nativity Mary. Maybe we’ll see a new House that is even more intriguing to the touch.

Another Black Day

So, I begin the musical part of my voyage by the latest addition to my audio library. This is a band hailing from Fort Lauderdale, Florida entitled Another Black Day, and let’s just say that they’re content enough on being themselves and not succumbing to the pressures of the latest trend.

I’m really digging this band, especially considering how little I’ve heard of them. I was driving along one night, on my way home from work, and there is their latest single (which shares the same name as the band). I thought to myself, “damn, that’s a pretty catchy tune.” I go home, search for about an hour before I finally find the band in question, and now the four songs that I’ve been able to nick from Myspace have been a constant member of my winamp experience.

The song ANOTHER BLACK DAY, as cool as it is, takes a back seat to the more melodic and engaging WICKED SOUL. To alleviate any confusion from the beginning, this is nothing groundbreaking. These guys haven’t created a new type of music, nor have they strayed wholly from where the creative buck stops in most circles. Thus bringing me to my point: just who the fuck cares?

This is straight-up rock and roll. Nothing more, nothing less. If you’re looking for what passes for innovation, stick to the indy bullshit scene with the other fifteen year olds. If you want something that you can bang your head to at loud volumes, and basically dig on all levels, check out these guys.

They’ve got an audibly charismatic singer in vocalist and lead guitarist Matthew Wilkof. Oddly distant from the majority of hard rock/metal acts, Wilkof has veered off the path of contemporary metalheads, and looked to the past to remember and take advantage of that thing that singers used to do in decades past: sing. And that’s refreshing enough in itself. He doesn’t necessarily possess the greatest range that the world ever heard, but do you want rock and roll or Aretha Fucking Franklin? I thought so.

I’ve been unable to get my hands on the debut self titled disc as of yet (which is a real bummer), but of the few songs on hand, the two aforementioned songs stand out. Both are pessimistic and regretful odes to past mistakes and newfound predicaments that arise from such. Eerie interjections of diluted half-notes fill the space between verses, and the lyrics take you on an introspective ride through the mind of a repentant soul. As not only lead singer, but also lead guitarist, Wilkof has proven himself worthy of a history degree from any fine university. His research has also uncovered the facts that guitarists used to solo in times past — which he brings back into the fold.

Angel Hernandez, (drums), Das Haas (bass), and Ernesto Paez (guitar) help Wilkof bring to life the kind of music that makes you want to smash something with the sheer force of your mind alone. It has in it elements of Disturbed (from their more melodic work) mixed with the fretwork that those guys sorely miss most of the time in latter times.

In short, take these guys with you to the gym. They don’t make you want to kill the guy next to you like some of today’s more intense metal like Chimaira, Devildriver, or Superjoint Ritual, but they’ll have you hitting the weights like those bitches owed you some money. And afterwards, you’ll actually have words stuck in your head, not just various caveman-esque grunts at erratic intervals.

“Yeeeeeeeeeeeeaaaaaaaaaaaaaah, will you save my wicked soul, if I swear that I’ll change my ways?”

http://www.myspace.com/ablackday

http://www.anotherblackday.net

Inaugural Necessities

Entertainment.

As a collective society, we are just as dependent upon distractions as were those that peopled the Colosseum of Rome. We may have strayed a bit in terms of outright violence over the past few decades, but the intentions and origins are identically the same. We need to escape the everyday grind that we were thrust into by birth.

All work and no play, after all, makes us all very dull boys and girls.

And if there’s one thing that we don’t need in the world today, it’s another goddamn serial killer. So we watch shows about them. Listen to songs about them. Look at subjective art painted about (or by) them.

Boredom, people, is the watchword. Or then again, perhaps that’s not the watchword, after all; or if it is, perhaps it’s just a cognate for some other form of another word: control. The field of entertainment, possibly, is our our very own matrix. You don’t want people to loot and pillage? Keep them in the house watching Grey’s Anatomy DVDs for nights upon end!

But then again, that’s just open cynicism on my part. In truth, entertainment probably does deter an amount of violence and outright lawlessness because it creates an outlet. Having a bad day, kill some people on the PS3. Unleash your aggression upon the world in the confines of your own mind through an angsty and violent song. Happy, sing about that shit (only keep it to yourself, you insensitive bastard).

On the other hand, instead of a deterrent, we can also see the entertainment industry as an enabler. Let’s face it, our lives are boring as hell — otherwise, you wouldn’t be reading this. Traipsing about the cosmos with a gang of miscreants, thwarting a terrorist attack, or robbing from the rich to give to yourself is a welcome hour-and-a-half escape from the office, isn’t it?

The bottom line is that whichever of the millions of stances that you might take of the entertainment industry, it’s there for each of us in one way or another. You may be goddamn tired of hearing Britney Spears clones on the radio, but on your harddrive is a plethora of tunes that get your heart pining for the fjords.

I love music. I love movies. I love television. I don’t love every facet of them, nor do I love all the things that they’ve come to represent in latter years, but at their core, I harbor a deep fascination with them each. And it’s with that fascination in mind that I write about them. I write about them across the blank canvas of my mind every day, a sort of running critique (if not narration) of the things I experience vicariously through someone else’s scope of creativity. Sometimes I even write them down (or type them out, I should say) for no one other than myself.

Why, then, shouldn’t I share the experience with the world? Or at the very least, the few people who stumble unknowingly upon this space of the internet that I call my own?

Dig deep, gentle readers, and pull up a proverbial chair in which you can absorb the non-wisdom that I seem to perpetually spew. Take it in stride, and remember that none of it really means anything. Because, after all… who the fuck am I but words upon a blank canvas.