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Some
Overdue Spring Cleaning
By
John Brodeur
A
whole lot of CDs come into the Metroland office each
week and, to be honest, a lot of them end up in my desk drawer
(it’s the middle one on the left hand side, in case anyone’s
looking for something in particular). Very few, however, will
get reviewed in these pages. Every once in a while, the drawer
starts to get a little too full, so I have to “trim the fat,”
so to speak. Rather than just sell ’em back to Last Vestige
or leave ’em in a box by the curb, I figured I’d “do my job”
as a critic and say a few words about them as they’re on their
way out.
Snow
Patrol
Final
Straw (A&M/Polydor)
Identity crisis alert! Snow Patrol’s first official U.S. release
sounds an awful lot like a Coldplay record as remixed by Rings
Around the World-era Super Furry Animals. Then it sounds like
My Bloody Valentine covering Sebadoh. Then it’s Wilcopol (follow
me here). Breathy vocals, reminiscent of Neil Tennant or Belle
and Sebastian’s Stuart Murdoch, are mixed way out front to
avoid getting swallowed by the overdriven drums and neat ProTools
effects that will probably do nothing but date the album in
the long run. There are some nice songs here, though—“How
to Be Dead” has a circular, hypnotic melody, and “Chocolate”
has an impenetrable chorus hook.
Richard
Marx
My
Own Best Enemy (EMI-Manhattan)
Was anybody really waiting around for Richard Marx to come
out with another album? Apparently somebody at his old label
thought that, after Marx stole last year’s Best Song Grammy
(for penning Luther Vandross’ “Dance With My Father”), people
would want to hear him sing his own songs. Enemy starts
off on a semi-modern note with “Nothin’ Left to Say,” which
boasts some Matrix-like production strokes and a handful of
interesting, Beatlesque chord progressions. After that, it’s
exactly what should be expected from a soft, aging mullethead
like Richard Marx—12 soulless, forced renditions of the theme
song from Full House. Even the emo-lite “Everything
Good” sounds walked through.
Sleep
Station
After
the War (Eyeball/Bardic)
Lush pop melancholia; like Nick Drake fronting the Carpenters.
Better yet, imagine the Pernice Brothers covering a Scud Mountain
Boys record. In fact, I had to double check the liner notes
to make sure this wasn’t actually the new Chappaquiddick Skyline
CD. Main songwriter David Debiak is obviously drawing from
the same musical well as Pernice; he succeeds because he knows
that well is incredibly deep. The melodies are sweet and delivered
in an earnest near-whisper, the instrumentation is imaginative
and complementary; the whole thing gives legs to the argument
that the best records will generally go unheard.
Coheed
and Cambria
In
Keeping Secrets of Silent Earth: 3
(Equal Vision/Columbia)
I don’t get it. Then again, I don’t dig Rush, I don’t go to
the Warped Tour, and I don’t play Dungeons & Dragons.
Now
It’s Overhead
Fall
Back Open (Saddle Creek)
The only non-Omaha-based band on the Saddle Creek label might
also be the best—even if they’re not really a proper band.
Andy LeMaster has played on or produced most of the label’s
releases, and his hands were just about the only ones involved
in making Fall Back Open. What’s truly surprising is
just how good LeMaster’s songs are—why is Conor Oberst getting
all the attention when this guy’s got tunes like “The Decision
Made Itself” and the Depeche Mode-y “Wait in a Line”? He’s
got a way with words, too—the personal-ad-quoting “Profile”
is, perhaps inadvertently, one of the creepiest tracks of
the year.
Butterfly
Boucher
Flutterby
(A&M)
Boucher’s debut sure does sound pretty. The drum sounds are
perfectly shitty—loaded with torn- speaker-cone fuzz, rather
than blown-up Bonham-sized—the arrangements are padded with
the requisite adult-alternative ornamentation (acoustic guitars,
atmospheric synths), and the vocals (every last track of ’em)
are cleaner than clean. Getting suspicious? Well, you should
be—you can’t polish a turd, as they say. It takes about 10
seconds for this one to give itself away. Just check out the
first line: “When it doesn’t rain, it snows . . . the cookie
crumbles, but in whose hand?” Bullshit.
Keane
Hopes
and Fears (Interscope)
It’s Coldplay! No, it’s Travis! Believe me—in eight years,
this is going to sound like a-ha or O.M.D. to us.
Robbers
on High Street
Fine
Lines (Scratchie/New Line)
Glammy, garage-y, postpunky pop, like what might happen if
the Strokes were force-fed a diet of 1972-74 Bowie, or if
Spoon weren’t so weird. The EP format is a great way to present
this type of band: It’s a solid, digestible cross-section
of what they’re getting at, without tacking on the filler
that makes you realize that first single is as good as it’s
gonna get. Extra points for the song title, “Hot Sluts (Say
I Love You).”
Bad
Religion
The
Empire Strikes First (Epitaph)
It’s great to hear these guys fired up about something again.
Sure, their formula hasn’t changed—guitar-heavy (as in three
guitars) pop-punk coupled with Greg Graffin’s book-smart lyrics
and layers of Beach Boy harmonies—but Empire has a
heavier political bent than usual (gee, I wonder why) and
the execution is a “how-to” lesson for bands half their age.
Plus, this record has two undeniably cool cameos: Mike Campbell
(Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers) and Sage Francis. Now that’s
fucking teamwork. Recommended if you like: Bad Religion.
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