The opening title track is pure adult contemporary, and it'll make you think Incubus listened to a lot of American Idol pop (not to mention Phil Collins' Face Value) before entering the studio. The band maintains that laid-back, middle-of-the-road vibe throughout, actually: This surely sounds crazy, but If Not Now, When? contains but a single rocker, "Switchblade," which isn't particularly heavy when weighed against Incubus' funk-metal roots. It's true that the group has mellowed out in recent years, but everything about this record feels like the product of an entirely different band.
The tooty-fruity New Age cover art -- a collage of triangles, tropical lands and cosmic hokum -- suggests 311 have gone chillwave. But longtime fans needn't worry: Universal Pulse is another crafty collection of ska-pop with light touches of hip-hop and funk. Produced by veteran knob-twiddler Bob Rock (who worked with the band on 2009's Uplifter), the album is packed with sonic candy. It also boasts a little guitar rock and synth-fried wooziness, like "Rock On" and "And a Ways To Go." This latter track is really kind of odd, not something one would expect from 311. A nice surprise, actually.
After an unsavory legal battle pitting surviving members against the estate of fallen lead singer Bradley Nowell, a Los Angeles judge ordered the partially reunited band to soldier on under the moniker Sublime With Rome. Yours Truly, their first album with new frontman Rome Ramirez, is a total mishmash. The group splits time between SoCal skacore ("Paper Cuts"), suburban dancehall ("Lovers Rock") and radio-tailored beach pop ("PCH"). Despite its stab at covering so much ground, Yours Truly sounds more or less like a Sublime album and should please fans who are capable of embracing Ramirez.
The first single on Taking Back Sunday's fifth album is "Faith (When I Let You Down)," but you'll want to start with opener "El Paso," which comes charging out of the speakers with equal parts heaviness and an almost Nine Inch Nails level of some kind of danceability. From there, the band offers hooks on top of hooks from an emo perspective that is increasingly informed by straight rock music with each passing record.
Gushing weepy-eyed nostalgia like a 1920s Texas oil geyser, Everything's Fine is a soundtrack for lip-pierced mall punks wandering suburban 'hoods while reveling in first kisses and experiencing goose bumps in exotic lands. It's all very catchy, anthemic and big-sounding. The one track that really, truly stands out is "When We Were Young," which possesses this universal pop presence. You can imagine everybody from Lady Gaga to Eric Church covering the thing. One warning: You just might feel first-love fatigue by album's end, as singer Brian Dales is totally obsessed with the subject.
Scooter Ward opens these Florida post-grungers' fifth album deeply crooning an industrially clanked lament about how we live in a wicked world (which actually sounds like "Wiki world," ha ha). Later, he shouts out Elvis, Lennon and Sinatra. But the album's overriding theme seems to be tragic female entertainers, definitely in "American Dream" (featuring a pill-popping Hollywood starlet with relatives in rehab), and possibly also in "Emily" (who loses her voice and mind), "So Long June" (which begins with sirens and involves a loaded gun), "Delivering the Saint," and "Flight of the Superstar."
Earnest and serious, post-grunge bands generally lack a sense of humor. Or, if they do, it's well hidden. Nickelback pals Theory of a Deadman are one of the rare ones that attempt to inject their riff-ragers with satire and irreverence. The results are always mixed. The Truth Is... kicks off with a fairly humorous ode to the "Lowlife." Tyler Connolly sings, "I got an '82 Fiero with a car seat in the middle." It's a pretty funny image. On the follow-up track, however, the group descends into abject misogyny when they turn "The Cat Came Back" into the utterly tasteless "Bitch Came Back."
Something for the Pain's anchor is a heavily sampled, rap reboot of Neil Young's "Old Man." The track definitely feels influenced by Kid Rock's fusion of hip-hop and classic rock. In an age of unexpected crossover, the song retains enough of its original country flavor to appeal to fans of Eric Church, Big & Rich and other Nashville hybrid types. Funny thing, though: The rest of the album finds Redlight King filtering his hip-hop through more of a post-U2 anthem-rock aesthetic. In other words, the bulk of Something for the Pain sounds far more urban -- or suburban.
A tribute to the Chicago blues, one that cites the address of legendary Chess Records, 2120 South Michigan Avenue is a bit of a redundancy. Let's face it: George Thorogood's entire career has played out as one long tribute to the Chicago blues. The raspy-throated singer seemingly never tires of recording his favorite tunes from Willie Dixon, Muddy Waters, Bo Diddley, Howlin' Wolf, Buddy Guy, et al. With that in mind, this album doesn't break new ground, yet it isn't short on energy and verve either. Thorogood and his band tear into each track as if they're playing it for the very first time.
