A companion to the concert DVD of the same name, CSN 2012 finds these three hippie icons tackling all the classics that made them the shaggy princes of Woodstock. As is to be expected, time's unforgiving march forward makes itself heard; on "Helplessly Hoping" and "Déjà Vu," Stills and Nash's voices no longer soar as effortlessly as they once did. In contrast, the trio's jamming skills still pack punch. The aforementioned "Déjà Vu," as well as "Wooden Ships," breaks the 10-minute barrier, and both stay interesting in large part to Stills' guitar work, which sounds inspired and free-flowing.
The opening title track kicks off with a Tool-like lurch-n-groan that announces 10 Years have clearly stepped back from the streamlined gloss of Feeding the Wolves. Though this doesn't mean the group have unleashed their White Pony (those come only once a generation), it does mean the Tennessee-based act is less concerned with appeasing the demands of the post-grunge pop market. And besides, they've never been master craftsmen of the radio hook, so they might as well get their brood on, which they most certainly do on "Sleeper," "Knives," "Battle Lust" and the electronic-tinged "Backlash."
God's chosen nü-metallers open angry that we've ignored their last-days warnings. But by the third and fourth songs they're reaching for heaven, treating screamo choruses like gospel ones between the juggalo raps. "West Coast Rock Steady" is a bouncily vocodered electro-hop old-schooler with Cypress Hill's Sen Dog, oddly referencing East Coasters the Beasties and Melle Mel. Then there's alternately positivist and apocalyptic reggae-metal, a RATM tribute with Hendrixy wah-wah, a bad-boys-seeking-good-girls want ad, and some nasty victims' revenge. Not too shabby, eight albums into this game.
For the most part, Bringing Down the Giant mirrors Saving Abel's previous albums: post-grunge slugfests softened with soaring choruses and high-polish production. There are, however, a few curveballs. The most obvious example is the oddly titled "Michael Jackson's Jacket," a twang-infused funk-rocker about a sexy babe who sports MJ's red leather get-up from the Thriller years. Her bewildering fashion sense is a major turn on for singer Jared Weeks, but it also poses a problem in terms of getting naked -- as he points out: "You know, we'd get their quicker/ if it weren't for all those zippers."
That cover says it all: Miss America is red-blooded American power-rock packed full of hip-swaggering riffage, sexy talk, macho vibes and arena-sized anthems. Lead howler Jared Weeks has a love-hate relationship when it comes to the opposite sex. One minute the "sex is good," the next, love is a "contagious" disease that has forced him to his knees in ecstatic pain. Weeks, in other words, has got the blues, only his sound is more like Nickelback and Creed than Robert Johnson and John Lee Hooker.
Tasteful, mature and simultaneously exploratory and accessible, Baroness' longest, most ambitious, least metal album is quite the Rorschach test: Whether you mainly hear classic rock, rural prog, indie folk, alt-grunge, psych or emo in its cascading wide-screen structures and unabashed growl-free harmonies could say a lot about you. The defiantly unhistrionic emotion isn't immune to whine or gut-bust, and there's a fine line between beautiful and boring. But sublime wistfulness and heavy sections sprout naturally; "Cocainium" grabs hold right away, and the rest might keep unfolding for years.
Indie kids don't embrace The Gaslight Anthem the way they do The Hold Steady. Oh well -- that's their loss. These greasers craft tunes bursting with youthful sincerity and sing-along howls to the moon. Handwritten's lead single "45" is straight aces: blossom jangle grafted to punky anthem rock that's as reminiscent of The Misfits as it is Social D. "Desire," on the other hand, channels Springsteen's white-aerobic-sneaks-and-denim phase. This shouldn't surprise; after all, Jersey flows through the band's veins. The album closes with "National Anthem," but it's not that national anthem, FYI.
Released in time for the 1972 Christmas market, Hot August Night is ground zero for Diamond's reputation as a total hunk. Rocking shrink-wrap denim and a dense thicket of chest hair, the singer definitely channels the sweaty swagger of Tom Jones. Musically, however, he's all about replicating the end-times bombast of Elvis' Vegas show: schmaltz rockers, soul stirrers and soaring ballads, all of them drenched in strings and percussion. It's a unique vision for sure. Plus, the between-song banter is kind of weird, like supper-club small talk filtered through the hippies' existential profundity.
Searching for Sugar Man is the soundtrack to Swedish director Malik Bendjelloul's inspirational documentary about Rodriguez, the cult artist whose life and music has been shrouded in myth, rumor and disinformation since the early '70s. The impeccable track list has been culled from the singer-songwriter's original two albums: 1970's Cold Fact and the following year's Coming From Reality. The result is the perfect introduction to Rodriguez's striking and at times brilliant fusion of folk-rock, psychedelic pop and soul music.
Compared to its predecessor, the bombastically symphonic Imperfect Harmonies, Harakiri is a rather straightforward hard rock album, one stained with punk moxie (and self-righteousness). It's easily Tankian's most guitar-driven music since his System of a Down days. Then again, his vocals are as gnarled, theatrical and spazzoid as ever -- Les Claypool strung out on Red Bull, basically. When his dense lyricism is understandable it tends to revolve around Western civilization and how it's teetering on the brink of violent collapse (though whether Tankian is a peak oil buff is anybody's guess).
The dB's haven't lost their sense of irony. Falling Off the Sky, the original line-up's first record since 1982's Repercussion, opens with the anti-nostalgia proclamation "That Time is Gone." Yet for the rest of the album the group proves the opposite. Every tune is a power pop nugget that could've been recorded back in the group's mid-'80s heyday. The best ones are also the quirkiest, like the throbbing, suite-like "The Adventures of Albatross and Doggerel." Then again, "Send Me Something Real" isn't terribly odd; it's just that those golden harmonies and wispy jangle are classic sounding.
Soul Asylum might've played second fiddle to The Replacements in the '80s, but nowadays they record music that's way more energetic than anything Paul Westerberg releases. In an ironic twist, former 'Mat Tommy Stinson is their current bassist; he provides a solid thump, while his mates thrash about. The best tune here is "The Streets," a driving pop-punker on which Dave Pirner, choking on his own phlegm, boasts that his girl rules because she bails him out of jail. Then again, she better watch her back because on "Let's All Kill Each Other" Pirner admits that he's "sick and tired of everyone."
Seattle pioneers of grunge and stoner and experimental metal, Melvins continue to get weird on this, their 18th (count 'em!) record. Covering familiarly heavy-yet-melodic territory, OG members King Buzzo and Dale Crover may allow some strings into the mix but the Bullhead-recalling opening seconds of "Inner Ear Rupture" and the positively crushing cover of the Wings classic "Let Me Roll It" will thrill longtime fans. Melvins may no longer be at the very forefront of out-there noise, but they are still making vital, and more importantly, super-loud music.
Rob Zombie has always had his pervy industrial side, so it's no shock that all sorts of dubstep, drum 'n' bass, glitch, acid and whatnot types -- several of them California-based -- would jump at the chance to electrocute his greatest hits. Raw material spans his career back to later White Zombie days, and remixes range from barely recognizable (Photek's spaced-out "Living Dead Girl") to minimally messed-with (+++'s "Dragula"). The two Ki:Theory retoolings are kind of catchy, Das Kapital's "Lords Of Salem" abrasively kinetic. Three tracks feature women emitting either porn or horror sounds.
As the title suggests, A Thousand Suns: Live Around the World is a concert recording of Linkin Park's 2010 album. But fans should take note: This isn't a single performance, but a simulated one, with tracks culled from various stops along the band's 2010-'11 world tour. What's more, there's music missing. Granted, the absence of moody segues such as "The Radiance" and "Fallout" is minor. That said, why isn't "Robot Boy" here? It might not be arena material, necessarily, yet the four-minute number is far and away one of the group's most interesting stabs at ambient-tinged electronic rock.
Let's face it: the '80s was a strange decade for Dylan. It began with yet more sacred music (Saved), closed with a stunner (Oh Mercy) and boasted titles in between that range from very good (Infidels, Empire Burlesque) to utterly mediocre (Knocked Out Loaded). This collection does a fine job of spotlighting the best material from all these records, but what makes it a truly interesting listen is the inclusion of several outtakes and alternate versions. Probably the best is "Blind Willie McTell." For reasons that have never been fully explained, Dylan left this stunning ballad off Infidels.
