A Totally Serious Review, I Swear: "Appeal to Reason" Album Review

Album: Appeal to Reason
Artist: Rise Against
Genre: Melodic Hardcore / Punk Rock
Length: 48:23
Release Date: October 7, 2008 (2008-09-12)
Label: Geffen
Producer: Bill Stevenson and Jason Livermore

When I got asked to review a Rise Against album, I ran back home and grabbed my iron helmet and wooden shield, because I was about to run the gauntlet. Rise Against hails from the same line of punk-rooted protest bands that have been running rampant across corporate America ever since the Bush administration started shooting itself in the foot (that’s 2,345,670 bullets fired into the big toe and counting!) and there’s hardly a demographic I hate more; the smug half-baked philosophy, the restless complaining, the same four or five chords and drum beats recycled over and over and over until you want to run for Congress, work your way up the ranks, and finally submit and authorize a bill that forbids the little pricks from coming within 500 miles of freedom. So Rise Against had the tall order of trying to change my cold, steel-plated cynical beast-mind into thinking they could possibly be any different. The result…

…is that they totally did. Wow. I couldn’t have believed it until this album had arrived before me, but I was wrong about the entire pseudo-punk movement from day one. In fact, Rise Against is the most valuable of music bands because it taught me an amazing lesson: that you can sell five figures within the first week of a release and even have your own line of shoes purportedly manufactured by slave labor and still pretend to be a pot-smoking, Molotov-tossing anarchist rebel. How inspiring!

The magic begins with Collapse (Post-Amerika), which in no way resembles anything ever done before, not even American Idiot...hell, not even themselves on past albums. The single-tempo, emotionless riffing, and generic hardcore shouts would sound utterly monotonous and repetitive from any other band, but Rise Against makes them work. How? Alas, their genius is far too much for me to describe in simple man-words. And behold, for when the next track begins, so does the exact same pattern and song structure! Such is their brilliance that they repeat the exact same formulaic compositions a grand total of 13 times…and with 13 being an unlucky number, the act serves as flawless testament to their bravery. Only rarely do actually interesting leads or notable bass lines ever appear to fuck things up, but the producers were so brilliant as to edit them out to their last breath as not to spoil the perfection. The lone exception to this ever-so original formula is an acoustic song entitled Hero of War, so originally titled and so not made up from the remnants of discarded Bob Dylan B-sides that it would make the likes of Leonardo da Vinci and Wolfgang Mozart cry. Why, so great is this beautiful track that it could very well rise those fallen geniuses from the dead, officially making Tim McIlrath the second-coming of Jesus Christ. No wonder so many people rabidly worship these awe-inspiring musical heroes!

But if there is any reason to bow down before the likes of this ground-breaking band, it is their lyrics, whose majesty and truth ring like the bells of Heaven’s highest, most ornamented towers. They speak of a terrifying fascist government that will in no way disappear a mere three months after this album’s release date, and one that has in no way been spoken of by any other musical act. Nope, not even Green Day. And how, you may be wondering, can such beaten-to-death lyrical clichés such as “fall[ing] from grace”, “desperate eyes”, and “the strength to go on” possibly combine to make these inspiring call-to-arms messages? Again, I could not possibly explain it, but totally not because they couldn’t. Because they could. In fact, they do it so well that they don’t even need to create solutions to the political problems they so desperately claw at like merciless, blood-thirsty kittens. Thus, these songs will ring throughout the back alleys of all the greatest organizations of protest and resistance, such as Hot Topic and McDonalds, from now until the end of mankind. Only the greatest musicians could create music as such that it will never become dated, certainly not in, as aforementioned, three months from now. You know, when the man they are trying so hard to condemn is replaced by a liberal reformist who the country so strongly supported in a fairly recent election. Oh no, certainly not then.

And so I sayeth to you, in the spirit of the mightiest revolutionaries of our time – from Lindsay Lohan to Justin Timberlake – let your voices of pre-pubescent confusion and conformism be heard by purchasing this downright irreplaceable masterpiece. And as you half-heartedly pound your fist in the air, pretending to fight an evil that has already been fought by people whose actions actually matter and whose criticism is not just limited to needless whining, remember that you support a band whose music is definitely not just a clone of a million other bands who came before, whose imagery is completely and totally unique, and who honestly, undeniably, unsarcastically, doesn’t suck balls.

Mediocrity Magnetic: "Death Magentic" (Delayed) Album Review

Album: Death Magnetic
Artist: Metallica
Genre: Thrash / Heavy Metal
Length: 74:46
Release Date: September 12, 2008 (2008-09-12)
Label: Warner Bros., Vertigo, Mercury, Universal Music Japan
Producer: Rick Rubin



Forget the Year of the Rat…2008 has so far been the year of metal. Aside from the innumerable releases from many of the genre’s top acts, we’ve seen long dormant metal bands choosing this year as the time to make their big comeback. Cynic has returned to the studio after a 15 year hiatus; AC/DC has stepped back into the limelight with a new album; and other bands that have been long out of commission like Atheist and Wintersun are working on new material early into 2009. Hell, if all goes to plan then Chinese Democracy might actually be released this year! But I have no doubt that it is the recent return of Metallica that will have earned the most attention and sales by next year. Granted, they may have been gone for only a five-year gap, but since the last record they released was St. Anger, considered by many to be a utter travesty of chaos, muddled confusion, and making absolutely no sense whatsoever, the world definitely wanted to know whether or not the band could possibly make the saving throw and restore their former glory. So now that Death Magnetic has been out for a couple of months now, we can finally ask the ultimate question: has Metallica made a comeback?

Unfortunately, that still isn’t a very easy question to answer, as the definition of comeback isn’t very clear for a band such as Metallica. Keep in mind, this is a group of individuals whose in-fighting and apparent hatred for each other caused wave after wave of horrible decisions, both inside and outside the recording booth; undoubtedly that was part of the cause of St. Anger’s wretchedness and the infamous Napster incident. Now, they seem to have overcome the hurdle of growing older, come to grips with their themselves, and generally kept a level-headedness that is expected of good musicians. So when looked at in the terms of whether or not Metallica has salvaged the semblance of a successful career, then yes, Death Magnetic is a glorious revolution. When looked at musically, it is considerably less so. Granted, it fixes all the mistakes of the past release…but seemingly does so by retreating deep into the rusty catacombs of their old works, with little in the way of innovation. So if it’s not a failure and not a complete success, then we are left with a single word left to describe Death Magnetic, one that still serves as a painful blow to such a famous band: average.

Yes, for all the hyped shouts of glee that Metallica had finally become themselves again, they are still just average. And the key factor in that mediocrity is that the album is just plain dull. Dull, dull, dull, so very dull. Most riffs resemble watered-down versions of those we heard on Master of Puppets 22 years ago, the bass is practically inaudible (bringing flashbacks of …And Justice for All’s insipid production to out ears), and, as always, Lars Ulrich is an utter joke. In their attempts to reclaim the thrash metal throne, the basic and uninteresting drum beats just can’t help back drag down their efforts. If there’s anyone worse than Lars, though, it’s Hetfield; while he’s finally made the excellent decision to actually sing in tune again, the country-tinged yelps he makes just don’t fit here as well as they would on something like Load, and become annoying extremely quick. Oh, and forget about the lyrics; they’re useless. To cap off this ensemble of pain, we have a banal production that seems wafer-thin and tries to make up for it by compressing and distorting everything up to eleven. If you can believe this, the re-mastering of the tracks for Guitar Hero III actually doesn’t have this issue. And when the man behind the original mix is Rick Rubin, who once defined the sound of fellow thrash-legend Slayer on Reign in Blood…well, that’s just pathetic.

The real icing on the cake – with the cake being made of concrete and the icing made of sewage water, of course – is that Metallica has gone ahead and made all of their songs way too long. Again. The song structures sound like they would feel more at home on something like “The Black Album”, something succinct and catchy but never overly extensive. This isn’t Dream Theatre, you guys, and it certainly isn’t the best way to pretend like your living in the 80’s again. As a matter of fact, a lot of the worst aspects of this album feel like clip-ons designed to fool old, jaded fans into coming to their concerts again, the solos being a good example. They almost make me believe that the lack of solos on St. Anger was a good thing, now that their newest efforts of extended soloage feel incredibly sloppy and needless. In metal, they are usually there to form a climax to the song, to provide a reward for sitting through a long, tense build-up. Here, they plop them down before us, with no satisfaction to gained, as if they were only there because, well, they have to be.

The one exception to that rule is The Day That Never Comes, a song that brings back fond memories of Fade to Black and One…but only because it’s practically the same damn song. The quiet intro that segues into the heavy chorus, a machine-gun riff that pops up after two verses, and a long solo-heavy segment to wrap things up...sounds awfully familiar to me. Granted, it’s a formula that still works, but it’s also a good representation of how little Metallica desired to re-invent themselves on this release. There’s a fleeting glimpse of advancement on the The Unforgiven III, which opens with some mournful piano-playing; unfortunately the interlude is quickly forgotten, and the song becomes a basic ballad (which, thankfully, doesn’t really try at all to sound like Unforgiven I or II…why on Earth either song would need another sequel is anyone’s guess).

Then there’s an instrumental towards the end, because, well, you need one of those for a comeback album too. Now it is certainly the longest song on the album, clocking in at almost exactly 10 minutes, but it’s also the only song that varies enough to warrant such a time frame. It’s not quite The Call of Ktulu, but it will do. The rest of the songs are mostly full-speed-ahead, riff-tastic monsters, with mixed results. The opening track is notable, kicking things off with a heart-beat and an acoustic segment that slowly builds up into a trademark Metallica guitar explosion; there’s no denying that they worked hard to make the first impression memorable. By contrast, you have songs like The End of the Line and The Judas Kiss that really don’t do anything memorable, and fall flat on their faces. All Nightmare Long stands tall among these because it cops a few phrases straight from Slayer’s playbook; but hey, if they needed to copy someone for some maniac thrash moments, at least their stealing from the right pages. Finally, My Apocalypse (bearing no similarity to the Arch Enemy single of the same name…oddly enough) is perhaps the most bearable track on here because it is by far the shortest, at a mere 5 minutes. It also packs the most intensity and speed, making it a great way to close this highly anticipated effort.

But despite all the good moments Death Magnetic can muster, none of them are anything we haven’t heard before and better…and none are good enough to save this album. If the hype is pushed aside – and even as we acknowledge just how much an improvement the album is from the past decade of Metallica bloopers – we still see a work whose only worthy footnote is that it comes from Hetfield and crew, who once ruled the world and conquered the stars. Of course, if you haven’t picked this up already, I myself was never too interested in the band’s music itself, but more so the social stigma that followed them like a pestilence since the 90’s. It was truly enthralling to see their members devolve into whiny rock-pop babies, to hear their fans whimpering and futile cries while they softly cuddled their old copies of Ride the Lightning in the corner of their parent’s basements…now those days are largely gone, and the music can just hardly hold itself up better for the effort.

Funnily enough, I can’t help but feel like this is the album that should’ve generated the dreaded “sell-out” label that they’ve been such good poster-boys for up until now. St. Anger may have been poor, but it was also different, and while the music sucked, the passion was there. Now there is no life left in the poor souls down at Metallica headquarters, just aimless attempts to regain a triumphant feeling of world domination they once had. And if that’s exactly what you wanted or expected, then Death Magnetic will have you squealing with delight. If you wanted an epic on par with their early works, then you’re left out in the cold. If you wanted a continuation of the style defined on St. Anger…well then nothing quite compares to the miserable, hollow shell of a life you live. My point is that the album satisfies many, but can't please the more hardened or caring of music connoisseurs, meaning that it is safe but ultimately nothing of significance. Give your attention to the better metal releases that have been so harshly ignored these past few months instead.

Sunshine, Lollipops, and Backstabbing: "Rumours" Album Review

Album: Rumours
Artist: Fleetwood Mac
Genre: Classic Rock
Length: 40:03
Release Date: February 4, 1977
Label: Warner Bros.
Producer: Fleetwood Mac, Ken Caillat & Richard Dashut

Perhaps you haven’t yet heard the little fable that goes along with Rumours, an album that ranks among one of the best-selling and most critically-acclaimed of all time. As the story goes, every one of the band’s five members was going through a romantic issue of some kind during the song writing process, prominently involving break-ups between the band members themselves (Lord only knows why any of them thought that an inter-career love interest would be a good idea). Subsequently, as each one started independently crafting lyrics for the next album it became apparent that they were all writing about each other, hence the album’s name. In the end, the realization that their deep, burning hatred for one another had resulted in what they considered a good piece of music somehow alleviated the tension, and everybody was happy. Rainbows were painted into the sky by magic purple unicorns while Stevie Nicks and the gang soared into the glorious sunset on their fantastical enchanted sailboat to buy delicious ice cream. THE END.

Now, all of that makes for a decent marketing blurb or at least a notable Wikipedia factoid, but it doesn’t confirm or deny the presence of actually decent song-writing on here. As it turns out, one of the features of this album that seems to stem from that little feud is neither a strength nor a weakness, and that’s in how divisive the songs are from one another. With all but a scant few tracks being almost entirely associated to a single individual, most of them tend to exert a slightly different feel from the rest, usually by highlighting certain elements while removing others. Compare the bouncy acoustic-driven tune Second-Hand News to the slow piano-laden ballad Songbird, for instance, and you’d hardly think there was any relation. The since-beaten-to-death prospect of having two vocalists of varying Y-chromosome levels furthers the idea by rarely having the two work in tandem, either by awkwardly switching between them or by omitting one or the other from a track altogether. Granted, you can interpret the frantic switches of style as either a lack of balance or an abundance of variety, so for the most part it won’t detract from the experience if you listen to the album on a song-by-song basis.

What does detract from the experience are some rather boneheaded and suitably predictable song-structures that prevent it from being elevated to the highest levels of the art form. Most tracks have respectable core ideas but attract clichés like bears to honey-covered babies, namely in the basic verse-chorus architecture that occupies the majority of the album. And if the aforementioned back-story implied to you that the lyrics, fueled by friction and hostility, would be very intricate or unique, then you may want to get your head re-examined. The mainstream music industry’s attempts to flirt with truly deep reflections on love-once-lost are almost always utterly horrific, and a quick flip to your local radio station is usually enough to prove it. And while the Fleetwood gang’s assortment of poems are hardly as bad as the modern dribble that passes for music, it’s hardly art, which is something you might expect from the sort of Shakespearian-tragedy the band members went through. There are exceptions, but perhaps not enough to list “lyrical and structural ineptitiude” as some of the album’s flaws.

So yes, Rumours does suffer a bit for being the product of a band under duress and, more importantly, for being draped in the clothing of commercialism despite the cries of its subject matter to represent quite the contrary. Yet despite all the hateful things I’ve managed to point out so far about it, there is a certain aura around Rumours that is – dare I say it? – oddly compelling.

For all the angst and bitterness you might expect to come from such a strained group of individuals, Rumours has to be one of the most overtly optimistic albums I’ve ever heard. Songs like Dreams and Gold Dust Woman provide a bright outlook for dreary events through their lyrics, which are just as linear as aforementioned, but the music itself is what makes the album such a shining beacon of hope. Whether it’s the jazzy bass-lines of You Make Loving Fun (just ignore the cheese-flavored title, please) or the deliciously folksy Never Going Back Again, the actual music is genuinely good at generating happiness, which is something I thought I’d never say about any piece of music, ever. If you can ignore the majority of what comes out of their mouths, the two singers reflect this good-spirit just as well, and ignoring what I said about the awkward transitions between them, both Lindsey Buckingham and Stevie Nicks have phenomenal voices. It’s when things start to get a bit more layered, when the talents of all the band members are proficiently and simultaneously shown such as in The Chain, that the album’s coherent weaknesses can be overshadowed by these strengths…which is kind of ironic, if you think about it.

All in all though, my reaction is mixed. It’s no doubt an album that treads the fine line between accessibility and complexity, and while it leans into both categories at some point or another there’s a lot about the album that feels rather indecisive and conflicting, fittingly enough. Altogether the songs sound a lot better when less focus is put into analyzing them as a musical depiction of themes and worse when framed into the context of being technical and elaborate, as I have the rather obsessive habit of doing. That being the case, you get out of Rumours what you put into it. Walk in expecting a casual, colorful romp into floaty and loose song-writing and you’ll walk out believing that this really was worthy of all its fame; listen to it expecting brilliance and you get a kick in the face. If the former is what you expect, or in fact need, from your music, then you could certainly do a lot worse than Fleetwood Mac’s Rumours.