Drugged

Copy-pasting this review of Work Drug’s Tropic of Capricorn because I’m too lazy/tired to write my own. Also, because it tells exactly what I feel about the band (one my awesome music finds in 2012), particularly that part about how each track in the album is like “waves lapping the shore” or like the “sun setting over the ocean as you reflect on your day.”

“I live a cram-packed life. With the day job, school at night, writing (The Owl’s my fav, duh!), I’m always on the lookout for tuneage to lower my blood pressure and calm me down after a stress-filled day. I’m not talking about elevator music (Muzak, BLAH!), but something with a tight groove, mellow melodies, and soothing vocals. My newest find, Work Drugs hits the spot and then some.

This duo (sometimes trio) from Philly really knows how to lay the grooves, and their new album, Tropic of Capricorn is evidence of that. The album title alone lends a sense to what the music is geared for as each track feels like waves lapping ashore. Each is different, with natural crescendos that climax to a point where they gently whisk into the next. It’s hard to pin-point tracks in particular, but some of my favs are ‘Rad Racer’, ‘Third Wave’, and ‘Dog Daze’, which sounds like the sun setting over the ocean as you reflect on your day. Exactly what the doctor ordered.”

Ah, yes. Isn’t it nice when the reviewer tells us how the album really affects him/her rather than resorting to verbal masturbation?

The piece was written by Christopher Allen for The Owl Mag. Mentioning it here because unlike that one nasty comedian of a senator, I don’t plagiarize stuff.

The awesome, the okay, the awful

The awesome: Bro movies aren’t really my cup of tea. I couldn’t care less if I haven’t seen a single Vin Diesel or Jason Statham film. I figure there’s only so much entertainment one can get out of exploding cars and armed macho men running around being, well, macho. But that’s the artsy fartsy freak in me talking. After seeing The Losers (2010) last week, I realized the error of my ways. Man, this movie has so much testosterone I think my body developed ovaries watching it. That part where Chris Evans blows away an office to the tune of Journey’s “Don’t Stop Believin’”? Hollywood can’t get any more bad-ass than that, methinks. An A-Team knockoff, you say? I watched The A-Team after this to compare and thought the only thing it has over The Losers is star power. But fuck that. Truth is, I find The Losers’ simple-mindedness and wham-bam action refreshing. No lessons and messages and all that corny shit.  Just bros having fun blowing things up and shooting bad guys. Hot!

The okay: Here’s another violent whodunit thriller set in paradise. You know the type: backpackers take a road trip to a pretty but isolated place, one or two turn up dead, and then they find out the killer is not the Charles Manson-obsessed weirdo but is actually Taylor Swift. Something like that. (For a hilarious take on this, check out the 2010 splatter comedy Tucker & Dale vs Evil.) The trick for these movies to work is to keep the guessing game going for as long as needed, and then sucker punch the audience with the big reveal. In that sense, A Perfect Getaway (2009) works. But not much. Though it’s pregnant with interesting twists and turns, things took a nosedive once the big secret was revealed, and the surprise became short-lived. Still, it’s refreshing to see Milla Jovovich, as one-half of the couple on an adventure trek here, take a break from chasing post-apocalyptic zombies in those bloody Resident Evil flicks. Also Timothy Olymphant, my favorite onscreen asshole.

The awful: Just Go With It is a romcom movie with a bad com. And my heart bleeds because it stars Adam Sandler, who I like in The Wedding Singer and 50 First Dates (both with Drew Barrymore, incidentally). Is it me or is he really losing his mojo? I mean, Don’t Mess With the Zohan is mildly funny, Grown Ups is execrable and beyond saving even with the help of Rob Schneider, Chris Rock and Steve Buscemi (can’t believe there’s going to be a sequel!), and this one’s a total lame-o, man. Too bad because Sandler and Jennifer Aniston seem to have a good, unforced chemistry (but then again, Jennifer can have good chemistry with a slug, she’s that cool). Sandler, with all his preoccupation with poops and boobs, is creatively bankrupt here. Having Nick Swardson as his sidekick only makes things worse. Man, that dude has the charm and humor of a dead frog. The only surprising thing here is Nicole Kidman. Why she allowed herself to be dragged into this mess is anybody’s guess.

Eargasm: This lion doesn’t bite

British Lion by Steve Harris. When you pick an album called British Lion by the bassist and primary songwriter of legendary heavy metal band Iron Maiden, you expect — and rightfully so — to hear, in whatever amount, that distinct, old-school NWOBH sound. Not exactly Maiden-esque, but perhaps by way of Saxon or Diamond Head or even Motorhead. But when the album sounds like a collection of Journey outtakes when the band was still in need of a decent singer, then you begin to agree with those Christian nutjobs that God hates heavy metal and is doing everything to destroy it.

My one and only — but very major — beef with this album is with the singer. (Okay, I also have an issue with the sound quality, but I got this album through illegal means so I guess I shouldn’t be complaining about that.) As a vocalist, Richard Taylor can hardly sing as much as he can mumble. Perhaps he’s an electric performer onstage, but in the album he sounds weak and uninspired — and that weighs the whole thing down. I’m saying tracks like “This is My God” and “Karma Killer” would have been memorable songs if only they were sung by a singer who has more conviction and passion in his voice. Arnel Pineda or that dude from Tyketto could’ve made “The Chosen Ones” and “These are the Hands” sound awesome. And for a song titled “Judas,” it doesn’t have any punch in it. In short, thanks to Taylor, full lift off is not accomplished in any of the cuts despite undeniable potential, and the result is a  British lion that bares more gums than fang. (Verdict: One star)

More reviews to follow, if I can find time to write ‘em. Terribly busy these days…

Eargasm: Of hot cakes and death sentences

Man, too many interesting albums coming out these days, too little time to listen to and digest them. For a self-avowed music freak like me, that’s actually a predicament. Here are my brief takes on the online loots currently blazing on my player.

Hot Cakes by The Darkness. The band who, on their 2003 debut album Permission to Land, proudly proclaims that they believe in a thing called love only to retract it a couple of songs later by saying love is “only a feeling,” is back and telling us now that love is not the answer and, in fact, “will make you stupid.” Crazy dudes, these Brits are. But an album for heartbroken people this is not (despite the standout songs “Love is Not the Answer” and “Forbidden Love”). Actually, as one can expect from these Spandex-wearing glam rock worshipers, this album — their third after years of inactivity — is quite a party. Check out “Every Inch Of You,” “Nothin’s Gonna Stop Us” and my personal fave “Everybody Have A Good Time,” which, to these ears, is as stirring and celebratory as KISS’ “Raise Your Glasses” from the Psycho Circus album. And that Radiohead cover “Street Spirit (Fade Out)”? Awesome. Just plain awesome, man. Chill those beers and start sending out invitations. Let’s party rock like it’s the Eighties. (Verdict: Three and a half stars)

Dig in Deep by Tyketto. Admittedly, this is my first exposure to this band. All I knew before listening to this is that they’re one of those late Eighties/early Nineties bands whose careers got nowhere because of grunge, and then regrouped in the 21st century to give it one more shot, delight their orphaned fans, and perhaps earn more paychecks along the way. No one can really blame them for doing so, especially if they bring decent enough cuts on the table. Album-opener “Faithless” is an attention-grabber, a good tune for initiates. A soundtrack for deep introspection, it has this perfect-for-late-night-driving feel to it. The good vibes continue in the next two tracks, “Love to Love” and “Here’s Hoping It Hurts,” both of which would be rightfully at home on a Black Stone Cherry album. With one or two exceptions, the rest of the songs  are just as hummable, with heavy surges (the intro of “The Fight Left in Me”) and nifty guitar pluckin’ (midway through “Evaporate”) generously sprinkled here and there. Think Journey at their prime. If you like your rock smooth and unobtrusive, you’ll like Tyketto. (Verdict: Three stars)

Death Sentence by Dublin Death Patrol. Enough with the party-rockin’ and all this maudlin shit; time to get heavy and evil. And heavy and evil, of course, best describe this album. Just what can you expect when the band is jointly fronted by Testament’s Chuck Billy and former Exodus screamer Steve Souza, two of thrash metal’s most notorious vocalists? Pure aggression, man. That, and nothing else. Which could be either good or bad depending on the listener. On one  hand you could ask what’s the point of having a side project if you will not deviate from your original band’s sound. On the other you could just choose not to give a fuck. If you just want to, say, “remember to dismember” (as a line from “Macabre Candor” goes), then you’re in for a sinister treat. (“My Riot,” “Blood Sirens,” “Conquer and Divide” and “Broken” are four other tracks to pulverize your eardrums until you cry out for Bon Iver.) The dual vocal approach — Chuck Billy’s ungodly barks and Steve Souza’s furious snarls — is a point of interest. Also, the obvious nod to old-school thrash metal. With these ingredients on the recipe, why go overly introspective over a side project that seems to have put more emphasis on having fun than exploring new avenues of creativity? Dublin Death Patrol is so brutal the United Nations or Amnesty International should be paying attention. (Verdict: Three and a half stars)