Wasting Light - Foo FIghters

The victory lap is almost as important for the soul as crossing the line first. Getting back to the base elements of what makes you you is the only way to stay sane and rein shit in; trying to rebottle the lightning is only going to end badly. You know who tries to do stuff like that? Johnny Borrell. And no-one likes that guy.

‘Echoes, Silence, Patience & Grace’ saw the Foos tip their grandest scale yet. A widescreen rock album embraced by mortals and gods alike (the 180,000 souls who crammed themselves into Wembley Stadium in June ’08 represent the popular vote; Jimmy Page and John Paul Jones coming out to jam on old Zep tunes on the second night demonstrates the extent to which the very architects of the genre smile upon them), it confirmed beyond any doubt their status as one of the biggest bands in the world.

But what next, after the hugeness of those shows? Wake up hungover after a monstrous night – the sort of night that lasts for three days – and what do you most want to do? Take comfort: in food, in hot drinks, in warmth, in company. The Foos went back to what they know, taking comfort in familiarity. And what’s more familiar than your own house? “Back in the garage with my bullshit detector” goes ‘Garageland’, the last song on The Clash’s first album, and if ‘Wasting Light’ had a mantra, it’d be that. Everything about the Foos’ seventh album – at this point they’ve released as many as or more records than Oasis, Fugazi, Nirvana, The Clash, Black Flag, QOTSA, Soundgarden and Faith No More, among others, which is a quite staggering achievement – smacks of decisions made with the question ‘Hey guys, does this suck?’ used as the ultimate yardstick.

And it’s something of a pleasure to report that ‘Wasting Light’ does not suck, not even a little bit – it’s both broad and focused enough to appeal to casuals and longhairs alike, and it’s doubtless their best record since ‘The Colour And The Shape’. And, because they’re answering to no-one except their own consciences, it makes perfect sense for the Foo Fighters to beat a partial retreat of sorts. That they committed it all to analogue tape in Grohl’s own garage in Virginia with Butch Vig producing, the first time the two had worked together since Vig produced ‘Nevermind’ in ’91, suggests a more casual, relaxed atmosphere (one imagines Grohl wandering around in a towel, scratching his balls and offering casual high fives while guitarists Chris Shiflett and Pat Smear lay down takes).

That doesn’t tell the full story, though. A setup like that would have been phenomenally expensive, and working in this way all five Foos – bassist Nate Mendel and drummer Taylor Hawkins completing the set – would have had to have been strictly on point: no fixing fluffed solos or squeaky strings on this one. It’s a joy to report that it worked, gloriously. ‘Wasting Light’ is the pure sound of the band being the band, and through headphones or a decent system it sounds phenomenal. Yeah, they know everyone’s going to be listening to it on shitty iPod earbuds or laptop speakers, but the point isn’t to cater to the masses. The point is to make a rock album and let the masses subsequently bellow their approval.

It’s testament to how comprehensively they succeeded that while Krist Novoselic’s appearance on ‘I Should Have Known’ is, y’know, interesting, because it’s Vig, Novoselic and Grohl all making music in a room together for the first time since, y’know, that other album, the abiding feeling after hearing it is admiration at what a great, old-fashioned torch song it is, rather than the calibre or backstory of the performers. It’s the same deal with the quasi-duet with Bob Mould from Hüsker Dü/Sugar, ‘Dear Rosemary’, which is a brilliantly chiming, anthemic song of real restraint and grace that shows the parts themselves to be very much secondary to their sum.

Moreover, Pat Smear makes a full-time return to the band for the first time since ‘The Colour…’ and it’s conceivable that he’s the fuel behind ‘White Limo’’s exhilarating thrash-punk fire (a digression: considering his CV contains stints with the Germs, Adolescents and Nirvana, a case could be made for Smear being one of the most badass of punk rock journeymen, second only to Brian Baker). Again, however, the song’s so good, will anyone wipe the sweat from their eyes to even check the liner notes?

Elsewhere, ‘Bridge Burning’ is the sort of gutsy fist-pumper that will – will, no doubt about it – sound majestic ringing out over Milton Keynes at a million decibels. More than that, it’s one of the best opening tracks on a mainstream rock album in years, while the likes of ‘These Days’ and ‘A Matter Of Time’ are more melodic but no less invigorating. The former in particular benefits from the painstaking production: you can hear fingertips brushing strings as the fretboard gently buzzes, before all manner of mahogany-rich guitars come crashing in and, as with ‘Rope’, it blossoms into the sort of song that will make people drive just that little bit faster the world over. And, uniquely for late-period Foos albums, there’s no real downtime, as ‘Arlandria’ and ‘Miss The Misery’ are big rock of the arms-aloft variety without losing any of the subtlety of the band’s best work.

And no, ‘subtlety’ isn’t a typo – the best guitar music is a conflagration of worn clichés revitalised and re-energised by the deft touch of inventive, exciting musicians, and that’s exactly what this album does. ‘Wasting Light’, and the mindset of 2011-era Foos, is effectively summed up by Grohl himself on closer ‘Walk’: “I never wanna die! I never wanna die!” he yells, and why would he? Sounds like his band are having too much fun.

Give The Drummer Some - Travis Barker

Can the drummer get some? It’s evident that some of most decorated sticksmen have got ‘some’ in terms of a star profile, even when apparently playing the background to lead singers and guitarists. As Keith Moon (of The Who) and ?uestlove of The Roots have proven, even the drummer can have their moment in the spotlight, as Blink 182’s Travis Barker aims to prove on his collaborative album Give The Drummer Some. Moving well into the Hip Hop lane, can the eccentric nature and style of Barker’s persona mesh well with the cocky, egotistical ways of some of rap’s favourites?
The project’s title track kicks things off and it’s an appropriate choice as Barker storms in over the sick opener, giving us an early sample of the album’s signature sound. With crashing drums and Hip Hop swagger courtesy of Swizz Beatz, The Game, Lil Wayne and Rick Ross, Barker gets off to a heavy, riotous start. The upbeat vibes continue on ‘If You Want To‘ with Pharrell and Lupe Fiasco channeling the spirit of rambunctious N.E.R.D tracks, which makes for a killer record.
Give The Drummer Some offers something for hipsters, heavy rock heads as well as those hardcore Hip Hop fans who may have raised an eyebrow when considering Barker’s first solo project. The ‘cool’ box is again checked when the Cool Kids are invited onto ‘Jump Down’ and double-time rapping is the theme when Yelawolf, Twista and Busta Rhymes team up on ‘Let’s Go’.
As hard as it may be to imagine anyone other than a rapper shining on this project, Travis Barker’s calamitous drumming only adds the raucous, live productions on board – almost composed entirely by Barker himself. The heavy drums birth a live element of Hip Hop which the likes of Just Blaze, Black Milk and others have infused into their sound. Assembling a mini Wu revival on ‘Carry It’ the duo of the RZA and RaekwonSnoop Dogg, Ludacris, E-40 and DEV. relentlessly ride a heavy guitar-led anthem, but the aggression switches to the lavish playa cut ‘Knockin’ where its steady rolling mood is motored by
Although Hip Hop driven, Give The Drummer Some does venture back to Barker’s original grungy, rock traits which unfortunately don’t equal to the standards set. ‘Saturday Night,’ featuring his punk group the Transplants and Guns n Roses legend Slash, joins ‘On Our Own’ and ‘Misfits’ as the few ‘skippable’ tracks – mostly for its hardcore roots and incoherence with the rest of the album.
But Travis Barker has done something which many musicians and producers with feature-led projects have generally been unable to do on their albums – and that’s to keep the consistency of exceptional tracks running throughout. Give The Drummer Some calls to action legends, superstars and successful bands to do what they do best, all to the beat of Travis’ impeccable drumming.
Getting the Hip Hop ‘balance’ right, Barker’s assembling of beats, guitars and scratches result in an energetic, mosh-pit like event which all fans can enjoy. In addition to its unbiased stance towards a particular region of rap (collaborations range from the West Coast’s Jay Rock to the bi-coastal Slaughterhouse), those on hand to provide 16’s are on form and drive the mixtape to a successful finish. Give The Drummer Some does more than give Barker an approval from the culture but provides evidence that an “outsider’s” take on the genre can result in a product of equal measure to some of the best material from it.

Vices & Virtues - Panic At The Disco

The competition is tough for Emo's Most-Avowed Dramatist -- Gerard Way? Jared Leto?! -- but Panic! at the Disco singer Brendon Urie might take the golden compact.
To wit: In 2009, Urie's devotion to theatrical pomp forced the Las Vegas quartet to split over creative differences. Drummer Spencer Smith sided with Urie, while guitarist Ryan Ross and bassist Jon Walker left to explore the '60s British Invasion sounds that defined 2009's Pretty. Odd. Urie's first move post-split? Restore the band's original punctuation (Pretty. Odd. lacked the trademark exclamation point). That's the equivalent of raising the emo-for-life flag, and Panic!'s new album is a pledge of allegiance -- Vices & Virtues' opening track and first single, "The Ballad of Mona Lisa," deals in black fingernails, empty gin bottles, and desperate teen melodrama. The video is a hyper-stylized steampunk funeral scene.
With help from songwriter-producers Butch Walker (Avril Lavigne, Weezer) and John Feldman (Good Charlotte, Foxy Shazam), Vices & Virtues returns to the slick, big-production pop of the band's two-million-selling, 2005 debut A Fever You Can't Sweat Out -- heart-collapsing arena guitars, swelling strings, and overheated, mallrat-baiting choruses. But without Ross, the group's main songwriter, who drew on his own scarred youth (including the early death of his alcoholic father), Urie steps in to pen the lyrics, and the result is verbose and generic diary-entry romance ("'Sentimental boy' is my nom de plume," he wails in "Trade Mistakes").
Vices & Virtues' saving grace, though, is the varied instrumentation -- marimbas, xylophones, accordion, synths, digital atmospherics -- which brings stronger footing to Pretty. Odd.'s go-for-baroque Beatlemania. On the album's most compelling track, "Let's Kill Tonight," drum machines, 8-bit video-game synths, and goth-industrial effects collide in a castle-storming chorus. Unfortunately, Urie is left at the gate, still bitching about "cold hearts."

Self-Titled Album - Slash

Slash’s star-laden solo album Slash is a very mixed bag. Probably the only record this year to include appearances from Kid Rock, Maroon 5’s Adam Levine, Black Eyed Peas’ Fergie, Ozzy Osbourne and Iggy Pop, Slash finds the Velvet Revolver guitarist bouncing around between rock and pop. But while the record’s far-ranging sound helps to illuminate little-seen sides of Slash’s musical personality, the quality of the material is all over the map. Anybody hoping that this solo effort would be a hard-rock monster akin to Slash’s glory days in Guns N’ Roses will be disappointed, but on the whole this uneven effort works.

 

Slash consists of 14 tracks featuring different high-profile vocalists. (Only Alter Bridge’s Myles Kennedy shows up more than once, and one song, “Watch This,” is an instrumental starring Foo Fighters’ Dave Grohl and Slash’s Velvet Revolver bandmate Duff McKagan.) Before the album’s release, Slash’s most intriguing aspect was the fact that we’d get to hear singers from across the musical map lend their voices to Slash’s sonic concoctions. In reality, though, the success rate isn’t as high as one would like. Interestingly, Chris Cornell is one of the spotlighted vocalists, and in a way Slash is much like Cornell’s 2009 collaboration with hip-hop producer Timbaland, Scream, in that it transplants a known rock commodity into the mainstream pop world. Granted, Slash still feels for the most part in the same genre as Slash’s output with GNR and Velvet Revolver, but it’s largely a rock album for people who normally shy away from the aggressiveness of an Appetite for Destruction.

 

Slash is best known for his work in the rock world, but he’s also done guest spots on albums for artists like Bob Dylan and Michael Jackson, suggesting that he’s not someone who’s narrow-minded about what constitutes “rock.” By inviting people like Levine and Fergie to sing on Slash, the guitarist is perhaps arguing that musical creativity transcends rigid genre definitions, and on occasion he proves his point. Levine’s ballad “Gotten” feels very much cut from the same cloth as your typical Maroon 5 single, but it’s nonetheless an inviting middle-ground between Levine’s adult-oriented pop and Slash’s expressive solos. But then you have Fergie’s “Beautiful Dangerous,” which is an unmitigated disaster. Going for a slice of sleazy, sultry stripper-rock, Fergie snarls and moans throughout “Beautiful Dangerous,” but the track ends up sounding like a pop star’s lame idea of hard rock, and as a result it’s nothing but cheesy. Often, the individual pop tracks feel more like that particular singer’s work than they do the product of Slash. For example, Kid Rock’s “I Hold On” is a standout mid-tempo tune, but it draws heavily from the soul-infused sound Kid pursued to great effect on his Rock N Roll Jesus. Ironically, Slash’s solo album may be the first case of an artist ceding too much of the limelight to his guest stars.

Maybe not surprisingly, Slash is at its best when the guitarist hooks up with veteran rock and punk vocalists. Lemmy’s “Doctor Alibi” is a terrific burning-rubber rocker filled with bad attitude and strutting riffs, and Iggy Pop’s “We’re All Gonna Die” celebrates the inevitability of mortality by throwing one decadent party. But beyond being album highlights, these two songs reveal Slash’s pleasures as well as its limitations. It’s fun to hear all these different vocalists teaming up with Slash, but the songs can sometimes seem too tailored to the singer’s individual styles. Rather than a brilliant meeting of the minds, Slash is just a solid piece of craftsmanship that plays it a little too safe. You’ll be entertained by Slash but not blown away. Then again, maybe a conservative approach was wise – the most daring song on here is the Fergie track, and perhaps tellingly, it’s also easily the worst.

Rokstarr - Taio Cruz

Taio Cruz is certainly making headway in the UK music industry. This young talented singer/songwriter/producer is gaining serious acclaim having won a Brit, being nominated for a MOBO and very much in the minds of many budding pop stars for his writing skills. You can't deny this pop star has much to give and gaining a number 1 with his first single 'Break Your Heart' from Rokstarr, his second album, Cruz means business.

I was instantly put off listening to Rokstarr as 'Break Your Heart' is the opening track and no matter how good a pop track it is, it irritated me and it was played so many times on radio. Other releases like 'No Other One' and 'Take Me Back' I preferred and as you get used to Taio you can't deny his songs are seriously catchy. However if you liked 'Break Your Heart' you will love this. Obviously I would have been a fool not to listen to this album as it's clear Cruz is a serious talent and could certainly rival the Americans in pop hits. Rather than going down a predictable pop formula Taio does incorporate new sounds and it does add a bit of power to the mix, with understated grime and electro influences. It's certainly going to be a winner with the kids.

There's no denying Rokstarr is a very good pop album. It is edgy in a pop sense and has a serious amount of sophistication for a young producer and songwriter. Maybe it's just I'm a bit too old for this vibe. He's a smooth operator with serious slick skills and I could be all over it if I was a teenager but for an old psycho like me it's a Christmas present for my niece not a piece in the puzzle for my progression. Yet top marks for Rokstarr and respect to Taio.

I Look To You - Whitney Houston

Certain voices stand like monuments upon the landscape of 20th century pop, defining the architecture of their times, sheltering the dreams of millions and inspiring the climbing careers of countless imitators. Whitney Houston owns one of those voices.

When she was at her best, nothing could match her huge, clean, cool mezzo-soprano -- not Madonna's canny chirp, not Bono's stone church wail nor Bruce Springsteen's ramshackle growl. No, it was Houston who best embodied the feminine but gym-toned, black-inspired but aspirationally post-racial sound of global crossover pop. Like a Trump skyscraper, Houston the singer was as showily dominant as corporate capitalism itself.

Then, like many a glorious edifice, Houston's voice fell into disrepair. Drug abuse and a rocky marriage to New Jack jerk Bobby Brown made her a tabloid staple. More tragically (for listeners, at least), her excesses trashed her instrument, which age and normal wear and tear would have imperiled anyway.

The pain and, frankly, disgust that so many pop fans felt during Houston's decline was caused not so much by her personal distress as by her seemingly careless treatment of the national treasure that happened to reside within her.

"I Look to You," the singer's comeback after nearly a decade of ignominy, is a costly renovation overseen by her mentor, Clive Davis, and enacted by the best craftspeople money can buy, including the producers Akon, Stargate and Nate "Danja" Hills and the songwriters Diane Warren and Alicia Keys. It's not unsuccessful: This is a habitable set of songs. But there's a limit to what Houston can accomplish, and operating within limits becomes the album's overriding theme.

This happens beneath the music's surface, which balances inspirational balladry with bubblicious club pop, as Houston's music always has done. Houston's songwriters and producers provide her with top-notch tools; she wields them cautiously and almost humbly, never falling because she never reaches too high.

The best giant ballad is the Warren-penned, David Foster-produced "I Didn't Know My Own Strength," an exhibition of battle scars that's richer for the weary, injury-protecting quality of Houston's vocal. If she does earn the Grammy she's virtually been promised for a song from this set, it should be for this one.

R. Kelly's contributions -- the megachurchy title track and "Salute," a sort of rewrite of Rihanna's "Take a Bow" -- are less convincing, mostly because Houston can't muster the giant ego that's made similar songs golden for Kells himself.

On most of the album, platinum beats overshadow any vocal pyrotechnics, and Houston interacts with her backing tracks with the muscle memory of a dance-floor veteran. It's rewarding when she really settles into her rougher midlife tone, especially on the Danja-produced "Nothin' But Love," perhaps the most pugnacious thank-you note ever recorded.

When she aims for sweet, as in the hooky "Worth It," or spirited, as on the disco-fab climax of the Leon Russell cover "A Song for You," she gets there with effort.

But should we begrudge the fact that Whitney Houston now has to work at singing? It's all to her credit. What's hard to give up is the dream of painless perfection that the young Houston represented, back in the yuppie era, when her voice sounded like the easy money that was flowing everywhere. Of course, that didn't turn out so well for anyone else, either.

Though "I Look to You" doesn't soar like the old days, it's fine to hear Houston working on her own recovery plan.

Crazy Love - Michael Buble

Michael Bublé’s decision to enter the studio with his band alongside him, a format tried and tested by his idols Frank Sinatra and Dean Martin, has paid off handsomely. Each song on this flamboyant new CD thrills the ear as though it were a live performance.

Bublé lays down his cards from the word go with a highly theatrical interpretation of the torch song Cry Me a River – far removed from Julie London’s sultry rendition which she recorded many moons ago. He doesn’t spare us the pain of a man thwarted in love, but neither does he whip up a frenzy of self-regarding pity that has become a cliché of many performances. The epic scoring of the opening owes something to the Hans Zimmer school of soundtracks, and there is also a warm string arrangement that dovetails comfortably around his refrain.

By contrast, All of Me begins with piano in nightclub style and builds up into a swing arrangement with some Neal Hefti stings on brass. Bublé’s seductive way with the line, “Take my lips, I wanna lose them”, is one instance where this artist invests a familiar lyric with a conversational touch as though newly minted. The same goes for You’re Nobody Till Somebody Loves You. His Georgia On My Mind is a gem: the gentle string opening with a touch of vibraphone, the close harmony vocals, his seamless phrasing and a mellow clarinet solo ensure that this account has classic status. In the pay-off, Bublé leaves one in no doubt that the girl on his mind is Georgia, rather than the American state that as some have suggested might have been the inspiration for this song.

All I Do Is Dream Of You, a song from the 1930s, is pure heaven in its late 1950s make-over, and Crazy Love acknowledges 1970, the year the Van Morrison original was written, by introducing acoustic guitar. Bublé’s two new songs catch the spirit of today. The first, Haven’t Met You Yet, is wrapped up in a frankly commercial, chart-orientated arrangement; the second, Hold On, points to Simon and Garfunkel in its simplicity. Even more entertaining are Bublé’s takes on Heartache Tonight, with its tear-up accompaniment, and Baby (You’ve Got What It Takes), a happy-go-lucky duet with Sharon Stone.

This wonderful album would surely have been voted ‘ring-a-ding-ding’ by Frank and Dean!

Nightmare - Avenged Sevenfold

“Avenged Sevenfold’s courage cannot be emphasized enough, It’s not a stretch to say that the band’s decision to soldier on through the adversity that befell them with the tragic passing of Jimmy “The Rev” Sullivan and to grab the bull by the horns and record and release a new album verges on the heroic.

It comes as standard that the average A7X song takes more twists and turns than most bands manage in an entire album, but the first half of ‘Nightmare’ sees the band reigniting the complex blood ‘n’ thunder feel of ‘City of Evil’. ‘Welcome To The Family’ showcases A7X’s love for SoCal punk rock with a Metallica-sized stomp, ‘Buried Alive’ is part ballad and part arena-ready metal anthem and the title track is a tour de force of quality riffs and unshakeable vocal lines. The musicianship levels are once again skyscraper-high and you’ll find reminders that Synyster Gates is this generation’s ultimate guitar hero throughout.The second half of the album, including the near-11-minute closer, ‘Save Me’, is, understandably, a sombre affair. There’s no way around it, the last three tracks are gruelling due to their intensity and melancholic feel, but the therapeutic effect this will have had on the band is something that will be celebrated in the future. In this respect, once has to feel for M Shadows. Though his vocals are as powerful as ever, having to record in the wake of losing a lifelong friend must have been the most gut-wrenchingly difficult thing he’s ever had to do in his whole life. The lyrics throughout ‘Nightmare’ are so soul-bearingly raw that at points it can make you uncomfortable. “This can’t be real, I’ve lost my power to feel” he grieves on the soulful tones of ‘Victim’, while ‘So Far Away’ sees Shadows wondering, “How do I live without the ones I love?’ it’s when the emotion and lyrics collide like an uppercut to the throat that things really kick up a notch. The piano breakdown in ‘Danger Line’ genuinely sounds like Shadows could burst into tears at any second as he sings, ‘I never meant to leave this world alone/I thought that we’d grow old’. On the flipside of the coin, ‘God Hates Us’ sees him record the angriest vocal take of his career in the aural equivalent of him offering to take the man upstairs outside for a kicking. Dream Theater drummer Mike Portnoy’s genius throughout the whole album isn’t only to play at the highest possible standard, it’s to pay tribute to The Rev’s unorthodox and unique style.

That A7X have continued as a band is reason to applaud them. That they’ve managed to create a body of work that still kicks as much ass as they have always through these conditions, should see them rightfully as one of the best bands of their generation, and ‘Nightmare’ as the ultimate tribute to a fallen friend.”

Battle Studies - John Mayer

Its title suggesting both a hard-fought, scarred perspective and a depth of insight and experience that its soporific, one-note song cycle utterly fails to provide, Battle Studies stands as a major regression for John Mayer. Claiming to have drawn inspiration from the '70s-era rock of Tom Petty and Fleetwood Mac, Mayer more often sounds as dull as Bread or Kenny Loggins on songs like "All We Ever Do Is Say Goodbye" and "Assassin." With his asthmatic, monotonous croon and his obviously Auto-Tuned falsetto, Mayer simply doesn't have the vocal chops to pull off the soul-singer routine he attempts on "Perfectly Lonely" and "Edge of Desire," on which he makes the line "I'm just about to set fire to everything I see" sound like the emptiest of threats.



His voice as a songwriter also lacks versatility: It may be common practice for blues songs to repeat a single line in lieu of a traditional pop hook, but blues songs typically rely on the conviction in their production and performances to give weight to those repeated lines. "All We Ever Do" and "Perfectly Lonely" fail to develop their central conceits, making their repetitiveness come across as laziness. There's simply no character to any aspect of the album. Even the cover of Robert Johnson's "Crossroads" sounds like a rote Stevie Ray Vaughan exercise, and the duet with Taylor Swift, "Half of My Heart," is a non-starter (though Swift's attempts at harmony vocals make Mayer sound like some kind of powerhouse).



Given Mayer's rakish public persona, his repeatedly proven guitar chops, and even some of the flashes of real grit he showed on Continuum and John Mayer Trio's Try, it's clear that he's capable of far more than this. What's most puzzling and disappointing about Battle Studies, then, is that its banality seems like a deliberate choice.

31 Minutes To Take Off - Mike Posner

As advanced recording and editing technology has become more readily accessible, and as social networking media have made international levels of exposure a possibility for just about anyone, there has been a proliferation of self-made music stars. While there are dozens of nonstarters like Tay Zonday for every Lily Allen, there's a real sense that the so-called playing field has been leveled. Enter erstwhile Duke University student Mike Posner, whose popular set of dorm-room demos led to his major label debut, 31 Minutes to Takeoff. Posner's B-boy sound may be derivative as hell, but the album stands to turn him into the latest DIY sensation.


With his relatively thin, nasal tenor and smooth, R&B-infused pop style (courtesy of co-producers like Gigamesh, Greg Kirstin, and Cisco Adler), Posner invites immediate comparisons to Justin Timberlake—comparisons that don't necessarily do him any favors. Posner's singing voice is fine enough, but it lacks distinctive character. In addition to Timberlake, Posner could easily be mistaken for any number of contemporary R&B singers, from Akon and Chris Brown to Elliott Yamin and Ne-Yo, which is a serious liability for a new artist.


Posner attempts to make up for his singing voice's limitations by having a more colorful voice as a songwriter. Lead single "Cooler Than Me" balances self-deprecation with some smug frat-boy posturing, and "Cheated" takes that point of view one step further, with a kiss-off that borders on active misogyny when Posner sings, "I should have cheated on you/I was everything you wanted and more/I should have cheated on you/Nobody told me I was dating a whore." Whether or not it's autobiographical is irrelevant, but the fact that Posner dedicates the song to a specific woman makes it a mean-spirited, ugly song and sentiment.


To that end, the voice that Posner develops over the course of 31 Minutes to Takeoff may not be likable, but, at the very least, it's consistent and focused. Like fellow DIY act Asher Roth, he comes across as something of a dick and a tryhard on songs like "Bow Chicka Bow Wow" and "Gone in September," on which he shrugs, "Guess I'm an asshole like the others," as he casually dismisses a summer fling he led on. But those songs do show off Posner's ear for memorable melodies and his ability to structure a pop hook. His songs may want for originality, but their contruction is impeccable.


Whether or not that degree of song construction will be enough to give Posner any staying power without a more distinctive style is the big question that hangs over his debut. There are elements on 31 Minutes to Takeoff that suggest a singular point of view, but the album's overall style and Posner's singing don't always get that point across. What's left, then, is just a reminder that the pop landscape doesn't need another Justin Timberlake knockoff or another Internet flash in the pan.

Conditions - The Temper Trap

The Temper Trap didn't come out of nowhere. But even in an age of instant global communication, Australia is still pretty far away from most of the rest of us. So when this Melbourne rock foursome with stadium-sized ambitions first landed in my inbox last October, it was a modest revelation. Curtis Vodka, Alaska's remixer extraordinaire, was pushing all the right tech-textural buttons on an epic reworking of "Sweet Disposition", a majestic anthem which, if annoyingly derivative, had "mainstream hit" written all over it. Listeners who Shazam'd the original after hearing it in ads for Sky Sports TV in the UK-- or, stateside, on the trailer and soundtrack to alt-emo romcom (500) Days of Summer-- probably know the feeling.

Hemispheric differences may have given the Temper Trap room to develop their radio-friendly sound without getting pushed prematurely into the spotlight (for real: sorry, Black Kids), but otherwise their debut album could've been made just about anywhere. Conditions is one for the Coldplay set-- all tightly executed grandiosity and U2 pedals, generally with pounding drums, soaring vocals about steadfastness or mortality or whatever, one rumbling bass note per arpeggiated guitar chord, and a modest drizzling of synths. Unfortunately, when you adopt the trappings of revolutionary significance without showing much interest in advancing beyond the revolutions of 20 years ago, you sound ridiculous. Southern conservatives are super concerned about racial discrimination now, you guys.

Defined by almost any measure except musical creativity or lyrical ingenuity, the Temper Trap are a lot better than I'm making them sound. Dougie Mandagi's virtuosic falsetto is the kind of instrument that should come with a money-back Jeff-Buckley-comparison guarantee. When Mandagi comes in, over ecclesiastical keyboard stabs and handclaps on opener "Love Lost", there's a brief glimmer of hope Conditions will end up being more like TV on the Radio, with all that New York group's restless adventurousness, than, um, whichever band we gave that "U.2" rating. His bandmates are no slouches, either, as instrumental finale "Drum Song" shows. If its jagged rhythmic attack owes something to Arctic Monkeys, then it's no coincidence-- producer Jim Abbiss also helmed the brainy Brits' fateful debut, along with albums for Kasabian, Adele, and others.

What the Temper Trap do devastatingly well is drape post-office-party mistake-hookup tackiness in the lofty imagery of global struggle. You can just picture Mandagi standing on a mountaintop for "Sweet Disposition", his hair blowing in Bono's wind, but remember, ladies: Some insincere sketchball with limited imagination is going to use this to try to get you to have sex with him. "Just stay there/ 'Cause I'll be coming over," Mandagi booms. "Won't stop to surrender." Well, love is a battlefield, right?

Elsewhere, the Temper Trap's pairing of sweeping portentousness with mundane douchebaggery is trickier to overlook. "I pledge myself allegiance to a battle not to sleep at home," Mandagi clarifies on another single, the reasonably catchy uptempo electro-rocker "Fader". Synth-dripping slow jam "Fools" adds, "I want it, I want it, I want it," amid rebukes to unnamed, uhh, fools. Cold War Kids-ish indie nod "Down River" pulls out all the orchestral, choral, and vaguely baptismal flourishes in Neon Bible's book to repeat, "Go, don't stop." And remember "Love Lost"? It adapts a line from "Amazing Grace" into a request to "flash your heart." Yeah, open up your shirt and-- ohhh. One more in the name of love: Latest UK single "Science of Fear" samples Robert F. Kennedy's famous remarks on the death of Martin Luther King, Jr. I take it Mandagi still hasn't found what he's looking for.

It's telling to learn where, in fact, the Temper Trap did come from. The first thing producer Abbiss apparently heard from the band was a demo of "Soldier On", Conditions' Muse-rific nadir. Mandagi tells the BBC, "His wife really liked it so apparently they had a moment together and out of obedience to his wife Jim decided to record us." The six-minute track moves from Grace-ful guitar and falsetto into gnashing prog-rock bombast, until Mandagi is seriously howling at "death." I'm gonna assume he means the little one-- what the French call "la petite mort."

Free Wired - Far East Movement

If Justin Timberlake recorded a "FutureSex/ LoveSounds 2.0," it could very well have sounded like Los Angeles Asian-American group Far*East Movement's debut album, "Free Wired." The set explodes with strong hooks, synths and sparkles, thanks to a hot roster of producers (Roger Sanchez, the Smeezingtons) and several heavy-hitting collaborations (Snoop Dogg, Keri Hilson). The quartet's members are rappers at their core, offering maximum swagger on the Beastie Boys-referenced track "So What?" and on the spoken/rapped, staccato-friendly "Girls on the Dance Floor." Kev Nish's lines on the Snoop-supported "If I Was You (OMG)" sums up the album's lyrical content: "We sippin' Goose, girl/We gettin' loose, girl/So won't you sit up on my lap with that caboose, girl." The set's most aggressive cut is "Go Ape" (featuring Lil Jon and Colette Carr), but things take an uplifting direction on the midtempo piano ballad "Rocketeer," featuring OneRepublic's Ryan Tedder. With all the European dance influences on "Free Wired," the outfit appropriately employs U.K. electro-pop artist FrankMusik on the rhythmic "Fighting for Air." Fueled by the success of Billboard Hot 100 hit "Like a G6" (featuring Cataracs & Dev), Far*East Movement is a fast-rising act to watch.

The Beginning - Black Eyed Peas

 

It's kind of poetic that Will.i.am was one of the last people to record with Michael Jackson. Whether or not you like the Black Eyed Peas, their 11 million-selling 2009 album, The E.N.D., is the closest thing we've had in the past few years to Thriller — the ubiquitous pop album everybody lives with. The E.N.D. conquered Earth with a digital bum-rush built from hammering robo-beats, synth goo, elegiac Auto-Tune and overheated chant-rapping that makes Sisqó seem like a Rhodes scholar. In a moribund music biz, it's almost as if mystical belief in the power of crazy, cheesy bigness was its own kind of defiant idealism.


Only a self-destructive maniac would mess with such alchemy, and The Beginning largely picks up where The E.N.D. left off: all in-the-red party jams and escapist whoosh. But with a notable exception: The E.N.D. came with a slathering of political sermonizing about hope, change and the power of the "now generation"; this time out, Will.i.am throws his support entirely behind the notion of people coming together on the dance floor. "I'll pledge my allegiance to rhythm and sound," he Auto-yelps on "Play It Loud." Call it a DJ Hero democracy.

The Peas have always been stylistically flexible, and on The Beginning, they give themselves over more fully than ever to the groove palette of club culture, stirring up electro funk, Euro-trance and classic disco, micromanaging every beep within an inch of its life. "It's in fashion to be blasting them beats," Will sings over a Chic sample on "Fashion Beats," which features Fergie's spot-on Debbie Harry hommage.


They're as surprised as anyone that they're the biggest hip-hop act on the planet, and the music exudes thankfulness. "The Time (Dirty Bit)" steals its chorus from the Dirty Dancing duet "(I've Had) The Time of My Life" and flips it into the kind of trashy thumper Snooki does cartwheels to. On the equally gracious "Someday," Apl.de.ap gets personal, singing about his blue-collar work ethic and Filipino-immigrant background as Edge-like guitar shimmer suggests boundless promise.

This much serotonin in four humans can only mean they'll get carried away all over the place, and Beginning bubbles with the kind of slobbering excess that drives Peas haters bonkers. Who else but Fergie and Will.i.am would think to take the "me love you long time" sample from 2 Live Crew's "Me So Horny" and sing it as the hook in a romantic duet? With the Peas, you gotta take the inane good with the inane bad. And when they hit the right note of airhead, air-punching majesty — just check out the gorgeous "I Gotta Feeling"-style glide of "Play It Loud" — the good can be kind of inescapable. If you do wish to escape it, please avoid bars, open windows, doctors' waiting rooms, sporting events, sitcom montages, preschool graduations and your grandma for the next year or so, because it's gonna drown 'em all in rhythm and sound

Hands All Over - Maroon 5

On Maroon 5's third album, their already polished sound is burnished to a high-gloss glow. With producer Robert "Mutt" Lange — the guy behind AC/DC's Back in Black, Def Leppard's Pyromania and Shania Twain's biggest hits — at the helm, the dozen songs on Hands All Over are models of craftsmanship and efficiency, each clocking in at under four minutes and delivering verses catchier than other bands' choruses. On "Misery," the first single, frontman Adam Levine floats his reedy tenor over a percolating groove. "I am in misery," Levine sings. He doesn't sound so miserable, actually; he sounds like a skilled bandleader, guiding a well-oiled group through its paces.

Levine's big influences are still Stevie Wonder, Michael Jackson and the Police, but he stretches out, dipping into country ("Out of Goodbyes," with harmonies from Lady Antebellum) and power pop ("Stutter"). The problem is, Hands isn't half as fun as it should be. The title track is a big, silly arena-rock song reminiscent of Def Leppard: "Put your hands all over me," Levine bellows over burly power chords, but Maroon 5 are too meticulous, a little too uptight, to make good on the song's party-hearty promise. Levine and crew could be blue-eyed-soul godheads, the 21st-century Hall and Oates. But they need to loosen up first.

Featuring... - Norah Jones

Every once in a while, we’re graced with an amazing musical talent that seems to transcend genres. Arguably one of the finest artists of the last decade is Norah Jones.

The smokey-voiced jazz singer turned mainstream sensation has released some of the most memorable music of the last decade, which can be experienced on her most recent release, …Featuring.

The album is a star-studded collection of some of Ms. Jones’ most remarkable (and largely unheard) collaborations over the last decade, boasting 18 songs that include duets with legends such as Ray Charles, Herbie Hancock, Dolly Parton, and Willie Nelson to an array of modern day artists that span genres from rock to rap and beyond.

There is something for everyone to enjoy on this album, whether you love the old-school blues sound of “Ruler of My Heart” with the Dirty Dozen Brass Band, the beautifully depressing, folk-rock sounds of “Dear John” featuring Ryan Adams, or even the laid-back thinking-mans rap of Talib Kweli on “Soon The New Day,” where Jones supplies the earworm-worthy hook. There’s also the trippy duet with OutKast on “Take Off Your Cool” and ode to hip-hop in Q-Tip’s “Life is Better.”

…Featuring is an excellent sampling of Norah Jones’ collaborations over the past decade, especially for fans who don’t own the singer’s non-album guest work.

Speak Now - Taylor Swift

People like to fixate on Taylor Swift's youth, as if to say, yeah, she's pretty good for her age. But that just begs a question: Where are all the older people who are supposedly making better pop records than Taylor Swift? There aren't any. In a mere four years, the 20-year-old Nashville firecracker has put her name on three dozen or so of the smartest songs released by anyone in pop, rock or country.

Swift's third album, Speak Now, is roughly twice as good as 2008's Fearless, which was roughly twice as good as her 2006 debut. These 14 tunes chronicle the hopes and dreams of boy-crazy small-town Everygirls, and Swift wrote them all by herself. (She also co-produced Speak Now with Nathan Chapman, who oversaw Swift's first two albums.) Swift might be a clever Nashville pro who knows all the hitmaking tricks, but she's also a high-strung, hyper-romantic gal with a melodramatic streak the size of the Atchafalaya Swamp. So she's in a class by herself when it comes to turning all that romantic turmoil into great songs. At this point, she's like the new Morrissey, except with even more eyeliner.

Swift takes a step into adulthood with Speak Now — she clearly aspires to the divorced-mom market where country stars do most of their business, slipping more grown-up details into her love stories. It's tame by country-radio standards, but it's still weird to hear T-Sweezy sing lines like "There's a drawer of my things at your place." Sometimes you can even tell what chick flicks Swift has been watching from the song titles: "Dear John," "The Story of Us," "Enchanted."

In uptempo tunes like "Mine" and "Sparks Fly," or ballads like "Back to December" and "Enchanted," Swift's voice is unaffected enough to mask how masterful she has become as a singer; she lowers her voice for the payoff lines in the classic mode of a shy girl trying to talk tough. Check the way she tosses off the "You made a rebel of a careless man's careful daughter" part in "Mine." Anyone else would have built the whole song around that, yet for Swift it's just another brilliant throwaway detail. There's a minimum of country schmaltz on Speak Now — Swift likes her tempos fast and her choruses rock-size. In "Enchanted," she even cops the Prince trick of duetting with her own filtered voice.


As for the boys she tangles with on Speak Now, they're her usual type. "You're an expert at sorry/And keeping lines blurry/And never impressed/By me acing your tests" — get used to that guy, Taylor, you'll be meeting a lot of him. Her advice to these dudes for holding on to her? "Just keep on keeping your eyes on me," she sings in "Sparks Fly." And yet we can already tell this guy's going to be long forgotten by the next song.

Speak Now peaks with "Long Live," a ridiculously over-the-top prom anthem with all the epic girl-group swoon of the Ronettes or the Shirelles, plus a guitar hook from Def Leppard's "Hysteria." Swift belts about how getting crowned king and queen is the most excellent event that could ever happen. It's the sort of prom song that could only come from an artist who chose to spend her high school years on a tour bus. Yet when Swift sings it, damn if you don't believe every word.

The Hymn Of A Broken Man - Times Of Grace

Born out of suffering and salvation, “The Hymn of a Broken Man” journeys through tribulation and trial, leading us down a path of redemption and recovery. Spectacularly composed by Adam Dutkiewicz and penned by him and Jesse Leach, Times of Grace blaze a trail from toil, but somewhere lose us while trekking with their heads hung in sorrow. Comprised of a current and former member of Killswitch Engage, I can’t help but think this reminds me of something I’ve heard before.

Foremost and first, we are dealing with two immensely talented musicians. The level of intelligence these two operate on is beyond any way of measuring and I fully acknowledge the artistry and musicianship involved in creating a work such as this. That being said, this is an unexciting album at best. As the title suggests, these songs were written from the comforts of a hospital while Adam recovered from an emergency surgery procedure on his back. What better to do than mope about hurting and healing?

I must admit, Jesse’s vocals have gone in quite a different direction since his departure form Killswitch in 2002. In those days, Leach was a straight forward, brutal scream monger, with a few glints of clean. Now, it seems he has donned the more marketable hat of the full of sorrow crooner. Adam has his moments in the vocal rounds, mostly in the backing. Those familiar with the latest offerings from Killswitch can easily pick up on his stylings.

Musically, I find this indiscernible from the current flavor and style of Killswitch Engage. It would be just as appropriate if this was another KsE album. I find the sound done and done again. I do give them all the talent and ability credit in the world, but this seems so unoriginal for two musicians of their caliber. The structure of many of the songs are very jagged and craggy, making the listening process awkward and irregular, hindering further exploration.

I can’t say I would recommend this to many. It just doesn’t hold the qualities of the hype that is was preceded with. Again, Both Adam and Jesse are immensely talented musicians. This just wasn’t the best exhibition of their skills. It was more like showing off and letting down.

This Is War - 30 Seconds To Mars

This Is War finds 30 Seconds To Mars in the midst of a mighty siege between its tendency for borderline awful and un-inventive rock music and intelligent, showmen-like poetic lyricism and programming. However, the dark side that is lame top 40 modern rock usually wins the day.

“Kings and Queens” and the title track recall My Chemical Romance circa The Black Parade, only they lack any pronounced themes. Album opener, “Escape”, features Jared Leto’s sex-god whispers before it explodes into a chorus of prepubescent, angsty screams. The first part is kind of interesting, and feels like some wonderfully cheesy post apocalyptic sci-fi tribal chant, but then it breaks down into screaming that would make Gerard Way yawn. Meanwhile, “100 Suns” comes off like a bad hangover from “Kings and Queens”. It’s two minutes of acoustic guitar while Leto whispers really meaningful, quasi-intelligent, and emotionally relevant poetry. Sadly, it feels like they’re going for the lowest common denominator and they’ve stripped themselves down too far on an album that proudly touts its effects and technological spin. Plus, the crowd adulation at the end is a clear sign that Leto has some kind of messiah complex.

In “Hurricane”, Leto’s vocals are actually real and earnest; they strain like there’s some actual heartbreak behind them, not mindless screaming done for the sake of developing a character. And while some may drive screwdrivers into their brains due to Kanye West’s involvement, there’s no better combination of talents. Both the band and West have a history of overwrought emotional displays that are borderline absurd. Do you want over-the-top emotional pleas, piled on top of a vague mix of electro and rock, all culled from a broad measure of pompous musicianship without an air of concern? This is it.

Then, of course, there’s “Closer to the Edge” — every boring, bland, and faceless alternative rock song out there. This could easily find itself on a Seether or Three Days Grace release, only here there’s no Hollywood big budget love story behind it and it’s not even slightly interesting. On the flipside, there’s “Search & Destroy”, which takes a more poppy turn, carrying some NIN-esque tendencies with it. Working from a sinister-yet-dancey beat, the vocals come off filthy, at least in the beggining, which would have you thinking the song might turn out at least semi-decent. But, once again, they go off into a direction that is way too bright and bubbly. It’s one thing to shoot for duality, but mixing dark and light sounds and lyrical content should only be done if you stick to that balance completely and definitively. “Alibi” is another step into a direction that is seemingly positive. It’s formulaic (a quiet intro of whispers transitions into verbose guitar and ends with pained howls), but that equation feels more real than any drum circle with a bunch of Hot Topic tweens any day of the week.

“A Call To Arms”, even with the teen/childrens’ chorus, is frantic and filled with movement. It’s sonically interesting before it breaks down after a minute or so into more of the same. Here’s the thing with the whole war against the world theme: Sure it’s been done, but you can do it again and create new imagery. However, with bad metaphors like cleansing rain, the band does nothing to reinvent the whole idea. It’s like a Holden Caulfield-level rage: neat and clean. Rebellion should be more genuine and dirty. The sound doesn’t fit it for the most part, save for a few minutes of what it should be: kinetic and destructive, always moving up and beyond and into some uncertainty and chaos. What we’re offered is homogenized tunes calling for freedom without the grit and passion.

“Night of the Hunter” has a wonderfully synth pop beginning, complete with a pulsing beat of effect-laden keys, and features more of Leto’s genuinely inspired singing with minimalized screaming. Here’s where they can define a whole sound from them — a vaguely alternative rock sound with an emo sensibility that makes great use of tiny steps that bands like Joy Division used: dark and intense imagery, instrumentals with little to no effects, and a healthy dose of the theatrics. “Stranger In A Strange Land” has such a certain cinematic quality to it. Lyrics like “I’ll fuck you like the devil” is pure Hollywood filth you have to love. The rumbling intro leads into an ethereal piano line before exploding again like an angry, majestic mechanical wolf roaming across some arctic tundra. And it shifts again, slowly picking up more speed with the aforementioned piano line. Toward the ending, Leto belts out a moment or two of vocodered singing and a more menacing synth line.

This album bounces between big and uninspired modern rock tracks and flirtations with noise and effects while maintaining a pop-rock integrity and base. While the evils of rock win and pull them toward the bland, the few fleeting moments of inspiration in “Night of the Hunter” and “Stranger in a Strange Land” deserve a listen. Shoot the rest off to the depths of space, where no one can hear you make screamo lite.

Cardiology - Good Charlotte

Good Charlotte haven’t necessarily had the easiest of journeys through their career within the music industry, be it the style of music that they play, the fashion accessories that they are accustomed too or the women that the Madden brothers have courted with over the past decade, but one thing is for certain; when the quintet write a solid pop punk album, they pull out all of the stops and do it phenomenally well.

Following the band’s previous three efforts, the album opener ‘Introduction To Cardiology’ allows the audience to engage in what could be considered Good Charlotte’s most impressive material – an album from the heart. As each track builds successfully into the next, it is difficult not to hit the repeat button once the album reaches a halt.

As Cardiology’s stone setter leads into ‘Let The Music Play’ the opening lyrics hit you hard and fast with the meaning of the song, “There's a song that you can find in every moment of your life, in every tear you've ever cried, in every painful last goodbye. Let the music play.” The song expresses the sense of relief that music can contain when a person goes through negative moments, bursting with large potential to uplift the hearts of regular funeral goers.

Returning to work with producer Don Gilmore, after feeling unsettled with material already recorded, was the right decision. The quintet restore the sound that their fans grew to love when they started, resulting with a fusion of tracks that sound like they’re from the era of both their 2000 self-titled album and 2002’s 'The Young and The Hopeless'. Good Charlotte still hold on to that good quality harmony sound that the Madden brothers create so well, as it continues to blend into the guitar driven chorus’ that appear through the album. It is predominantly clear that the musical chemistry of the band has only grown stronger over the past few years of criticism.

One thing is for sure and that is their latest catalogue of songs really holds some hidden gems that will surely be appreciated live; including the profoundly romantic ‘Silver Screen Romance’ that holds the biggest chorus of the album both lyrically and musically. Other tracks that’ll really capture the attention (and hearts – ironically) of the audience are party anthem ‘Last Night’, self-titled influence ‘Standing Ovation’ and the infectiously poisonous sing-a-long ‘Counting Down the Days’ – which has been confirmed as the follow-up single to ‘Like It’s Her Birthday’.

It could be argued that fifteen songs on a pop punk album is five too many, but when you’re comparing it to their previous album - the risky 'Good Mourning Revival' - you come to realise that they have bridges to mend, and it’s great to see the Maryland boys back on top form as they begin to churn the hits out once more.

Danger Days:The True Live Of The Fabulous Killjoys - My Chemical Romance

Kicking off with a Warriors-style DJ intro, the record seems to set itself in a post-apocalyptic wasteland of pop culture, bopping along (mostly) happily as the world crumbles. The rest of the album plays like a radio station that has been programmed and performed by My Chemical Romance, hitting multiple styles and genres but always embodying a future-nostalgia.
 

Folks are already very conscious of the early single "Na Na Na…" whose video features subversive comics writer Grant Morrison (Way is also an accomplished comics author)… and that track and video pretty much define the record. It's fast-paced, catchy pop anthem with punk undertones, and it's effing good.There's a snarl and a wink to the whole album, even though it swings wildly from power-pop jams like "Bulletproof Heart" to ballads like "SING" and dance-infused tracks like "Planetary (Go!)." Influences are very interesting and varied. In addition to drawing from sci-fi movies like Logan's Run and Blade Runner, there are some musical nods here as well. For instance, "DESTROYA" sounds like a three-way between MCR, Jane's Addiction and Nine Inch Nails, the "Party Poison" riff has a Stooges feel, the opening of "Vampire Money" cribs from "Ballroom Blitz." But it never feels like the guys are ripping anyone off: this all feels like a tribute to good, hard-rocking music.
 

 "The Only Hope For Me is You" stands as the lone weak track on the record. It's pretty standard broken heart fare, and uninteresting as a result. Bottom line, though, this album is a lot of fun. It rips by at an intense pace and re-establishes My Chemical Romance as the kings of evolution. There are a ton of possible singles on this release, but more importantly, there are a lot of songs you will want to listen to at high volume in your car. Beyond that, it's an album that begs to be played live, so the recording is only the beginning of Danger Days...

Doo-Wops & Hooligans - Bruno Mars

The title of Bruno Mars's debut, Doo-Wops & Hooligans, which at 35 minutes barely qualifies as a long-player and yet still manages to wear out its welcome about halfway through, is the first indication of just how calculated the album is to please just about everybody: part sweet, part sassy, with both halves too safe to be concerned about. It could be that Mars, a somewhat in-demand songwriter before this year saw his star rise, saved his best juvenile-delinquent impulses for collaborator Cee Lo's frat house-pleasing, Stax-n-Effect anthem "Forget You," which he co-wrote. To borrow a phrase from that song, "Forget You" is an imperfect but endearing Atari (one you'll tire of once the novelty has worn off), whereas Mars's debut is a sleek, polished Xbox. It's state of the art, but to what leavening effect?


Mars, working with his co-hooligans Philip Lawrence and Ari Levine, apparently feels more comfortable risking offense when he's not delivering the epithets himself. His sound is sunny, fresh, and believably naïve, ensuring that the only way he's seen as a "hooligan" is in the same sense as a group of ducktail-coiffed, uniform-jacketed hoods would be in any second-rate 1950s drag-racing epic. With Doo-Wops & Hooligans, the word "fuck" gets replaced by "marry"—literally, on the bizarrely syncopated piledriver "Marry You," a decided reversal of the Cee Lo screed in which Mars insists, "If we wake up and you want to break up, that's cool."


You see, Mars keeps letting his big ol' heart get the best of his worst impulses. In "Grenade," he assures he would step in front of the song's title for you, girl. On "Just the Way You Are," he insists, "When I see your face, there's not a thing I would change," even though for some unannounced reason, he claims to know "when I compliment her, she won't believe me." Which begs the question: Why won't she believe him?


Mars is a reasonably intelligent slinger of pop hooks, and one would be forgiven for thinking he intends the effects such elisions create, but then again, there is a track on this album called "The Lazy Song," in which he paints a portrait of Al Bundy as a young man: "I'll be lyin' on the couch, just chillin' in my Snuggie/Click to MTV so they can 'Teach Me How to Dougie'/'Cause in my castle I'm the freaking man." "Lazy," "Liquor Store Blues," and "Our First Time" all sway gently with a hint of reggae swagger, and the album's penultimate "Count on Me" takes its cue from Israel "Over the Rainbow" Kamakawiwo'ole. All of which is to say that Doo-Wops & Hooligans kicks up no fuss, and shortchanges on its promise of both doo-wop and hooliganism.

Habits - Neon Trees

Neon Trees – a pretty cool name huh? Well, this quartet from Provo, Utah has just been signed with Mercury Records last year and they’re still quite unknown to most pop/rock listeners because they didn’t get the chance to be exposed before they were signed to a major label. With much buzz coming out this year, they’ve released a single titled ‘Animal’ and a début album, ‘Habits’ all in the first quarter of this year. The band’s repertoire might be unabashedly compared with The Killers and Muse as they present stadium-filling music – brilliantly crafted rock music suited for fans of the latter two alike.

The band’s debut single, ‘Animal’ which comes off as track number three in the 37-minute LP sounds very hip and pop compared to most of the tracks in their first offering. It’s something you’d want to lip-sync to while you’re in a music festival or something. It’s catchy yet confusing about what the band really wants the listeners to feel about their LP. Although they’d want to keep a good message through their lyrics as they discussed many sides of love in most of their tracks.

With their amazing energy that clearly shows in every track, Neon Trees can never be branded boring to be completely honest. Since it’s branded as a rock album, it’s never far that it could be a bit rambunctious at times especially ‘1983’ that might be considered an instant hook as it gets its inspiration from the punk rock music scene.

Showing off a lot of likable traits, this album presents a great collection of bad-ass pop/rock anthems most of them are possible singles which embraces the generic breed of today’s pop/rock bands. ‘Habits’ doesn’t want you to think about how you’re going to appreciate this type of music but hence makes it easier for somebody who doesn’t treats this as their cup of tea to actually like this. Having said that, it’s a no brainer that these songs aren’t something we haven’t heard before. It clearly denotes an album that’s ephemeral in nature – for some period you’d learn to love the CD but then you’ll realise you somehow forget about it eventually.

Come Around Sundown - Kings Of Leon

In the run-up to Kings of Leon's fifth album, frontman Caleb Followill fretted publicly over his band's swelling popularity. Sorry, dude: That horse left the barn a while ago. The Kings' last album, 2008's Only by the Night, sold 6.5 million copies worldwide, they now headline arenas all over, and the Grammy-grabbing "Use Somebody" has been covered by everyone from Paramore to Trey Songz. If Wilco and My Morning Jacket are vying for the title of America's Radiohead, Kings of Leon have — Bono's honorary green card notwithstanding — become our U2. And the gigantic-sounding Come Around Sundown suggests that, Caleb's humble grumblings aside, they are thriving on it.

Listen to "The Face," a slow-fuse power ballad that conjures a stadium full of singing fans and slow-turning mirror balls. Or "The End," where the band's once lean and scrappy guitar sound becomes an Edge-like tsunami. But the Kings' personality hasn't been lost in the supersizing — the group manages to tweak its sound several times over. The fiddle-spiked "Back Down South" heads into dark backwoods-kegger territory. "Mary" flirts with doo-wop, mating pop falsettos with Matthew Followill's punk-glam rawk riffing. "Pony Up" is an itchy funk tune that surprisingly recalls Talking Heads.

Caleb's voice, meanwhile, remains a thing of slithering, boozy Tennessee beauty. Witness "Birthday." It's a slinky rocker in the spirit of 50 Cent's "In Da Club," except there's no club, shawty's nose is bloodied, and Caleb is walking her home, stumbling, laughing and spilling drinks along the way. Down-homey and over-the-top, "Birthday" recalls the Kings' gruff-sounding garage-rock days. But it's just a glimpse in the rearview by a band with its foot on the accelerator.

Kanye West - My Beautiful Dark Fantasy

When Kanye West sings about "jerk-offs that’ll never take work off," you’d best believe he means himself. Being crazy is this guy’s job, and judging from the sound of his music, business is booming. My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy is his most maniacally inspired music yet, coasting on heroic levels of dementia, pimping on top of Mount Olympus. Yeezy goes for the grandeur of stadium rock, the all-devouring sonics of hip-hop, the erotic gloss of disco, and he goes for all of it, all the time. Nobody halfway sane could have made this album. 

Last time, Kanye went minimal for the electro melancholia of 808s & Heartbreak. But on Fantasy, he gets ridiculously maximal, blowing past all the rules of hip-hop and pop, even though, for the past half-decade, he’s been the one inventing the rules. There are hip-hop epics, R&B ballads, alien electronics, prog-rock samples, surprise guests from Bon Iver to Fergie to Chris Rock, even a freaking Elton John piano solo. It’s his best album, but it’s more than that — it’s also a rock-star manifesto for a downsizing world. At a time when we all get hectored about lowering our expectations, surrendering our attention spans, settling for less, West wants us to demand more.


Nobody else is making music this daring and weird, from the spooky space funk of "Gorgeous" to the King Crimson-biting "Power" to the paranoid staccato strings of "Monster." Nearly six minutes into "Runaway," long after the song has already sealed itself in your brain, the sound cuts out and you think it’s over. Then there’s a plinking piano, the feedback of an electric guitar plugging in, some "Strawberry Fields"-style cellos and Yeezy himself singing a poignant Robert Fripp-style solo through his vocoder. There’s no way it should work, but it keeps rolling for three more minutes without breaking the spell.


Coming off a string of much-publicized emotional meltdowns, Yeezy is taking a deeper look inside the dark corners of his twisted psyche. He has sex and romance on his mind, but he comes clean about his male angst like never before. In confessions like "Runaway" and "Blame Game," he honestly struggles to figure out why he has to be such a douchebag. Yet the songs are also his funniest ever, with Kanye showing off lethal wit on the mic: In "Dark Fantasy," he rhymes "mercy, mercy me, that Murcielago" with "diablo," "bravado" and "My chick in that new Phoebe Philo/So much head, I woke up in Sleepy Hollow."

There’s a famous story about Queen making "Bohemian Rhapsody": Whenever the band thought the song was finished, Freddie Mercury would say, "I’ve added a few more ‘Galileos’ here, dear." But nobody can out-Galileo Kanye. With Fantasy, he makes everybody else on the radio sound laughably meek, but he’s also throwing down a challenge to the audience. Kanye West thinks you’re a moron if you settle for artists who don’t push as hard as he does. And that means pretty much everybody.

Foo Fighters - Greatest Hits

A greatest hits set is a perfect vehicle for the talents of Dave Grohl. The former Nirvana drummer has always exhibited a fine ear for enormous pop hooks, and with the Foo Fighters has enjoyed considerable chart success. But the last truly great album he appeared on was, inarguably, In Utero.

Grohl was intimidated by Kurt Cobain’s writing for Nirvana – though he’d pen songs, he kept them to himself – but when the frontman committed suicide in 1994 Grohl struck out alone rather than man the kit for another group. Using the name Foo Fighters in an attempt to embrace anonymity, Grohl’s first recordings stirred enough label interest to necessitate a stepping out from the shadows. A collection of what were little more than demos became the first Foo Fighters album, and the rest, as they say, is history.

And here is that history – or at least 13 tracks of it, along with a couple of new songs and a solo acoustic take on fan-favourite Everlong (the studio version appears, too). These are big songs, full of cracking choruses; they are, at their centres, loud and proud pop songs dressed up as rock numbers simply because of the amplification addictions of individuals involved. Over the course of a full album the Foos can drag – 1997’s The Colour and the Shape may be the exception – but here the four-piece never allow attentions or affections to wander. It’s a perfect greatest hits set – all the songs you recognise, without any of those pesky numbers that never made it to radio. It’s a bluffer’s guide, Foo Fighters for Dummies, and there’s no problem with that at all.

But who does it appeal to? The Foos have sold millions of albums already, and two new tracks – Wheels and Word Forward – will be downloaded separately by many. With Christmas around the corner, Greatest Hits is positioned as a fine stocking filler for a younger brother or sister just beginning to get interested in rock music – the MTV variety, assuming the channel plays videos these days. Long-term fans will appreciate the ‘how to multitrack at home’ notes from Grohl, but said attraction aside this is straight-up Foos 101, best appreciated by fair-weather followers and absolute beginners.