Album Reviews 26/02/05

Transatlantic Radio, “City Of Angels” Midnight Transmission (Frontiers Music s.r.l.)

Any time a press release bumbles into my inbox touting a “supergroup,” I take the bait, thinking “We’ll just see about that, won’t we?” In the case of the song in question here, an advance single from this hard-rock/AOR band’s upcoming debut LP Midnight Transmission, “supergroup” feels a bit hyperbolic: For starters, guitarist RJ Ronquillo has a YouTube channel with, I’d assume, eleventy-blah-blah-gorillion subscribers, not that he doesn’t have a great guitar sound; his comes off like a precision chainsaw that kind of wants to be a six-string bass, if you know what I mean. The other dudes are mostly highly paid journeymen, including Chris Reeve, who was drummer number four or five for Filter for a few years. You get the idea; basically they’re a hard-rock version of Toto that wishes they’d thought of Trans Siberian Orchestra’s Christmas-metal trip first (see the connection here, anyone? Trans Siberian/Transatlantic?). OK, fine, if I quibbled over every bit of unoriginality I encountered every week I’d never have room to talk about anything else, but hoo boy, this tune steals the riff from Trans Siberian’s biggest crowd-pleasing rockout, “First Snow.” I mean it’s fine other than that, I guess; Swedish vocalist Mattias Osbäck pulls off a decent Glenn Hughes, but that’s faint praise if I ever — OK, let’s just stop there. C —Eric W. Saeger

The Stripp, Life Imitates Art (self-released)

OK, this one reaches your overworked, overtired eyeballs courtesy of Friend-of-the-Hippo Dan Szczesny, who Facebooked me as I was wrapping up this week’s critically acclaimed column. First he tried to get me to talk about Brass Against’s cover version of the Pink Floyd song where the opera lady sings all opera-y, and I was like “Oh, you think that’s an awesome girl singer?!” and sent him a link to Delerium’s “Heaven’s Earth,” and then he melted into butter after the chorus ate his entire head, so I went back in our now mile-long message thread to this album so I could finish this column and go watch my shows and sip my hot Café Vienna toddy. Dan loves this Australian band, who profess to sound like Motorhead, which they don’t at all, firstly because they have a girl singer who’s not possessed of much in the way of je nais sais qua, but secondly because Motorhead’s guitars sound like a bear crashing its way into a museum, not like these guys, whose core sound is more like 1980s-era Black Flag mixed with early Kiss. But! There’s something to be said for early punk and Kiss, so if they get a new singer I’ll give them an A. That is my price, take it or leave it, and now Petunia and I will continue bingeing reruns of The Nanny. B- —Eric W. Saeger

PLAYLIST

A seriously abridged compendium of recent and future CD releases

• Keep on truckin’, fam, like they used to say when Woodrow Wilson was president, we’re already into February, the last full month of pure frozen misery, I can practically smell the deep-fried botulism wafting from the hilariously undercooked fish at the cheapest beach-food shack I can find when it’s unbearably hot out again and a few of you people actually start posting “I can’t wait for pumpkin-spice everything to get here again” on your Instagrams and Roblox gaming Discords, can we please get to the part where global warming turns New England’s weather into Georgia’s weather like they keep promising! Unfortunately, though, we’re trapped here together, but I’m keeping snug and super-warm buried under all the spam coming into my emailbox from bands and various people pretending to be “important cogs in the music industry,” asking me if I can get down to Austin, Texas, in mid-March for the 40th annual South By Southwest (SXSW) conference, I’m so warm and comfy right now! They all want me to show up and get free tickets, all these bands, and I’ll admit that it makes me feel special, but would I attend this “conference” if my airfare and hotel accommodations and car rental were paid? No, because Wire isn’t playing, and they’re the only band left on Earth that I’d actually sacrifice some American dollars to see, and neither is Mac Sabbath, the joke band that plays Black Sabbath songs while disguised as McDonaldland characters like Ronald McDonald and the Hamburglar and whatnot, I told you guys about them, remember? No? Well, I’d go see them too, but no, I have no wish to see any of this year’s SXSW headliners, a list that includes All-American Rejects, Don Toliver, Junior H, and Mau P, but hey man, if you’re going to SXSW and want to co-write this column for an issue, I’ll tell you what, message me on Facebook or Bluesky (I’m barely on Twitter anymore, just like everyone else) and you can send me your thoughts on those four bands, and I’ll listen to them and add my two cents about why I think you’re wrong about them, sound fair? But look at how much we’ve digressed from business, specifically the business of the albums coming out on Feb. 6, for example The Fall-Off, the new one from North Carolina rapper J. Cole! Purported to be his final record, it features a tune designated/titled “Disc 2 Track 2” that features a sunny cheerful beat and (thankfully non-flashy) flows that are pretty masterful.

• Ha ha look, a new album from Nick Jonas, who used to be married to one-note sadgirl actress Sophie Tucker before she had her “what on Earth am I doing marrying a Jonas brother” moment! Oops, wait, this just in, the former Mr. Sophie Tucker was Joe, not Nick; Nick’s married to Priyanka Chopra, management couldn’t care less about the error! Sunday Best is the album, and “Gut Punch” is the single, featuring lightly AutoTuned boyband vocals; it rips off Katy Perry’s “Roar,” not that there’ll be a lot of royalties to grab from a lawsuit.

• L.A.-based emo/dream-pop whatchamallits Silversun Pickups release Tenterhooks this week. “New Wave” is a loud, depressing outburst with math-rock guitars, something you’d hear from Bono if his dog died and he was kind of metal.

• We’ll end this unbelievably disastrous week with Puma Blue, “the alias of artist, producer and romantic, Jacob Allen.” Wikipedia tells me he sings in falsetto, which he does in the title track from his new LP, Croak Dream. It’s pretty cool, jazzy yet street-wise, I don’t hate it at all. He’ll be at the small but great-sounding Crystal Ballroom in Somerville, Mass., on March 6. —Eric W. Saeger

Featured Photo: Transatlantic Radio, “City Of Angels” Midnight Transmission and The Stripp, Life Imitates Art

Into the Midnight Wood by Alexandra McCollum

Alexandra McCollum has conjured some incredibly endearing characters in Into the Midnight Wood, their debut novel about two comically disparate roommates, each trying to figure out who they are and what they want amidst family drama, dark magic and a tenuous friendship.

I’m relatively new to the fantasy/romantasy genre but in the past year have devoured many books that feature magic, witches, fae, vampires, gods and god complexes, dark academia and other common tropes, but most especially strong female main characters — which is wonderful and commendable, but also made Into the Midnight Wood a refreshing change. Its main character is David, a cisgender gay man, whose roommate and love/hate interest is Meredith, referred to as he/him in the story but who outwardly rejects labels, often dresses femme and is romantically attracted to all genders.

McCollum calls the novel a “queer contemporary fantasy romance that is intended for adult readers” on their website, the latter part alluding to the fact that there are several very explicit “open door” scenes.

Along with the spice, this book is laugh-out-loud funny, thanks mainly to the dialogue between David and Meredith, and to Meredith being a vibrant, charismatic human. But David has lived with him for five years and has grown tired of Meredith’s quirky behaviors. As he tries to remind himself of why he’s looking for a new place to live and a chance to be rid of Meredith for good, David starts a tally, a la “10 Things I Hate About You” — David, though, is mentally cataloging not 10, but 100 things that are “wrong” with Meredith.

David’s list is full of annoyances, some of which are incredibly inane and some of which would absolutely get aggravating over time.

A small sample:

“#11: His accent.” Because “David had never before heard someone manage to sound both American and British at the same time, yet Meredith somehow accomplished it.”

“#13: He persists in outfitting his dog in this humiliating fashion,” referring to Bianca’s rhinestone collar.

“#23: He never puts anything back in its proper place.”

“#48: He insists on holding an impromptu funeral for a rodent.”

“#94: He acts as if an absence of hours or days has been years,” David mentally tallies after Meredith runs up to hug his friend (before noting with a semblance of surprise that he’s kind of missed Meredith greeting him that way.)

But behind Meredith’s persona is a more subdued, almost defeated, side that starts to seep out as his family, full of disapproval and a brother who crosses the line of typical sibling squabbling into full-on emotional abuse, re-enters his life. There’s a wedding at the center of this reunion, because all good family drama happens when there’s a wedding involved.

So where’s the magic? Most of it happens in the Midnight Wood, while the rest of the book is set in a relatively normal, human-occupied place — with a few exceptions that are sprinkled in here and there with little explanation and zero world-building. But it’s an enchanting space, and I didn’t feel any real need for an explanation as to why David and Meredith are fully human while their neighbor, Mrs. Jupiter, is a straight-up witch with a cauldron and a penchant for casting spells. There are hints of otherworldly creatures mentioned throughout as well, like a real estate agent who is presented as human — or, at least, not presented as not human — who turns out to have tentacles.

But the Midnight Wood is where most of the magic happens. It’s where Meredith seems to have a connection with a lot of the creatures he meets in the Midnight Wood, like magic mice (hence the rodent funeral noted in #48). He seems to feel at home in these woods, engaging with misfit beings who, like Meredith, are hard to define.

There’s some dark magic looming among the trees too though, in the form of Erlking of the Midnight Wood, who feeds on others’ misery and is especially interested in getting to Meredith’s deep, dark feelings that he tries so hard to shove down. It’s an interesting way to bring life to Meredith’s self-loathing, essentially taking on the form of a monster that threatens to destroy him if he gives in to his despair.

Could this story have been told without the moderate dose of magic? Probably. But the magic tempers the serious themes, adding a dose of whimsy without taking away from the real, heartfelt messages.

If you’re looking for a typical romantasy, this isn’t it, but it’s well worth the journey if you’re looking for something enchantingly eccentric. B+Meghan Siegler

Featured Photo: The Midnight Wood by Alexandra McCollum

Album Reviews 26/01/29

KMFDM, Enemy (Metropolis Records)

This Hamburg, Germany-based industrial band has always been mandatory listening for safety-pin goths with aircraft-carrier-sized chips on their shoulders. I consider them Kiss for anarchists: crazy hair, piercingly loud fashions, and an unrelenting desire to smash the western world’s end-stage capitalist system. They’ve nailed the aesthetic with rage anthems before (“Free Your Hate” is still my favorite), but can they still compete in these sociopolitical times, which are obviously so [nervous hysterical laughter]? Well, things don’t get started until a few songs in: The rather childish title track sounds like something they thought would sound anthemic but doesn’t, and then comes “Oubliette,” which futzes around with Judas Priest-style riff-metal, which was never their strong suit. But then comes the echo-y, apocalyptic-sounding “L’Etat,” in which they remember that their biggest competitor is Rammstein; it’s one of the best things they’ve ever done. Resident hot chick Lucia Cifarelli steps in to sing the industrial-pop number “Vampyr,” sounding sweet during the verses and demon-rabid on the breaks of course, and — whoa, just hold it right there, they did get a new guitarist, and he can definitely shred. It’s OK! A-

Ben Rosenblum’s Nebula Project, The Longest Way Round (One Trick Dog Records)

Lot of fun, this one (if a bit scattershot with regard to focus), the latest release from award-winning (an ASCAP Young Jazz Composers award and two Downbeat awards, all in 2010) New York City-based pianist, accordionist and composer Rosenblum. Now, with regard to the parenthetical caveat above, there’s nothing inherently wrong with shifting genres and such in order to cover a crazy-wide spectrum of world music, and I’d chalk Rosenblum’s predilection for it to his eye-popping range of experience: He’s played with Rickie Lee Jones, yes, but also Canadian-Indian singer Kiran Ahluwalia and Brazilian hand percussionist/Late Show Band member Nêgah Santos; his influences are deep and varied, from Brazilian forró to Irish reels and jigs to Bulgarian folkloric songs and Dominican merengue. Yes, there’s accordion on here when it fits the mood, but no mood — or flavor of joyful expressionism, let’s say — is off limits, it seems. One minute you’re madly bouncing around in a hydraulically fitted 1964 Impala, the next you’re being treated to some of the most lively post-bop you’ve ever heard. So the verdict? Open minds will absolutely love this. A+

PLAYLIST

A seriously abridged compendium of recent and future CD releases

• Alrighty, my fellow cubicle-imprisoned office colleagues, January’s already almost out of the way, won’t be long before we’re all offline at the beach again, so let’s keep the agile AI synergy circling back and pivot to the new albums “hitting the streets” (prolly with nauseating wet flopping sounds) on Jan. 30, reach out if you want to ping my brains out or just network, my DMs are open! Now, folks, we’ve lost a lot of famous rock stars over the last few months, so let’s chat about it. The worst one for me was Kiss guitarist Ace Frehley, a boyhood hero of mine. I’d really been looking forward to the next time his band played at Tupelo Music Hall so I could mooch some passes and have a serious chat with him about maybe letting me try out to be his lead singer, or at least let me get up and sing some Zeppelin songs with him or something; he knew he was a godawful singer and I figured we would have gotten along since he was as much of a jackass as me and took very few things seriously. O Fortuna, guys, but the most recent one was of course Bob Weir of the Grateful Dead, a loss that was the talk of social media for days. Funny story about Bob: Back in the mid-Aughts, I was writing a column for a corporate newspaper on the New Hampshire seacoast that’s nowadays mostly digitally distributed and no longer found in your 7-Elevens and such. Anyhow, I’d written a piece about how electronic music was going to take over sooner rather than later (again, this was a long time ago), and the next day, lo and behold, there was an email in my inbox from Weir, whose band Ratdog was in town. He must have been bored in town, because he mansplained around 900 words at me about how “guitar-based rock wasn’t going to go away,” which wasn’t what I’d said at all, so immediately I got defensive, thinking “who is this guy anyway,” because I knew and still know basically nothing about the Dead, and I assumed he was a second-banana guitarist hack they’d hired in the ’80s or ’90s, in other words I didn’t know that he had been an original founder of the Dead when they were still just a silly Mungo Jerry-style jug band. We had words, folks, angry words, like, I told him I thought the Dead were awful and I’d be embarrassed to be in a band like that, so he got mad and wrote back, “Oh definitely, I want YOUR life, sitting in your mom’s basement telling people to [censored] off.” From there it got really ugly — my editor at the time is the only one who saw the whole thing — and he somehow never invited me to Thanksgiving dinner, but all that aside, I feel bad for his fans, RIP Bob, which brings us to the new album from The Soft Pink Truth, titled Can Such Delightful Times Go On Forever! It’s an experimental house music side-project from Drew Daniel, who’s half of the San Francisco duo Matmos, but there’s really nothing danceable at all about the first single “Time Inside the Violet”; it’s a bunch of violins and eerie weirdness, but you might love it, I don’t know.

James Adrian Brown was the guitarist for the now-defunct U.K. alt-rock band Pulled Apart By Horses, and his debut solo LP is Forever Neon Lights. The single “Generator” is pretty neat, built over a noisy, catchy beat a la Wonky-era Orbital.

• French synthpop bro Sébastien Tellier releases his first album in six years, Kiss The Beast, led by the single “Thrill Of The Night (feat. Slayyyter & Nile Rodgers).” It sounds like early Madonna if that makes you happy.

• We’ll end the week with California-based emo-pop band Joyce Manor, and their new full-length I Used To Go To This Bar. The featured tune, “I Know Where Mark Chen Lives,” sounds exactly like Lit or Hoobastank or Dashboard Confessional etc.

Featured Photo: album covers for KMFDM, Enemy and Ben Rosenblum’s Nebula Project, The Longest Way Round

A Wooded Shore, by Thomas McGuane

(Knopf, 177 pages)

Thomas McGuane’s 18th book, A Wooded Shore, fits nicely on a shelf in a man cave. Comprising eight stories and a novella, the collection is mostly about ordinary men: men striving but failing to rise to the myriad occasions that life presents. The fact that most take place in Montana shouldn’t be a deterrent to anyone in New England.

Take “Slant Six,” my favorite of the bunch. It is a deceptively simple slice-of-life story about a couple, Drew and Lucy, going through common problems of life, like dealing with an aging mother/mother-in-law. The story opens with Drew, a lawyer, stopping by a hardware store. There he runs into a former client trying to figure out what shade of white his wife would want off a color wheel featuring 27 different shades. As the story unfolds, we learn that the couple, despite Drew’s profession, live in a rental with a “tall, lean and Lincolnesque” landlord named Jocko who lives with a parrot named Pontius Pilate and likes to mow the lawn in a thong. “The fact that Jocko was their landlord seemed to stand for everything they hadn’t gotten in life,” McGuane writes.

The fact that Drew and Lucy work hard at being good people, even volunteering to pick up trash along two miles of a highway, seems to offer no karmic benefit. In the seminal scene of the story, the couple go to a party at a client’s house, where they interact with the various people who cross paths in their life. The story concludes with a smart callback to the paint color-wheel scene and an observation by Drew that is haunting and likely universal.

Memorable also is “Balloons,” which has just a little more than eight pages but delivers a surprise punch in the final paragraph. It’s narrated by a doctor who had an affair with a woman, Joan, who “stirred up our town with her air of dangerous glamour and the sense that her marriage to Roger couldn’t last.” That was true: Joan eventually left Roger, leaving her former husband and her former paramour to awkwardly interact with one another, around town and in the examination room. Even after the divorce, the narrator was unsure whether Roger had known about the affair. When he comes to the doctor’s office with news and a surprising request, he doesn’t question the motive. Theirs had seemed an idyllic marriage at the start: The narrator reflects, when looking at the church where they were married, “I had never seen two such good-looking people as Joan and Roger at their peak.”

Some writers of short fiction end their stories so abruptly that it seems they got tired and decided to stop and let the reader figure out where they were going. That’s not the case in this collection; the endings appear well-thought out, even if the story itself drifts a little bit. That’s the case in “Retail,” which introduces us to Roy, an insurance salesman who achieved modest success selling policies to people who owed him something in some way: old classmates, distant relatives, an abusive foster mom. When Roy achieves local stardom by rushing into a burning house to save a child’s cat, his fortunes improve, but he still finds himself managing an unimpressive group of salesmen and trying unsuccessfully to court a widow in an adjacent office.

And so it goes: despair and hope, hope and despair, one foot in front of the other, and occasionally a flash of revelation. Each story can be seen as mildly to enormously depressing, but for the schadenfreude.

There is pain and loss at the heart of these stories, which gives them their depth. McGuane’s extraordinary voice, honed over 85 years of living, gives them their meaning. AJennifer Graham

Featured Photo: A Wooded Shore, by Thomas McGuane

Album Reviews 26/01/22

Djrum, Under Tangled Silence (Houndstooth Records)

It was way past time to cover this one — seven months to be exact — but better late than yadda yadda. According to — OK, most of the people who still profit from being involved in its scene, dubstep isn’t a dead genre at all, and we do need to admit that it really shouldn’t be. This British producer (Felix Manuel) was a music prodigy as a child, and his mastery of the piano is on full display here during many of the intro bits, which give off Beethoven (or Liberace, truth be told — let’s just say “aristocratic,” that’d be fine) vibes before (eventually, at the artist’s discretion) tabling beats that are promoted as “IDM” and whatnot by some but nevertheless owe a lot of their DNA to (you guessed it) Aphex Twin, Skrillex and Burial. Melodic, quirky and wickedly technical, this is the sort of stuff you want in your earbuds when you absolutely, positively must have an out-of-body experience because the professor’s lecture is so boring. Take opening track “A Tune For Us” for starters, comprising piano arpeggios, a ton of light synth layering and, you know, glitch to create the sonic equivalent of a lava lamp. Deeply immersive soundscaping throughout. A+ — Eric W. Saeger

Hoaxed, Death Knocks (Relapse Records)

This all-girl trio from Portland, Oregon, has gotten pretty Sabbath-y since acquiring new bassist/vocalist April Dimmick (from Soul Grinder, in case you track such things). This LP opens with “Where the Seas Fall Silent,” which wields the same tribal “party on, you crazed cannibal zombies” bashing as Sabbath’s “Hole In The Sky,” in other words if you hate it you hate all arena-metal. But this band is no Sabbath wannabe (otherwise Relapse Records wouldn’t have validated their parking stub when they came in to negotiate, trust me). “The Family” is raw, street-smart, and pretty freaking epic for a band that isn’t trying to do orchestra-metal; it’s what you might call “coven-metal,” you know, hard-rock for witches and such, which is my way of saying you should check it out, if not for the (really good) songwriting, than for the band’s tastefully low-rent but powerful sound. They’d probably do great opening for Rasputina or whatnot. A+ —Eric W. Saeger

PLAYLIST

A seriously abridged compendium of recent and future CD releases

• Everyone’s pretty much sobered up from the holidays, not that you can really tell, so it’s time to get down to serious business again, getting you people to buy new CDs and virtual albums, from the great Cloud in the sky! Yes, we’re into the new releases of Friday, Jan. 23, this week, but since one of you hopped into my Facebook to give me guff about what I said about KPop Demon Hunters last week, I watched about half the movie, just so I could feel what it’s like to be part of the audience that consumes — whatever that stuff is. For the sake of journalistic integrity, I wanted to feel what it’s like to be a teenage Generation Alpha music fan, so I prepped myself by eating a half-pound of Trolli Sour Blasting Crawlers, washing them down with a gallon of Mountain Dew Code Red, then ate two bags of Flamin’ Hot Cheetos and a box of flaming chicken tenders, then filmed a TikTok of myself taking the “Skull Breaker Challenge” by getting kicked in the head by a horse (naturally it got only three views, one from my sister, one from my employer and one from a girl I dated in high school). Half-insane from diabetic coma and really really wanting a salad and some aspirin, I felt like I was ready to go all-in on the Hunters, so I went for it. So, OK, it’s not just a giant Lady Gaga ripoff, like, there’s some Katy Perry theft in there too, and I’ll admit it was kind of funny when the girls went ga-ga over the androgynous dudes in the boyband and popcorn started popping out of their eyes, but that joke got overdone fast and I didn’t laugh the second time. The animation was fine, twice as good as Disney’s Aladdin cartoon I’d say, but really, asking me, an award-winning arts critic, to watch KPop Demon Hunters is like expecting Meet The Press to bring on two 4-year-olds to debate whether or not the Federal Reserve board should keep interest rates high: Wasted on refined sugar as I was, I still lacked the supercharged pheromones that are required to find anything interesting about the movie, and no, I won’t eat any more Tide Pods to see if that does the trick. Instead, I’d like to get on with this week’s releases, so we’ll start with British singer-songwriter Louis Tomlinson, a member of (ugh) boyband One Direction! His new album, How Did I Get Here, features a tune called “Palaces” that straight-up steals the vibe from Flock Of Seagulls’ 1980s hit “I Ran” but adds nerdy boyband singing to the recipe, which doesn’t work at all during the first minute or so, but it does prove effective during the hooky chorus. It’s fine for what it is. Groan.

• British-American rapper IDK is said to be “around 80 percent as good as Kanye West” and/or “kind of boring,” but a lot of people think he’s awesome, probably mostly because he seems to pull in a lot of famous guest feats, which he does again in his upcoming new album Even The Devil Smiles, scheduled for release this Friday after a false start a couple of weeks ago. DMX’s estate allowed him to use some (bad-ass as always) vocal tracks on “Start To Finish.”

• Also this week, Washington, D.C.-born R&B singer Ari Lennox releases her third album, Vacancy, as the follow-up to her critically acclaimed 2022 LP Age/Sex/Location. This one’s title track is a bedroom-soul joint spotlighting her Roberta Flack-meets-Da Brat vocal stylings, with some sweary rapping from album producer Jermaine Dupuis.

• And finally we have seven-member Japanese R&B/hip-hop girl-group XG, with their debut full-length The Core. Front-loaded single “Gala” is pretty neat if you like glitch and progressive house beats; it’s pretty ritzy and next-generation if you ask me, which of course you always should. —Eric W. Saeger

Featured Photo: Alter Bridge, Alter Bridge (Napalm Records) & Diane Coll, Strangely In Tune (self-released)

Album Reviews 26/01/15

Bren Holmes, A Rush to the Start Lin (self-released)

Given that this guy is an original member of the Irish rock band The Young Dubliners, I was of course expecting to be deluged by tin whistles and fiddles and whatnot, but this has nothing of the sort. It’s more like something I’d expect from someone who’d eventually placed sixth in a season of The Voice, that sort of thing, evoking vanilla, dishwasher-safe songwriting hackery right off the bat with “Gloria,” which has a lot of Aughts-era echoes of Beach Boys and humdrum Bonnaroo bait. After that singularly unimpressive start we move on to “Don’t Say You Will,” which tacks in a pseudo-country Ryan Adams direction, a tune I suppose some would accept as semi-Irish-sounding only because the tempo would be fine for a jogging mix and the vocals are mildly uppity. “Ordinary World (for Sinéad)” is obviously a paean to Sinéad O’Connor, with lyrics checking off “defiance” and “sleeping eternally”; it’s a deeply pretty tune whose sentiments have aged enough for us to know that it’s a tune he squirreled away quite a long time ago. Aside from that highlight the songwriting is thuddingly average really. C+ —Eric W. Saeger

Crystal Lake, The Weight of Sound (Century Media Records)

This Tokyo, Japan-based metalcore outfit has been around since 2002, which is pretty amazing considering the supernova-level energy they bring to everything they do. They’re joined this time by a whole crowd of singers whose names are renowned in their bubble, leading off with Signs of the Swarm’s David Simonich, whose Chester Bennington precision takes some of the steam off album-opener “Everblack,” but it’s nevertheless a head-crusher, alternating between Dillinger Escape Plan-influenced math-metal and some guitar-sound experimentation that had me going “OK, that’s cool.” Jesse Leach from Killswitch Engage is here also, tasked with the boyband parts to balance out the room-temperature growling of John Robert Centorrino, the band’s full-time singer. At that point a picture emerges of a band that’s interested in expanding their range to symphonic metal or whatever (who isn’t?), but — and this is really my only problem with the album — Centorrino doesn’t possess that gear. That’s a shame. A —Eric W. Saeger

PLAYLIST

A seriously abridged compendium of recent and future CD releases

• Onward we press as one, an army of snark-meisters, to Friday, Jan. 16, another Friday dump of new albums! But first things first, I know a bunch of you little monsters have been laughing behind my back for being completely ignorant about the KPop Demon Hunters thing, and it won’t help that I have a written and signed note from my mom that says I’m deathly allergic to the very idea of a literal cartoon bubblegum band, so just to shut you guys up, I listened to some of their songs in direct violation of my doctor’s orders. As I predicted (what we call in the music journalism a “barely cursory review”), it’s catchy but derivative stuff, mostly because the art-hating cacodemons who threw the thing together just took a bunch of old Lorde and Britney Spears beats, hired the first girl singer who could pull off a really accurate Lady Gaga karaoke, and now there they sit, counting piles of money and laughing in their heated indoor swimming pools. As you know, none of that nonsense is my jam, and the only reason I bothered listening to that garbage was that I figured there was a one in a billion chance that there was something positive to be gotten from it, like maybe the “band” actually had an angle that might interest me, like maybe they used obscure vintage instruments, or drew upon influences like Siberian folk songs from the 10th century and simply jazzed them up or whatever. Of course, as always, it was a waste of my time; after 30 seconds of listening to microwaved Gaga tuneage I was like “OK, I know everything I’ll ever need to know about KPop Demon Hunters” and put on a Wire album to get the disgusting taste out of my ears. I plan never to listen to nor mention them again, but now you know how seriously I take my position as the state’s most highly decorated music journalist, that’s right, I do this for you, not to fatten my Patreon, which can be found in my socials. Anyway, subject change, what was I saying last week about old bands releasing eponymous albums, about how it’s a practice that was big during the Aughts and should have gone the way of Milli Vanilli and yet bands are still doing it, oh yes, I said that it was stupid, so, like clockwork, ’80s thrash-metal band Megadeth has decided to do just that with their new one, Megadeth! Now, the lead single, “I Don’t Care,” is something of a watershed moment, as it’s more Ramones-like than anything I’ve heard from them before, meaning it doesn’t have the same old “Metallica but with more Slayer” vibe that’s typified their oeuvre since the Ronald Reagan era, like, in the song’s video, their singer, Dave Mustaine, seriously doesn’t care if the world collapses, everyone should be skateboarding and smashing each other in the face with beer bottles. I concur.

• Speaking of couldn’t care less, Poppy is back to being Poppy after a brief period during which she tried to be Britney Spears or whatever. You may recall last year she did a collaboration with Babymetal for the handful of 13-year-old Snapchatters who hadn’t given up on her; she continues ripping off Meshuggah on her new album, Empty Hands! “Bruised Sky” is the single, and yup, there’s the Godzilla-bending-the-telephone-wires bassline and all the other essential nutrients, let’s move on.

• The title track from Lucinda Williams’ new LP World’s Gone Wrong rips off the beat from Don Henley’s “Heart Of The Matter,” but other than that it’s acceptable.
• Lastly, with their awkward singing, The Format is like a Loot Crate version of Hoobastank, but if you insist on listening to their music you may. Their newest album is Boycott Heaven, which will remind you of Weezer in case you just landed on this planet and have never heard of Weezer. Did I mention Weezer? —Eric W. Saeger

Featured Photo: Alter Bridge, Alter Bridge (Napalm Records) & Diane Coll, Strangely In Tune (self-released)

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