Links:
112

So the question is, were they successful, did they distinguish themselves from the competition? Will this album bring them the stardom they so desperately want? Let's review a few of my track notes and you be the judge:

Part III album notes:

1. Intro. Most boy bands don't make full albums this hot, oh it's definitely on!

2. "Dance With Me." Slim's falsetto can't be touched, the whole track's blazing!

3. "It's Over Now." First impression: musically, summer is heating big time, and this track is like hotel A/C working overtime in a triple digit heat wave--too cool.

4. "Peaches & Cream." Man these guys are threatening to hit for the cycle, lyrical content rated R for metaphorically raw content.

5. "I Surrender (Interlude)." Nice vocal contributions from the whole group.

6. "Missing You." Someone other than Slim singing lead, same result though, a hit, nice group harmonies.

Look, the closest things in my notes approximating a negative comment were my remarks on track eight "Don't Hate Me featuring Twista," for which I wrote "A breather for everyone but Twista." Do not be alarmed, the boys don't half step or sing off key, it's just that in comparison to the previous seven tracks, this one comes off as surprisingly ordinary. It's as if they were worn out by their over the top efforts to this point and they decided to take a step back and catch their breath.

If the crew at Bad Boy records pushes this album the way it deserves to be pushed, the young men of 112 may be sorry they asked for appearances on TRL, double-digit million record sales, the "boy band" large life and the glaring spotlight that comes with it. This album without a doubt has all the ingredients necessary to make their long awaited dreams come true, but only for a more sophisticated audience, one that will appreciate its hip up-tempo style, edgier content and stronger vocal harmonies and lead. Besides who really wants 14, 15, and 16-year-old girls chasing them down the street?

As a final note, you fans out there be sure to catch 112 on the Janet Jackson tour coming to a town near you this summer. That would be the same Janet who gave 'N Sync a shot on her tour years ago that helped them reach critical mass appeal.

-Cecil Beatty-Yasutake
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Links:
Alicia Dara

-Hope Lopez
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Buckfast Superbee
You Know How the Song Goes
Walking Records

Links:
The Benjamins
Buckfast Superbee

First into the verbal dunking booth are the Benjamins. The Art of Disappointment, released on Drive-Thru Records, is a promising album title. The flatteries end there. With lyrics straight out of high-schooler's diary and a sound to match, this four-piece takes fluff to a level you never thought possible. There are some hummable hooks buried deep within the music. Unfortunately, the sheer triteness of content ruins all chance of a reprieve; e.g., "Now you love me more than toast and less than a staple-gun." Is it really worth the cost of printing to put that in the liner notes?

That's not to say that profundity is necessary for a good album. Sometimes the most endearing insights are also the most obvious. But the Benjamins' bathroom vocabulary crops up at all the wrong moments, and for no good reason. "And I don't care about you / I don't give a fuck who you fuck" came off better when Bob Mould sang it--or something very similar--several years ago. When Jay whines these lines, however, it's little more than a failed attempt at spiteful wit. I might add, without too much digression, that no last names are given. Apparently the Benjamins want to be on intimate terms with their prospective teenage audience.

There's no real need to excoriate the Benjamins any further, particularly because I have to save room for Buckfast Superbee. Produced by O (who, coincidentally, produced early Blink-182), You Know How the Song Goes is another promising album title that just doesn't measure up. They do fare a little better than the Benjamins in terms of general "listenability," but, once again, the strained, melodramatic emphasis on the vocals detracts from some potentially good riffs. They seem to have taken another lesson from the Benjamins, too: droning chord and chorus repetition. As far as liner notes go, there's no sense in harping on the first-name-only basis a second time, but the shameless misspelling of "indy" [sic] shows how seriously they take the scene. These folks don't want to be musicians; they just want to be your buddies.

Between these two albums, surely there must be some redeeming qualities? Sadly, too few to mention. You Know How the Song Goes and The Art of Disappointment are good for neither ambience nor angst. Although awestruck teenagers might find them delightfully charming, both albums and the bands that made them don't cut it among clearer heads.

That said, a quote by the Archers of Loaf comes to mind: "The underground is overcrowded." Today's market is glutted with so many bands offering the same rehashed punk-pop gamut, a hint of originality is all that's needed to stand out from the crowd. You Know How the Song Goes and The Art of Disappointment are proof that the Benjamins and Buckfast Superbee should take this advice to heart. They ought to head back to the practice room for a chance at some better results. Or throw in the high-school locker room towel altogether.

-Eric J. Iannelli
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Links:
The Black Crowes

But here we are in the Summer of 2001 and The Crowes are out on the road again supporting a sixth album, Lions, that turns another page in an all-too-uncommon story of a veteran band that has been able to beat back the circling vultures by rolling up their sleeves and grinding out new sounds on the road and in the studio. They were able to plug themselves back into the heart of mainstream rock with 1998's By Your Side, an album that displayed ample muscle and enough hooks to snare a school of spawning salmon, and subsequently lived out the dreams of any hard rockin' kid that grew up in the '70s and '80s with a long-running tour with Jimmy Page. The only thing left to do was to keep on creating and playing music, and this time around, The Crowes have earned the right to experiment a little.

Like most Crowes albums, Lions sinks in slowly. By the fifth listen you'll probably just start to appreciate its finer points. The brash first single "Lickin'" sounds more like a tribute to Kiss-flavored dynamics (just listen to Chris Robinson's Paul Stanley-esque macho screech right before each chorus), than the work of the usually harmony-steeped brothers Robinson. In fact, the first three tracks become increasingly forgettable as the following ten tracks unfold. They're like a post-Page burp that needed to be cleared before the real Crowes music began.

The rest of the album shows the band tilling some new soil within their roots-based, sometimes raunchy/sometimes sweet, hard rocking soul concoction. The pensive love song "Losing My Mind" combines layers of warm acoustic strumming and electric tinkering with some fluid organ lines by way of Eddie Harsch, before a dramatic, rising chorus delivers an inconsolable Chris Robinson, awash in a common, yet nevertheless unsettling lovers' paradox. Destined to be a concert favorite, "Greasy Grass River" is a playfully jazzy number that features some slippery, high-wire guitar leads dripping with inspiration culled from Page's fretboard voodoo. "Soul Singing" is a spirited hymn of redemption in the tradition of "Welcome To The Goodtimes," "Seeing Things," and "Sometimes Salvation" that rides high on a nimble, country-inflected guitar figure and a chorus that utilizes the familiar female gospel sound that has become a valuable, Stones-y factor on many a hit over the years for the boys from Georgia.

The last quarter of the album houses the experimental "Cosmic Friend" and "Cypress Tree," arguably one of the best rockers The Crowes have ever recorded. The former is a unique mix of childlike innocence, introduced with an intertwining acoustic guitar and piano line that calls to mind music from silent movies, and precise instrumental arranging. At about the 2:00 minute mark, a peculiarly jagged electric guitar riff bursts through and boomerangs us through the rest of the song. Still impressive when it comes to coating lyrics with desperate emotion, Chris Robinson clutches onto the vocal lines of "Cypress Tree" like a mother on her child in the jaws of a 'gator. Although the chorus strikes fiercely, it's the verse that draws blood, with the beauty brought forth by the marriage of a rangy guitar line and the naked soul of that same smilin' scarecrow.

-Dan Cullity
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I loved both prior discs and have taken my time savoring the newest Bloodthorn offering, Under the Reign of Terror. This is a dark and brutal disc similar in power and subject matter to Marduk's Panzer Division Marduk, but with much more control. Everything feels very calculated, as though Bloodthorn wished to teleport you into their savage, bizarrely brutal necropolis where only the strong survive. Under the Reign of Terror is augmented with sound bites and samples that enhance the nightmare of bludgeoning basses and demonic drums.

From "Deathmachine" to "After the Attack" you are forced through a maze of war ("Fields of Blood" and "Mass Destruction"), pestilence ("Age of Suffering") and savagery ("Demonblood") that will turn your hair white with fear. There are no peaceful, serene rest periods in Bloodthorn's world--every second is owned by vicious war stories and bloodthirsty slaughter. Those that thought the last two discs were dull will be lambasted into the Milky Way by the power of Under the Reign of Terror. The finale for Under the Reign of Terror is an awesome cover of Mayhem's "Deathcrush" with Necrobutcher guesting from Mayhem.

-Sabrina Haines
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Links:
Burning Airlines

Driven by the intricate, anguished guitar work that made Jawbox an indie icon, "Outside the Aviary" launches Identikit, Burning Airlines' sophomore release. Filled out by intermittent backing vocals, the song is packaged and delivered in under two much-too-short minutes. Always one for a hard-hitting metaphor, J. Robbins confesses, "I married the madness in her eyes." The device resurfaces again in "A Lexicon": "We are steering by falling stars, swearing upon a lexicon of scars / If this is a curse, it curses you King Midas in reverse without retinue." And again in "Election-Night Special": "What's darker, streets or airwaves pregnant with rumors of rewards? / Mother Money, your dreams came true today." Who else is capable of tossing out so many poetic complexities with such effortlessness?

With these poetic complexities in mind, I have no idea if Burning Airlines' album Identikit was influenced by Veronica Forrest-Thomson's poetry collection of the same name (albeit hyphenated, Identi-kit). But there is no mistaking that their music is indeed pure poetry--in both the musical and lyrical senses. If the influence does exist, the members of this D.C.-based three-piece have proven themselves to be her peers and not mere imitators.

Each of the fifteen tracks on Identikit is peppered with quotable lines and dances of the tongue. Fortunately the liner notes, artfully designed by Jason Farrell of Bluetip, print them all so I don't have to. But Burning Airlines has not earned its creds on lyrics alone. J. Robbins has a message--a strong one, too, not unlike Quicksand or Bad Religion--but he is not too jaded and self-righteous to believe he is above complicity. "We," first person plural, are the subject of his discourse. This, I think, is what makes Burning Airlines unique: any finger-pointing is done knowing three fingers are pointing back. The message is much more poignant when the orator regards himself as your equal. Otherwise one runs the risk of blatant hypocrisy.

The passionate idealism and dizzying guitar flights that fuelled so much of Jawbox's output have not diminished over time. With the help of his bandmates, J. Robbins is still turning out fantastic music and, by the looks of it, doing his part in shaping and supporting the newest generation of D.C.-area indie rock. This much is to be commended. Thanks to five-star albums like Identikit, it can also be enjoyed.

-Eric J. Iannelli
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Links:
Couch

"Alle auf Pause" ("Everyone on Break"), the following song, fares a bit better: there is, thank God, some variance during its five-minute-plus running time. And yet the minimalism of these tunes is somewhat refreshing when compared to the mindless electronic house music Couch is trying its best to undermine. Something has to be said for staying as true as possible to natural instrumentation. Moving on, one finds a smooth, spacey digital groove on "Was Alles Hält" ("Something We All Hold")--undoubtedly the album's standout. So maybe something can be said for a dash of modern electronics after all.

Profane is more like a series of post-party amateur jam sessions wrapped up in an aesthetically pleasing package to resemble an album. The yawn-inducing drone of easily half of these eight tracks ("Meine Marke" among them) doesn't hold up the semi-interesting mediocrity of "Doch Endlich" ("At Last") or "Farbe" ("Color"). It might make a good for background music at Amsterdam's Supper Club, but it doesn't deserve a spot on your stereo. There is potential here, to be sure; but until Couch makes the full transition to the kinetic, it's better to steer clear and check out innovative instrumentalists such as Rachel's or The Dirty Three instead--Which brings us to a larger issue.

Germany, as far I as I know, hasn't produced much in the way of good rock/pop music. Sure, there was Nena and her "99 Luftballoon" back in MTV's early years; and punk fans would slap me if I left out Die Toten Hosen. However, aside from kitsch Schlagermusik, the chic emo-core of Blackmail, and a few other provincially popular names, nothing much is brewing except beer. They gave us the modern tonal system (Bach's Well-Tempered Clavier), followed it up with Beethoven, and then decided to rest on their laurels for, say, the next few centuries. Couch is a perfect example of their dormant music scene. One can only sit with crossed fingers--or clenched thumbs, as the Germans phrase it--and hope something better comes along soon.

-Eric J. Iannelli
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Links:
Crossbreed

Crossbreed are destined to become kings of the genre, as they take the rap-core formula and replace the rap with a nostalgic new-wave, and turn the core way up. Wave-core anyone? It really is a perfect synthesis of Slipknot's fury and pop sense with an industrial/new-wave injection that conjures up the likes of NIN, Depeche Mode, and most notably, Tim Skold. It's spooky how much singer James Rietz is at times a dead ringer for Skold. It's all good though.

This aforementioned formula and a penchant for song writing is going to be Crossbreed's claim to fame. Few bands can boast that their debut album has not one bad song, or bad moment in Crossbreed's case. No repeated listens are needed here. 20 seconds into Synthetic Division's opening track "Severed," it becomes clear that these guys have their stuff together big time. Roadrunner Records is gonna shoot themselves for not finding this band.

You are gonna need to turn the bass on you stereo all the way up when you listen to this. The production lacks the crushing undertow that is obviously intended by the band. But it is all about the songs, really--all 12 of them, which Crossbreed serve up with reckless abandon.

-Jeff Ashley
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But then it isn't just a matter of happy luck by which Koschka and Goetsch achieve their sonic creations. Growing up with and claiming as influence such artists as Miles Davis (during his electric years), Weather Report, Karlheinz Stockhausen, Pierre Boulez, and Bill Laswell, the duo have scooped off the most rhythmic and eclectic aspects of each and blendered them into their own creative outlook on music. "Get On Down" begins with their amalgamation of strings, beats, and intercepted radio transmissions and grows heavier and more massive, expanding into a firestorm of sound as air raid sirens and distant artillery fire mete out a dervish-style syncopation that can only herald the conflagration left in the wake of a napalm attack.

A highly polished dark soundtrack, Demolition Squad's Hit It delivers a solid strike to the solar plexus, a forceful punch that you will feel down through your bones and up through the nerve endings in your brain. Highly recommended.

-Mark Teppo
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More or less, this is a moped with V-4 engine installed, idling before imploding while accelerating onto the highway. If speed, energy and power are not what attract you to metal, this just might be for you. This is mid-paced with the occasional hooky riff and speedy lick, but pretty much boring after about three cuts to a speed demon like myself. There's plenty of power for what they are doing, just not enough power to attract the average underground listener. Therefore, this will probably be quite huge. I think it should definitely find a rather stale, worn-out place on the American radio airwaves. I'm not sure, but I think I might have heard some of this before.

-Sabrina Haines
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Links:
Go-Go's

Moreover, the band's web site is awesome. Apparently, but not surprisingly, God Bless the Go-Go's artwork, as well as the web site (which even includes a confessional) has been summarily attacked by Catholic groups such as the Catholic League for Religious and Civil Rights. As quoted from the official web site: "Motivated by the letter and the spirit of the First Amendment, the Catholic League works to safeguard both the religious freedom rights and the free speech rights of Catholics whenever and wherever they are threatened." Of course, leave it to such a stuffy religious pseudo-political "civil rights" group such as the Catholic League to fail to appreciate the free speech (i.e., the civil right they are touting to protect) in the humor and amusement that the Go-Go's have to offer. Nonetheless, if you ever liked the Go-Go's, you will not be disappointed with God Bless the Go-Go's.

-Jennifer Johnson
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