Special Guest Blog: Leo Zaccari Reviews "Crows and Doves" by Rabbit Velvet

Track Listing:

Right Now
The Sun Rose Grey
Flying Over London
Haarlem Haunt
Beautiful Things
Love Everlasting
Miles
Blue Waves
Out of the Rain
Twilight to Sunrise
Anything Else
Pearl Diver
Maybe


Rabbit Velvet is the newest project by Danielle Kimak Stauss, formerly of the band The Lost Patrol. A word of caution: this is not an album that you throw on and listen to while you clean your room or balance your checkbook. No, this is a well-crafted masterpiece that demands your undivided attention. The album unfolds like a psychological thriller; like imaginative faeries from some aquamarine universe constructing a lush heavenly daydream filled with shimmering rain storms and ruled by a stunning muse.

“Crows and Doves” opens with a blaring klaxon which creates a sense of urgency that is offset by the relaxed sweet rhythms of “Right Now”. Stauss spells out C-A-R-P-E –D-I-E-M juxtaposed with an up tempo drum beat that suggests a carefree attitude but belies a darker hidden tone. Why are we living for today? Is it because something bad is about to happen tomorrow? And did that shadow just move?


The album slithers on to “The Sun Rose Grey”, a surreal blend of Lalo Schifrinesque spy guitar entangled in a cocoon of synth and driven by relentless staccato percussion. It’s one of the many songs that you will want to enjoy again and again.


The horns of “Flying Over London” signal a departure of sound and tone. One gets the feeling of absolute freedom while soaring over a sleepy London at daybreak before the city awakens to the quiet desperation of every day life.


Another standout is “Haarlem Haunt”, a dark love song where Stauss’ vocals are a wraithlike delicacy that nimbly lure you deep into a fever dream from which you will never want to leave.


“Twilight to Sunrise” sounds like the angelic lost companion to “Days of Future Passed”, happily nestled between “Forever Afternoon” and “Time to Get Away”. Although this album does not quite have the magnificent scope of “Days”, the creative energy and the sheer opulence of Stauss’ voice makes up for the lack of an orchestra. Her vocals are pure shadowy liquid passion, like a thing alive; haunting, seductive and elusive.





There is so much to enjoy on this album. Stauss has created a brilliant work that harkens back to a time when people sat and listened to an album. So if you are looking for an album to listen to, and I mean really listen to, the way people used to sit down and listen to a vinyl record; then this album is for you.

                      
More About Rabbit Velvet!


-Leo Zaccari teaches History at Brookdale Community College, Kean University, and Ocean County College. He once knew someone who once knew David Bowie. In his spare time he writes. A lot.

Review: Duran Duran, "All You Need Is Now" (What's the Date Again? 1981 or Thirty Years on?)

AWWWWWWWWWWWW YEAH!!!! Look out you Lumineer-lovin' mother-****s, because Duran MOTHER-F-ING DURAN are back, and you better SAVE A PRAYER because they're breaking out the blue eyeliner and their big, billowy, new romantic shirts just so they can ride gigantic new-wave YACHTS straight through your indie-music-addled mother-f***ing BRAIN!!!!!!!!! 

EYYYYYEAAAAAAAAAAHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Okay, maybe I'm getting a little carried away here, especially since Duran Duran themselves are now technically an "indie" band (LeBon has even grown the de rigueur beard). I can’t help it though; after listening to their 2011 album, "All You Need Is Now," I'm left with the vivid impression that the original wild boys feel like they've got something major to prove this time around. Not that they don't always try to kick a little musical booty, but with the release of "All You Need Is Now" they seem like a band with a renewed sense of purpose who - dare I say it? - sound HUNGRY. (Get it? Hungry? GET IT?????)





From listening to recent interviews, this newfound focus appears to be the direct result of the band - with the additional guidance of producer and avowed DD fan Mark Ronson - playing to their core songwriting strengths while muting the label-mandated trend-chasing that all but sunk recent efforts like 2007's "Red Carpet Massacre." Ronson's stated intent going into this project was to craft an imaginary follow-up to the album that, for many, remains Duran Duran's commercial and artistic zenith, "Rio." (I think he also went out and beat up RCM co-producer Justin Timberlake for good measure.) 





So the question is, did Ronson succeed in his goal? Well no, not exactly, but you know what? It doesn't even matter because "All You Need Is Now" is an album that sounds less like the imaginary sequel to "Rio" ("Circus Circus"?) and more like a bunch of songs written specifically FOR "Rio" or the debut album. A lot of the musical DNA is the same; you've got beautiful minor-key chord progressions swathed around melancholy melodies. You've got semi-cryptic lyrics from Simon. You've got weird-ass s**t burbling out of Nick's synthesizer. You've got John's bass going BOINK!!! Da-BOINK!!! BOINNNNK!!!!!!!!!! every three seconds like it's threatening to f**k Roger if he gets too close. And baby, this is all good news. Well, maybe not for Roger, but you get the idea.

At least half the songs here call to mind specific tracks from the band's early years: "Girl Panic!" echoes the hedonistic pulse of (naturally) "Girls on Film," right down to the dramatic synthesizer blasts and tribal drum fills; "The Man Who Stole a Leopard" and "Before the Rain" recall the eerie creep of "The Chauffeur"; "Being Followed" and "Blame the Machines" mirror the sci-fi-ish dread of "Planet Earth"; "Runway Runaway" and "Too Bad You're So Beautiful" race along on the same currents as "Rio"; and "Leave a Light on" is the obvious love-child of the one-night-stand in "Save a Prayer."





What saves most of these tunes from being mere knock-offs though, is the sheer kick-assed-ness of the Durans' songwriting chops, which Ronson has shoved squarely to the forefront here. "Being Followed", for example, is quite possibly the coolest song Duran Duran has written in, oh, 5,000 new moons. "Before the Rain" is downright haunting, teeming with sadness, loss and regret (even if I don't know what the frig it's about exactly - death? depression? a long line at the drive-through?). These aren't some wishy-washy watered-down rewrites; these are modern-day counterparts that stand proudly on their own.

Granted, one could argue that "All You Need Is Now" does lack a certain thematic cohesiveness, with the feel of each song vacillating wildly from track to track. Hell, "Other People's Lives," which comes immediately after the dreamily seductive "Man Who Stole a Leopard," (one of the album's highlights) is practically PUNK ROCK, for Christ's sake. (Well, as close as Duran Duran gets to punk rock, that is. We're not talking the Exploited here.) While some may see this as a negative, let me explain why the album's eclecticism works in the band's favor. 

Duran Duran's 1981 debut was bound together by the icy waves of claustrophobic new-wave noir washing over its eight tracks, while "Rio" sustained a quasi-religious exoticism for the duration of the album (translation: it's about chasing hot chicks through the jungle). The new album, on the other hand, is ostensibly about "living in the moment" and coping with the modern world, but actually functions as more of a Duran Duran smorgasbord. The album succeeds because whatever they sacrificed in terms of consistency of mood and color they more than made up for by letting us gorge ourselves on a big, messy sampler platter of their all-time tastiest home-cooked recipes and treats. And there is definitely A LOT to dig into on this album. (“Is anybody HUNGREEEE???”)





Okay, so what's NOT so good here? Hmmmm...well, while there are no outright stinker-oo's on the album, I do have a few minor quibbles. For one, I'm not that crazy about "Safe (in the Heat of the Moment)," which sounds like one of those tunes that Simon and company whip out whenever they're trying to prove they're the world's most awesomest dance band, or something. It features Anna Matronic (of the Scissor Sisters) doing a cute little rap that she intones like the McDonald's Filet-O-Fish singing bass ("What if it were YOU hanging on this wall? What if it were YOU; you wouldn't be laughing at ALLLLLL...") and kind of feels like a late 80's outtake with more cutting edge production. That said, I know there are a lot of fans who enjoy this sort of thing and the song is inoffensive enough. I suppose the next time I'm dropping E at a club in Ibiza at 4 in the morning it'll do just fine. 

"Mediterranea," another track that never quite clicks for me, is the one song on the album which probably hews a little TOO closely to the early Duran Duran formula. For whatever reason, I just can't stop thinking of "Save a Prayer" whenever it comes up in my player. In fact, it vaguely reminds me of one of those production CD's where musicians emulate popular bands just so the owners of Jimmy's All-You-Can-Eat Crab Strip Café can rip off "Hungry Like the Wolf" without getting their asses sued. "Mediterranera" isn't bad, per se; it just never really "burns the ground" and it's one of the weaker cuts here.

But screw that! Let's not dwell on a few minor missteps when we've got almost an hour's worth of awesomely revitalized Duran Duran music. YEEEEE-HAAAAAAAAA! You can tell the guys put a lot of blood, sweat and runny mascara into this one, and it makes for a seriously rewarding listen that stands up to multiple plays. You seriously got to hand it to them; despite the naysayers and critics calling them empty-headed mannequins and trying to get them to lay down and die for THIRTY YEARS, Duran Duran keep swinging, keep fighting, keep trying to prove their artistic worth and relevance. And I say more power to them. F**k the critics.

Besides, mannequins never really DO die, do they?

*** ½ (three-and-a-half out of five stars)


Notable Tracks: "Being Followed," "Girl Panic!", "The Man Who Stole a Leopard," "Runway Runaway," "Before the Rain."

Review: Andy J. Gallagher, Helicopter Dolphin Submarine (Waga Waga Records)

A lot of people incorrectly think that rock and punk rock are about mindless bluster or aggressive noise. However, the best rock, like the best music in general, often has an emotional subtext simmering crucible-like just beneath the surface. This tension between the artist's passions and the music that can barely contain them serves to bring an added depth and urgency to the apparent chaos.



If you're wondering what the hell I'm talking about, check out Andy J. Gallagher's latest, "Helicopter Dolphin Submarine." On this, his full-length solo debut, Gallagher (formerly of The Shopkeeper Appeared) harnesses volatile emotions like anger, regret and longing to fuel and add moments of sublime beauty to 12 seriously cracking rock/mod-punk tunes. More specifically, Gallagher seems to be ruminating over a recent breakup, and this palpable sense of loss informs the vast majority of the album, taking his songs to an even higher level.



Roman Jugg (formerly of the Damned) is seated in the producer's chair for HDS, and while the tunes are all Gallagher's, I assume Jugg is at least partially responsible for the feeling of "windswept anarchy" that propels much of the album forward. That feeling is so pronounced, in fact, that it often threatens to consume the listener whole. Of course, many of Jugg's rollicking proclivities were hinted at during his tenure with the Damned, but 80's production values presumably held him in check. Here, he's finally let "off the chain" and it's quite the revelation.



Gallagher and Jugg work well together: Nifty tracks like "Something Else", "Faster and Faster", and "Another Craze" gallop along at a breakneck pace with reverb-drenched guitars and riffs that oscillate like a demented ambulance siren. The arrangements are tight and punchy, and most of the songs are super-short, leaving the listener feeling like he just got out of the rumble seat: breathless and ready for more.



Gallagher's singing has that boozy, loose quality that’s somewhere between pugnacious swagger and wounded heartbreak. To put it another way, listening to this disc feels like the aural equivalent of a bloke having a row with his girlfriend, then blowing off steam by throwing on his leather jacket, riding down to the pub at 100 mph, and getting into a friendly punchup with his mates. Later, he buys them all a round while he gets misty and tells them a thing or two about life.



If the pub metaphor isn't cutting it for you, here's a partial list of the influences that crop up on HDS: The Buzzcocks, David Bowie, Mott the Hoople, The Kinks, The Ramones, The Beatles, Bauhaus, The Clash and The Damned. Gallagher draws upon these artists (and many more) to create a unique sound that feels like the best parts of classic rock, 70's glam rock, britpop and punk distilled down to their rawest, most potent elements.



That said, the finest moments on HDS are probably the more subdued ones. Don't get me wrong, the faster songs are absolutely smashing, but things REALLY kick into high-gear (ironically) when Gallagher slows things down for tracks like "The Brightest Star" and "Helicopter, Dolphin, Submarine." On the prayer-like "Star", Gallagher, over music reminiscent of Rod Stewart's early-70's/acoustic phase, looks to the night sky and dreams of an ex-lover. It's definitely one of the album's highlights, and the solemnity of the track is made even more poignant by its stark contrast with the off-the-rails rock that comes before it.



Even better than "Star", though, is the title track, which mines similar lyrical territory. "Helicopter, Dolphin, Submarine" starts off with a languid intro that channels the Manic Street Preachers at their most dreamy, then moves into an aching verse melody with some lovely falsetto notes. Finally, the chorus hits and electric guitars flood the scene as Gallagher sings accusingly, "You don't need me, and you probably never did."



Cleverly, the percussion evokes memories of the Beach Boys, which matches the "west coast" imagery perfectly. Overall, the song has a rather spacious, cinematic feel; you can almost see the sun setting on the Pacific coast along with the protagonist's love affair.



Above all else, I need to point out that this album is extremely hooky; Gallagher is an excellent songwriter with a keen sense of melody. As a result, you'll probably be crooning these tunes for days on end. Of course, this does have potential drawbacks; it's bad enough to be walking around singing "Weirdo, weirdo," at the top of your lungs ("Another Craze"), but you're really taking your life into your own hands if you get "Something Else" stuck in your noggin. That's because the catchiest lyric from this ditty is, "Go f*ck yourself," which I, unfortunately, have been singing on the crowded streets of New York for five days straight. It's amazing I haven't been killed yet.


However, listening to an album as good as "Helicopter, Dolphin, Submarine" makes me think it might be worth the risk.


**** (four out of five stars)


Notable Tracks: "Helicopter, Dolphin, Submarine"; "Brightest Star"; "Something Else"; "Another Craze"; "The Rocks"


http://www.andyjgallagher.com/

Review: Cy Curnin, Solar Minimum (cycurnin.com)

"New wave" bands sometimes get a bad rap, but anyone who put his or her wine cooler down for 5 minutes back in the 80's knows there was a lot more to The Fixx than skinny dudes running from barking Dobermans in a white tunnel while singing "One Thing Leads to Another." No, these guys had some heavy-duty stuff on their collective brows, from nuclear annihilation to self-alienation to the struggle to find inner peace - and they did it all while dodging models in red dresses falling through the skylight.


More than 25 years later, the Fixx are still at it, and while they may not be as prolific as they once were or enjoy the same level of chart success they once did, they have defied the naysayers and remained true to their artistic vision of funky rock songs as the ongoing soundtrack to man's search for enlightenment and serenity in a seriously f'ed up cosmos.


Meanwhile, Cy Curnin, lead singer and chief lyricist for the band, has vented some of his excess creative steam by releasing a series of superb solo albums over the last few years. His latest, "Solar Minimum," could be his most intimate and personal to date. Whereas early Fixx songs always grabbed the listener by the scruff and tried to whip him into shape, the songs on "Solar Minimum" seduce the brain with gentle piano chords, lilting strings, and conversational melodies that unfold at their own pace.


While such an approach results in an album less immediately accessible than, say, "Reach the Beach," the overall experience may be more gratifying as a whole. Tracks like "Other Side of the Story," "Sail," and "Better Luck Next Time" find Curnin in uber-reflective mode, a modern-day troubadour on an endless mystical search for the meaning of "Life" (with a capital "L").


Curnin has always been an emotive singer, but on "Solar Minimum" he ups the ante by serving up some of his most haunting vocals to date. On the aforementioned "Story" he starts things off by exploring his affecting lower register (and when I say low, I mean he's like subterranean, baby), before harmonizing with his own "Fixx-like" persona by song's end. Likewise, on the moody, minor-keyed "Simply Complicated," he's so overcome with emotion that words begin to fail him and he lapses into a mournful "LO, LO, LO, LO" chorus. You can almost picture the French Café and guys in berets nearby.


Other highlights include "It Finds You," with its decidedly funky, Fixx-ish vibe, "My Sweet Life," on which words of regret ultimately give way to reggae-tinged gospel, and "The Weight," a confessional piece of prose set to Curnin's tender piano figures.


Listening to me describe "Solar Minimum" you might think you're in for a whole bunch of hokey emotional bombast. Quite the contrary, Curnin's production is so restrained and the delivery so sincere that the overall effect is never anything short of pretty damn moving. And while this isn't a Fixx album proper, Fixx-o-philes will be pleased to know that a couple of Cy's bandmates pop in for a visit, with a certain surname-hyphenated guitarist lending a little electric muscle to tunes like "In the Palm of Our Hands."


In short, if you're looking for a CD with 12 carbon-copies of "One Thing," then pass this by and simply pick up a Rhino "Just Can't Get Enough" 80's comp instead. However, if you're looking for a richly rewarding and thoughtful work by an artist trying to lend aural comfort to his fellow "travelers," then you might want to check out Cy Curnin's latest. It's called "Solar Minimum," but Curnin definitely gave "the max" on this one.


*** ½ (three-and-a-half out of five stars)


Notable Tracks: "The Other Side of the Story," "My Sweet Life," "Simply Complicated," "Better Luck Next Time," "Sail"

Review: The Damned, So Who's Paranoid? (English Channel)

Hey there music fans! This month, in honor of my being a big ol' lazy-ass, I'll be taking a break and turning over the reviewing reins to our special guest critic, the editor of "Real Punk!!!" magazine, Dickie "Mashpit" (???) Moroney. Take it away, Dickie!






Ever since Green Day single-handedly invented punk rock way, WAY back in 1994 (thereby giving skateboarders something to listen to at the mall and obliterating boring, corporate rock bands like The Pixies and The Dead Milkmen), it really ruffles my hoodie when some new, loser no-talents come along and try to mess with the seminal templates put forth by the great-granddaddies of punk: Offspring, AFI, Good Charlotte, and the all-mighty Blink-182. For example, take these jokers, THE DAMNED, and what I believe to be their first album, "So Who's Paranoid?"


OY! Where to start? First of all, let's take the name, "The Damned." Yeah, real original guys. It kinda makes me wanna ask these fakes, "Hey you posables, haven't you ever heard of "Damn YANKEES? Or the "DamnWELLS?" Sheeesh, maybe they should have checked allmusic guide before trying to steal some of Ted Nugent's muted thunder. But don't be fooled! There's nothing on this CD that sounds ANYTHING like "High Enough" by Damn Yankees (who, I believe, invented heavy metal and strip clubs, according to Wikipedia).


No, instead of something cool like that, or anything approaching PURE punk rock like the kind Bowling for Soup do so well it's like they just pulled it out of their collective asses, we get an hour or so of some wretched PUNK-GOTH-PSYCHEDELIA-ROCK bullcrap I can barely listen to, let alone describe, but god help me, I'll try.


First off, what is with the singer? Instead of singing in a nasally, super-cool-cause-it's-slightly-flat voice, this guy - Dave Vivian Vance or something - is actually SINGING at times! Yeah, you heard me right; he's doing a weird croony thing and singing melodies that actually sound inventive and different from one song to the next. I mean, what the F**K??? I don't know about you folks, but I'm not happy if my punk songs don't all have identical, interchangeable, shouty vocals, especially in the "we-must-get-this-song-played-on-corporate-radio-at-all-costs-so-screw-musical-integrity" chorus.


Not only that, but this "Dave" guy doesn't randomly scream from time to time like he's literally trying to tear his vocal cords in two and generate some artificial punk "intensity." Oh sure, he shouts, but he only does it when - get this - he has a reason to! This lame-o actually has a theatrical/campy goth vibe, like someone who's watched too many b-grade horror films. And when I say "horror films," I mean the old black and white crap with people like Boris Carlott, Peter Cushion, and Dick Chaney Jr.; I'm not talking about the totally rad new stuff like "Hostel 2" or "Turistas."


Anyway, I could almost bear the gothic thing D.V.'s got going, but the dude goes about it all wrong. Instead of sounding all super-serious and overly-important when he sings (like he might off himself or the listener at any moment), this tool actually has a sense of humor about what he's doing, like he's in on the joke. WHAT??? NONONO! That's ALL WRONG!!! If you're gonna go dark, you gotta make sure you're dangerously close to lapsing into unintentional self-parody at any second.


I could swear this "Dave" fellow thinks that punk rock is about crafting your own eclectic style, rather than following the iron-clad rules laid down by cool trailblazers like Fall Out Boy. Damn, at least Fall Out Boy have a wide assortment of bad-ass t-shirts and backpack pins down at Hot Topic, which means they must be good.


However, even worse than the singing on "So, Who's Paranoid?" is the horrendous music underneath it. For the most part, this stuff is like hooky garage rock and tripped-out psychedelia performed with raucous punk energy and delivered with a slightly dark edge. I know, SOUNDS TERRIBLE RIGHT??? GAKKK!!! Who wants to listen to clever chord patterns when Green Day has just re-released "Dookie" (renamed "21st Century Breakdown") for the 8th time in a row??? Who wants songs stuck in their head for days on end??? Man, I've got to clear out any extra cerebral space ASAP so I have room for the 75 or so rocking new tunes the record companies want me to download this week. Now you know why these "Damned" guys ain't on a major label, like all great punk bands.


Seriously, track after annoying track on this CD just reeks of tunefulness and cool, fuzzed-out guitar riffs. Not only that, but there's all kinds of weird sounds that should never be on a "punk" album (according to my friends), like rock organs and bells and handclaps and Brighton-gay-men's choirs, and HELL, if I didn't know better, I'd swear these guys are trying to expand their musical palette by even listening to classical from time to time!!! I think they need to put away anything from the "Romantic" period and spend a little more time listening to My Chemical Romance, if you know what I mean.


So, there you have it: "So Who's Paranoid" by this week's flash-in-the-pan punk band "The Damned" is a total misfire. Hummable and catchy, yes, but, COME ON! There's literally not ONE song on here that, with a little bit of tweaking to the arrangement, could be turned into a full-blown top 40 hit for Pink. And that's just not punk rock, man.


And what's with the guy in the red beret? What a winker.


Zero Stars!


*************************************************************


Nite Owl note: Despite what our guest reviewer thinks, my own personal ranking of "So Who's Paranoid" by punk legends the Damned is:


**** (four out of five stars)


Notable Tracks: "Under the Wheels," "Dr. Woofenstein," "Shallow Diamonds," "Danger to Yourself," "Perfect Sunday"

Review: Kaiser Chiefs, Off with Their Heads (B-Unique)

What the…? Another Kaiser Chiefs album? Wasn’t the last one like three weeks ago? What are these guys trying to prove? ARE THEY TRYING TO MAKE ME LOOK BAD??!!?!? Hmmm, let me check…holy crap. OK, “Yours Truly, Angry Mob” actually came out way back in February 2007. That’s almost two years! Well, that’s still relatively quick compared to most bands, but hell… I must be getting older because 21 months seems like 21 nano-seconds these days.


Anyway, enough about my daunting mortality; let’s talk about the album. First off, let me say that it IS refreshing to have a band pump out albums with Woody-Allen-like regularity when every other band outside of country music seems to take their pansy-ass time between discs.


What the Kaiser Chiefs seem to be doing here is harkening back to a more “innocent” time (the 60’s) when quartermaster-like record companies treated musicians like their own personal b-words and forced them to generate a full album’s worth of product every few months or so, or at least until the artists went batsh*t crazy and suffered career-crippling nervous breakdowns. (Ah, good times!) This pressurized approach generated both some of the most startlingly inspired and drop-dead brilliant music ever created by man and some of the most disposable throwaway crap to ever foul up a turntable. So, which camp do you think the Kaiser Chiefs and their abbreviated time-table approach land in?


Well, I wouldn’t call this the most brilliant music ever made by man, but YEE-HAW it sure is hooky fun, in a mod-rocker, new wavey sort of way. Sadly, you wouldn’t necessarily know it from the lead-off track, “Spanish Metal,” which, quite frankly, stinks. This song bursts out of the gate all blustery and shrill before meandering into a so-so melody and almost non-existent chorus. I’m not exactly sure why this track is first on the album; maybe the Chiefs wanted to trick everyone into thinking they suck real bad so the next track would seem even more uber-awesome by comparison.


If that was the strategy, it pays off big time because uber-awesome is what the next track is! “Never Miss a Beat” (the first single) is everything “Spanish Metal” should be: big, boisterous fun with a slightly menacing edge and hooks galore. The throbbing, vaguely terrifying intro quickly gives way to a pressure-cooker melody before eventually erupting into Kim-Wilde-ish glee in the chorus. At that point, huge, swirling keyboard lines threaten to devour your brain as Ricky Wilson bellows, “Never miss a beat! Beat! BEAT! BEAT!!” like it actually means something.


Ironically, the riot-inducing maelstrom of music on “Never Miss a Beat” belies some kind of thinly-veiled but cheeky message (I think) about being cool, staying in school, and not doing drugs. It’s sort of like Nancy Reagan (or Margaret Thatcher) telling you to “just say no” before she mercilessly tramples you to death with her Doc Martens. Seriously though, I’m totally fine with this more “polite” approach to rock music. The Kaiser Chiefs wisely eschew tired, played-out “RAAAAWK” clichés in favor of huge dollops of melodic British drollness. Hmmmm. Okay, maybe they’re both pretty played out at this point, but I’ll take the latter over the former any day, unless we’re talking about some pretentious crap from Morrissey, of course.


After “Never Miss a Beat” ends its crumpet-crushing reign of terror, we’re treated to nifty tracks like “Like It Too Much,” which reminds me of Gary Numan in the verses, but quickly morphs into a quirky XTC number in the chorus. “Good Days and Bad Days,” which you’ll be doomed to sing for weeks (or until someone shoots you in the face), is like The Kaiser Chiefs doing Howard Jones’ chipper new-wave optimism shtick without the little shirtless ball-and-chain dude. And yeah, while it’s easy to make these kinds of comparisons, “Off with Their Heads” never feels derivative or (god help us) ironic thanks to the up-to-date production and seamless songcraft on display.


Other highlights include the happy-go-lucky (!) chorus of “Addicted to Drugs” and the strum and drang coda to “Half the Truth.” Honestly, there are no real naff tracks in the lot, although “Can’t Say What I Mean” seems to be trying to convince me it’s a lot more exciting than it really is, and oh, yeah, “Spanish Metal” is ready for the scrapheap, as we’ve already discussed. So, even though this album is pretty damn good, I can’t really give it classic status, for a couple of reasons.


First of all, while the Kaiser Chiefs are above-average songwriters - and that fact alone is enough to distinguish them from many of their peers – they don’t really have a unique enough vision beyond banging out the hookiest rock songs they can (with some clever wordplay thrown in the mix). “Well, what’s wrong with that?” you may ask. (Or you may have already stopped reading this review and are now 12 porn sites away.)


While there’s obviously nothing wrong with cranking out super-catchy pop/rock nuggets, history tells us those bands always need a little extra “something”- a sensibility, a gimmick, a subtext, a flavor – that helps set them apart from the pack and give them longevity. Hell, even Cheap Trick had that dude with all the wacky guitars. Whatever it is, people just need that little extra “x” factor which makes the whole greater than the sum of its parts and an album more than a collection of really good songs. I haven’t seen that emergent property in the Kaiser Chiefs yet, but it could still be there. I’m definitely willing to give them a little more time based on “Off with Their Heads.”


The second reason I can’t give this album classic status is a result of the band’s efforts to rush it out so quickly. No, there are no sloppy performances. The problem is the disc only runs 35:40! And two minutes of that is spent on “Spanish Metal.” Sure, way back in the 60’s thirty to thirty-five minutes was fine for an LP. Since the advent of CD’s, I just can’t see any album being less than 45 minutes, even if that means having to wait an extra few months for the final product.


If you think I’m being unfair, you’re probably right. But shortening your disc so you can get it our quicker seems like a cheat to me. Yeah, I’d rather have 35 minutes of solid material as opposed to 70 minutes of pointless jams and crappy filler songs, but can’t we meet halfway (across the sky)? I’ll endure a little Trey-Anastasio-ing if it means I’m getting my full 12 bucks worth. I don’t want those a-holes at Best Buy thinking they got one over on me (especially that jerk who says “Hello” every time I walk in the damn door).


Look, either way, I’m recommending the album, so don’t get in a snit over it. “Off with Their Heads” is pretty damn good and hopefully the Chiefs’ next one will be even better…and longer.


*** (three out of five stars)

Is It Dark in Here, or Is It Ladytron?

Music Review: Ladytron, Velocifero (Nettwerk)


Just like the cover of their latest studio effort, Velocifero, electro-pop purveyors Ladytron just keep getting darker and darker. At this rate, you’ll need infrared goggles just to listen to them soon. Where past tracks like "Evil" were almost deceptively poppy, Velocifero finds Ladytron painting a relentlessly glossy black canvas.


Opening track "Black Cat" sets the nocturnal scene with synthesizer notes twinkling like distant stars, only to be quickly eclipsed by grinding guitar chords and pounding drum beats. After that, Mira Aroyo emerges from the swirling mix like… well, a black cat. Eerie Bulgarian vocals round out the picture, accentuating Ladytron’s icy European image and foreboding aura.


Unfortunately, I don’t speak Bulgarian, so I have no idea what’s being sung. The lyrics could be "My feet smell like Combos," and it would still sound exotic and deep to an uncultured boob like me. It probably doesn’t matter though, because specific lyrical content seems to take a backseat to the overall mood of Ladytron’s songs.


Once "Black Cat" has caught the listener’s attention, Velocifero proceeds to pull the listener deeper into its inky vortex. Minor keys and off-kilter chord changes abound - I don’t think there’s one song here that starts off with a major chord - and Ladytron draws upon a variety of influences to weave a velvety tapestry of electro, new wave, pop, rock, psychedelia, and even industrial.


"Ghosts," the first single, comes hot on the high-heels of "Black Cat" and boasts a smooth, infectious chorus, as all first singles worth their weight in ectoplasm should. For some reason, it sort of sounds like "Destroy Everything You Touch" turned on its head, but hey, that was a great song and we all like trying new positions from time to time, right? The militaristic drumming and creepy soloing don’t hurt things, either.


After that, it’s time for "I’m Not Scared" (of ghosts and black cats, presumably) which comes barreling out of the speakers like their previous single "Sugar" with a bad-ass new engine mounted on its hood. Why this song was not chosen as the second single as opposed to the decent, but rote and over-long "Runaway" is beyond me. "Season of Illusions" has a distinctly Roxy Music vibe (think "Chance Meeting" or "Sea Breezes"), while "Burning Up," sounds like Nine Inch Nails trying to give Tears for Fears some much-needed balls.


The only real misstep here is "Predict the Day" with its X-Files-ish whistling and a thumping beat which makes me desperately want to fight the future.


But wait! Saving what is arguably the two best cuts for last, Ladytron hits us with the one-two punch of "Tomorrow" and "Versus" before calling it a day and hightailing it back to their ice-beds, or wherever it is they go at night. "Tomorrow" features an enchanting chorus brimmin’ with lots of reverb and retro-80’s goodness. It’s almost enough to make you pull out your old Pet Shop Boys albums. Still, as good as "Tomorrow" is, it’s merely a warm up (ice up?) for what comes next…


"Versus" is clearly meant to be the epic closer. Impassive female vocals counterpoint fragile Andy-Partridge-ish male vocals and give the track an added sense of melancholia and depth. Meanwhile, dreamy "ooo" vocals drone away in the background and nervous organ licks skitter across the mix. It’s a sublime moment, and possibly a herald of even better things to come from these guys.


Thank goodness darker doesn’t always mean oppressive and depressing; by going "darker" on Velocifero, Ladytron’s future just got even brighter.


*** ½ (three-and-a-half out of five stars)


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