Machine Head - Nokia Theatre Times Square - September 22, 2007

Although disappointing because of its length (one hour), Machine Head played a gloriously brutal set. Keeping it taut and tense, with a few interludes where Robb made some nasty comments concerning Disney's attempts to censor the band on their tour, a few choice words for some sniveling critic who reveled in Dimebag's death, and a few shout-outs to the world's greatest fans, New Yorkers, the band did not disappoint otherwise. Pulling most of their material from their most recent (and best) record, The Blackening, Machine Head opened with the near-eleven minute "Clenching The Fists Of Dissent," replete with acoustics, ten thousand and one holy riffs and a whole lot of pissed off. Nothing could really equate, though, with the furious "Aesthetics Of Hate" (after the article of the same name by the aforementioned critic) -- definitely the song of the night. "Halo" featured some ridiculous guitar chops and solos that were incredible as well, but a Machine "Fucking" Head show ultimately wouldn't have been great if it hadn't ended with "Davidian," where freedom rings with a shotgun blast. A-

Setlist:
Clenching The Fists Of Dissent
Imperium
Aesthetics Of Hate
Old
Halo
Take My Scars
Descend The Shades Of Night
Davidian

Emerson, Lake And Palmer - Love Beach (1978)

Since I've made not one, but two references to this monstrosity of an album, it inherently deserves a more thorough explication. That said, one of the reasons I created this site was to keep some greenbacks in your pockets. I've clearly got your best interests at heart, no? (Such is the plight of those doomed to be senselessly altruistic; they never receive the true recognition they deserve.) Regardless, avoid this album. For those newbies out there and for those who've come to appreciate or despise their immodest quasi-classical compositions, ELP putting out Love Beach is to be avoided for its having none of those qualities. Sure, Greg Lake's ballads are present, but they're more for a hearty guffaw than for serious consideration as anything resembling decency.

True, the music tries to retain that twisted carnival atmosphere immortalized on Brain Salad Surgery, but that was due to a better reliance on minor scales, lyrics and a knack for just plain dark carnival music. This album feels like a happy tropical getaway gone awry, a goofy kind of exposé into the band's preternatural misgivings. The cover says it all! Oh for that which is wholly unholy, who cares to see Keith Emerson's virile man-hair? Because this album was completed due to contractual obligations, you should expect nothing more than the dross that it clearly is. Drink many a Mai Tai if you dare to brave this mess. An exemplary F!

Oysterhead - The Grand Pecking Order (2001)

For those unfamiliar, Oysterhead is the successful one-time pairing of Les Claypool (slap-happy bass), Trey Anastasio (psychedelic guitar) and Stewart Copeland (drummer extraordinaire). Claypool and Anastasio share vocal duties, sometimes together, sometimes by themselves. Basically, forget the silly notion of the flawed supergroup and clashing egos and grating styles -- this album is a must-listen. Obviously, from mere mention of these three musicians, you would expect to hear some tasty bass licks, nice guitar tones and loose, vibrant drumming; and that's precisely what you get. Fortunately, it's not aimless noodling à la Shut Up And Play Yer Guitar, but rather, a solid interweaving of styles and moods. There is a bit of individual showcasing throughout the album, but these performances lend more to the textures of the songs than they do to scream for attention.

The album begins nicely enough with "Little Faces" and it is quite obvious who's keeping the beat. You'd have to have donated your body to science before you were finished using it to not realize that Mr. Copeland is at the helm. I love "Mr. Oysterhead" and still can't decide whether the bass or guitar solo is more yummy. "Birthday Boys" is a fun little up-tempo acoustic number that absolutely explodes at the end.

"Army's On Ecstasy" has some fantastic lyrics and solo spots. "Oz Is Ever Floating," "Shadow Of A Man" and "Pseudo Suicide" are also very good. There's really not much to dislike; I'm not big on "Polka Dot Rose" or "Wield The Spade," but there's too much good here to focus on what isn't. Just skip a few, big deal. B+

Probot - Probot (2004)

So Dave Grohl is a headbanger. Cool. The former Nirvana/current Foo Fighters frontman lays down this heavy set featuring a different metal vocalist from the bands who've inspired him and also decides he wants to play all the instruments (except for a few instances). I'm going to begin first with the not-so-great. I've noticed that, generally, bands begin albums quite strongly and then cop a lemming and walk off a cliff. (This obviously does not apply to great albums, just other middling affairs.) Probot is guilty of the same. Sure enough, "Centuries Of Sin" opens the album with a boom, followed by the excellent "Red War" with Max Cavalera. Need more? Well, no true heavy set is complete without Lemmy and he does vocal duties for "Shake Your Blood," a sweet little crash and thrasher. "Access Babylon" then gives us Mike Dean and in true COC fashion, this awesome song is short, brutal and ends in less than 90 seconds. So short, you can hear it in its entirety.

Yet after "Silent Spring," I was quite disappointed with the first blah track, "Ice Cold Man," featuring Kim Thayil, formerly of Soundgarden, on guitar. "The Emerald Law" kind of resumes the "this is a great album" pace, but then we're let down again with "Big Sky," "My Tortured Soul" and "Sweet Dreams," featuring King Diamond. Even the "hidden" track "I Am The Warlock" with Jack Black is not good. Jack Black has great energy, but he adds a whole lot of camp to everything, and he really has no place among these other fellows, friend of Dave Grohl or not. Perhaps I'm just bitter Tom Araya from Slayer couldn't participate. Perhaps I'm even more irritated at the continued inclusion of the "hidden" track, an overused and stupid parlor trick -- what, do they think I'm not going to notice that the last song ends at four minutes but the track is fifteen minutes long? Otherwise, the first four songs take the cake, for sure. B-

Heart - Dreamboat Annie (1976)

When asking what to review next, April expressed displeasure at my lack of "chicks" (her words, ladies) in my posts. I dig chicks; I really do. Predominately, they possess inordinately superior vocal abilities over their lesser halves. Ella. Janis. Fiona. Sadly, for brilliant technical vocalists, such as Mariah Carey or Whitney Houston, they've trapped themselves in an unfortunate pop format wherein the melody, lyrics and particularly that shitty studio accompaniment don't exactly inspire the kind of performances you would expect from them. Now, the Wilson sisters -- they hold a very special place in my heart (no pun intended) simply because they'll bake you a fucking cake and let you eat it with your hands. They've got a great set pipes and Nancy can shred without abandon, on acoustic or electric. Ok, they obviously like Zep, but that's not too bad because they sing too well to imitate Plant's verbal gyrations and drooling moans.

Unfortunately, for all their strengths, inconsistency plagues most of Heart's albums, and it differs no more or less than on Dreamboat Annie. It starts well enough with the FM staple "Magic Man," a kicking song that the press subsequently used to dub the sisters as satanic witches. Geez. The second song, "Dreamboat Annie (Fantasy Child) begins the first third of the Dreamboat Annie suite and it's a nice segue into Heart's best song, "Crazy On You." Here's the thing, though: if you're a loser and use the radio as your musical feeding ground, shame on you. In the past thirty years you've had time to buy the LP, the 8-track, the cassette, the CD, the digital files -- so shame on you, you rock and roll poseurs. What I'm getting at is this: the radio version of "Crazy On You" completely omits the first 35 seconds of this phenomenal acoustic section.

You would know that if you weren't such a poseur and were content with buying greatest hits packages. The next song, "Soul Of The Sea" is a dud. Skip it. Then listen to "Dreamboat Annie," which continues the melody of the suite with some changes and includes some nifty banjo playing. "White Lightning & Wine" is a great song, too, but it's depressing, because when I listen to the album, after this song is where I shut it off. The remaining four tracks are weak and aren't worth your time. The last song is "Dreamboat Annie (Reprise)" and you'd think if you liked the suite so far, you'd like this one, right? Well, not so. The added piano and ethereal quality makes it feel way too poppy and annoying. A solid band with the right recipe and ingredients -- the cake just doesn't turn out good all the time. B-

A quick afterthought: check out Ann and Nancy doing a cover of Zep's "Battle Of Evermore" here. This is amazing. Sorry Zep; their version totally kicks your ass.

Budgie - Never Turn Your Back On A Friend (1973)

Tony Bourge. Perhaps better known as the other Tony. While Tony Iommi from Sabbath was churning away some of the most tasty riffs of his era, Tony Bourge was quietly displaying his own sense of awesomeness. Of course, who knew? Within music circles -- which is to say, among respected musicians and fervent fans -- Budgie was just as vital to the influence of the burgeoning metal movement as Sabbath was. Most notably, Metallica and Soundgarden recorded cover versions of Budgie's songs. It's a shame, really, that these guys never made it.

Whatever. Do your part and listen to them. This matters much more than the stupid charts or how many albums they've sold or the fact that they probably won't ever be in the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame and Museum™. Fuck them. Fuck Cleveland. Fuck Clive Davis, LLC. Budgie embodies more of rock and roll than the combined efforts of Bob Seger or Grandmaster Flash or Bonnie Raitt. (That pairing of musicians was purposeful, by the way.) Since when did it become so important to institutionalize music anyway? Just ask Johnny Rotten what he thinks about that. Moving on...

Never Turn Your Back On A Friend is Budgie's finest album. Clocking in with just seven (but moderately long) songs, it begins with their most memorable tune "Breadfan" -- a nasty guitar riff if you've ever heard one.

If you like the blues standard "Baby Please Don't Go," you'll love the (ahem) slightly faster version here; it's not exactly samey like other versions and features vintage Burke Shelley thumping bass. (Think Geddy Lee before Geddy Lee existed.) "Riding My Nightmare" continues their tradition of having a great acoustic song amidst the rest of the thunder. "You're The Biggest Thing Since Powdered Milk" is a great title. So is "In The Grip Of A Tyrefitter's Hand." Oh, and they're great songs too, especially the former, which gradually builds from a warped psychedelic drum sequence to a heavy-laden bass funk and shifts to a rocking jam with some nice Bourge riffage.

Oh so tasty. I love this album. Stop relying on the stale recycled word-of-mouth from your friends, stupid best-of lists, Rolling Stone© magazine, FM radio anywhere, and especially, don't validate that artificial monument by adhering strictly to its tastes. Long live Budgie. Long live rock. A-

Van Halen - OU812 (1988)

There's a lot of Van Halen going around; it's the end of summer and the last hurrahs with beer, barbecues and FM radio are everywhere. It's nice to hear the nastiness of "I'm The One" while at a stoplight or from your neighbor's backyard. Now, I'm not in a very good mood, and I love Van Halen (minus Hagar) without impunity, so I'm basically going to take the time to trash the most terrible album that Eddie has ever thought to commit a guitar track to -- OU812 -- the most un-Van Halen of all Van Halen records. This album is a waste of everything great about these guys. Listen to "The Full Bug" from Diver Down

and then to "Feels So Good" from this messy morass and you'll think you've got two different bands from two different eras.

The good? Well, "Finish What Ya Started," I must admit, is a pretty good song, but only because it's not annoying. Shame on Hagar for thinking we like such cantankerous caterwauling and especially, shame on Eddie and co. for thinking they needed Roth to be a successful band. Besides the insistent irritation offered by Hagar, the rest of the band seems lifeless as if they were ELP putting out Love Beach to fulfill contractual obligations. Speaking of ELP, I hate synths as filler or background or as some kind of supplemental accompaniment. But Keith Emerson rules. And Rick Wakeman rules -- because they transcended the potentially banal use of their instruments, like Max Roach did with percussion (rest in peace, man). This musical diarrhea doesn't deserve the keys it tries to embellish and should be promptly flushed into the cesspool with the other blasé buckets of musical filth produced from the 80s. Oh, and for the record, 5150 sucked, too, just not as much, but that's for later. This album merely built upon the exacting shittiness they were developing then. An F seems too nice.

The Police - Giants Stadium - August 5, 2007

What's to say? Greatest. Show. Ever. For being apart for 22 years, this show didn't exactly have rust; it was just absolutely impeccable. At approximately 1 hour, 45 minutes, it was a bit short generally, but it was such a taut, tight set devoid of small talk that I will forgive them. Oh, and for the record, many may not consider Andy Summers the greatest guitarist ever, but he is without a smidgen of a doubt the greatest 64-year old guitarist in the world. He was shredding without conscience, plugging beautiful riffs and solos in every place he could fit them. Whereas the Andy of studio fame was known more for his splendid musical textures than he was for his individual showmanship and dynamism, the current Andy now indulges in both halves -- and I won't complain, especially when he jumped around stage like he was twenty again. Apparently, Andy was so much out of sorts during the concert that Sting felt it necessary to peek over his shoulders several times as if to say "Are you done showing off yet?" Words, though, really can't describe how amazing it all really was. In the event that I can't procure tickets for their MSG show on Halloween, I will ultimately have to savor this forever. Thanks guys, for getting back together, even if only for this once. A+

Setlist:

Message In A Bottle
Synchronicity II
Walking On The Moon
Voices Inside My Head
When The World Is Running Down, You Make The Best Of What's Still Around
Don't Stand So Close To Me
Driven To Tears
Truth Hits Everybody
The Bed's Too Big Without You
Every Little Thing She Does Is Magic
Wrapped Around Your Finger
De Do Do Do, De Da Da Da
Invisible Sun
Walking In Your Footsteps
Can't Stand Losing You/Reggatta De Blanc Medley
Roxanne

Encore I:
King Of Pain
So Lonely
Every Breath You Take

Encore II:
Next To You

The Police - Ghost In The Machine (1981)

In honor of my going to see these guys on Sunday at the Meadowlands, I've decided to review one of their discs. Choosing, again, was difficult, so I've decided to go with one of their more contentious albums, the one where the band began to disintegrate and not jive as well musically. During this time, Sting supposedly was more in favor of coke than he was in his band-mates, and poor Andy was feeling a bit flustered from the sudden emergence of saxophones and synthesizers, which predominately fill the record. This is not to say that the record is awful because of this -- far from it -- the musicianship is solid; it's the tunes that don't quite feel right -- perhaps I would like to say 'too poppy.' See, The Police are an interesting band insofar as they play more or less pop tunes with a ridiculous set of chops; they kind of straddle the line, but no one would ever accuse them of being poseurs, nor would anyone classify them as art rock or prog rock. This album, I think, crosses that line.

The album opens with "Spirits In The Material World," a strong song featuring the first manifestation of keyboard-driven melodies and Sting's lyrical pop sensibilities. Next, "Every Little Thing She Does Is Magic" is a little more mid-tempo and has more piano and synth, and -- where the hell is Andy? This is what I thought at this point. I mean, when you have a power trio format, you want to hear each member, right, especially when each member is fantastic? All of those synth lines are distracting me from hearing the guitar notes (if there are any)! Andy is noticeably relegated to bit-player for most of this album, and Stew's frenetic energy seems subdued overall as well. "Invisible Sun" is the absolute highlight here, I think; definitely one of my faves. "Rehumanize Yourself" sounds like it got left off Outlandos; it's a nice little Police thrasher; if that's allowed. "Ωmegaman" and "Demolition Man" are good tunes as well, whereas "One World" and "Darkness" are pretty awful. Really, though, for all my little critiques, the album is still very good, but it's still one of their weaker albums. Essential? Oh yeah. What you're looking for? If you like the dreck that embodies the 80s, some of that horrible contemporary sound seeps in here, so a yes for you. For me, it's just a B+.

Black Sabbath - Vol. 4 (1972)

I'm choosing to comment on Vol. 4 for the following reason: back when I was of a lesser musical pedigree, Master Cianan and I used to frequently mull over our favorite Sabbath tunes. Every time, he would mention "Supernaut" with its spectacular opening riff and asked me if I had it. No, I always replied, consequently disappointing him, and leading me to inquire from what album this legendary song came. This ritual continued unchanged every time, and neither could he ever remember the name of the album, nor could I feign attempts to having tried to find it. This is strangely fitting, considering that Vol. 4 seems to be the black sheep among their first five albums, perhaps for its lack of 'popular' tracks, but certainly not for its lack of menace or musical maturity. Even the album title is short of frills, denoting little that is particularly memorable. Hell, Supernaut would have been a great album title; if I had a child, I might name them Supernaut. I'm serious -- just not the part about having children.

So ado without much further of it, let's commence: "Supernaut" is not the only reason you should buy this album, but yet, it really is the reason you should buy it. The main riff is otherworldly, a testament to Iommi's terrific knack for sublime riffage. SUPER FUCKING TASTY is another way of putting it.

Otherwise, the album features vintage heavy tracks: "Snowblind," the album's original title that was changed due to the cocaine allusions; "Cornucopia" and "St. Vitus' Dance" are some wicked numbers indeed; and most importantly, for contrast, "Changes" is a purely piano-driven ditty with my favorite-instrument-which-is-not-the-guitar, the Mellotron, as well as "Laguna Sunrise" being a nicely sequenced track with overlaying acoustic guitars. Overall, though, the album is frenetic, heavy and downright scrumptious. One problem: "FX" is stupid. Supposedly, the sounds are achieved through an echo effect made by Iommi's crucifix banging up against his guitar. How novel, but it's a silly addition to an otherwise flawless album. Still, I won't hold it against the lads. A

U2 - The Joshua Tree (1987)

This is sacrilege, I know, but I don't understand why this album receives as much praise as it does. I chock this up to our singles culture wherein people only remember the name of an album because of how many singles it produces. In this case, "Where The Streets Have No Name," "I Still Haven't Found What I'm Looking For," "Without Or Without You," In God's Country" and "One Tree Hill" where more or less the releases in the US, UK and abroad. The first three singles are purely indicative of why U2 are truly great tunesmiths; the rest is truly unremarkable filler. Interestingly enough, these same three singles open the album; therefore, after "Bullet The Blue Sky," the fourth track, the album significantly plummets into oblivion. That was too abstract. It basically takes a sloppy wet shit. "In God's Country" tries to stop the bleeding, but let's face it, this album signifies the incontrovertible fact that U2 were too lazy to arrange the songs better, knowing quite well that the enormity and brand of their name alone would guarantee that people would listen to this album no matter how the songs were arranged. Then again, sorting five songs among eleven wouldn't make that much of a difference. It's a shame, really, because The Edge has some tasty riffs. C+