I'm an engaged man these days (!) and my post-work computer time has been limited in the past few weeks. It's OK, because I've only been listening to "Hungry Eyes" off of the Dirty Dancing soundtrack anyways. More to come...

Cash

Everyone else sounds like a girl compared to him. I know it's kind of popular to dig him now, but there's no way around his huge drawl. He has a voice like a wrecking ball.

To The Max!

Heavy music deservedly got a rap as being for stoners, losers, and dropouts. So what happens when Sunn 0))) gets a Times spread and Jesu (former grindcore shredder Justin Broadrick) releases Loveless only re-imagined as 100x heavier and maybe better? Can we write off the stereotypes? Probably not, because your favorite metalhead at the gym is probably softly banging to Dope or Static-X. But. Holy smokes man, is there something happening here. One of these drifters put down the Scotchgard and learned a few things outside of the pit.

Jesu’s new Silver EP is enormous. My Bloody Valentine realized a very special and unique thing that has not been understood (to these ears, you know) until now. It’s a simple formula, volume plus emotion, mostly melancholy. And it’s overwhelming. In this case, 10-ton guitars and buzzing bass overdubbed 10,000 times crush and ripple the ground as drums collapse gracefully. Meanwhile, heavenly organ drones, floating synth lines and barely audible vocals waft over top of the grind. Turn this up loud enough and the bottom end completely paralyzes your body while the upper end’s sunset melodies warm the air with a cool breeze. It’s a completely disorienting listen and one of the best kinds – the physical combined with the emotional creates a whole new incredible sensory experience, one that will make the hairs stand up on your neck and fall out. Like watching nuclear warheads detonate, its bone-rattling power can’t be anything but gorgeous.

All We Are Is Dust In The Wind, Dude

Take a quick glance through any critic’s notebook, list of favorites, compendium of reviews and nearly every time you’ll notice that a reviewed musician’s initial offerings or works are somehow of more cultural importance than those coming late in their career. It’s an interesting thought – that all works, particularly those in the rock and roll genre, need that youthful energy and pop. Those coming later on always tend fall short of the promise hinted at early on, wishes left unfulfilled, somehow blanded out with age. Is rock music a young man’s game, so much so, that rock’s elders have no chance of keeping up?

The first records in bands or musician’s careers are their defining period, it’s impossible to capture that mindset for subsequent releases. Add to that, the early innocence and ignorance of youth that gradually disappears and is replaced with deeper knowledge and understanding. It’s strange that experienced mindset isn’t embraced but shunned in favor of ignorance-is-bliss mentality.

Obviously, I’m speaking in sweeping generalities, but it’s interesting. Consider Elliot Smith: as a young man he produced some incredible records, records that to this day are deemed his most important, essential listening. Smith matured as an artist, introduced incredibly developed arrangements on XO and Figure 8, something most young artists just couldn’t do without years of experience. But critics looked the other way, preferring his early work. For his last record before he took his own life, From a Basement on the Hill, Smith came with something grimy, curt and unpolished – a return to his early underproduced days. The record seems to be trying to capture the essence he exuded early on.

I could be thinking too much into this, and it could essentially be a case of the critics, or minority VIPs, saying “I was there before you, thus these are better.” Or could it be that youth is just so attractive and incapable of ever being achieved again? After all, knowledge can be gained over time. Age is just lost, never recaptured. Either way, it’s time to respect my elders in case I ever get old.

T.I. – King: Been listening to “What You Know” on repeat for 2 weeks now. Still good. Reminds me of the ending of a video game with melancholy but hopeful synth strings falling all over the place, trying to jam too big a line into too small a place. The laid back drawl overtop tells you who owns this. The rest: yes. Requisite parts present, check. (Rattlesnake hi-hats, slow jam track with Jamie Foxx.) But boy’s found a voice like Fab, but less punk more class.

Spank Rock – Yoyoyoyoyo: Baltimore? Sounds like grounds for glorification of poverty again for the educated (and white) crowd. A.R.E. Weapons? But. This stuff is down and dirt. Anyways, Mr. Rock has the resume to be straight for this boogie – he’s from a Charm City row home. Whatever – that shouldn’t be what makes it OK. Mic skills are solid and dirty like it should be, not transcendent. It’s the dirty-ass bass that hits the quickest, brown notes and all. Electro-funk ready, get yr Sparks and dance.

Queens of the Stone Age – Rated R: Don’t know how many times I can write about this band without repeating myself. When I graduated from marginal radio rock like Foo Fighters and worse (Lit, Buckcherry, the Refreshments?!) I saw this as an OK place to ride the train. More importantly, AP said 4 out of 5 times I was correct. Instincts are alright sometimes. “Auto Pilot”, “In the Fade”, and, of course, “Feel Good Hit of the Summer” are all pretty great, as is everything else on here to my ears. Yeah, nostalgia for The Headphone Album of sophomore year.

My Bloody Valentine – Loveless: I was drinking with my girlfriend and friends at Tangier in Philly Saturday night. The bartender came over to see if we were OK and needed another. I was drunk, grossly so. Said “Nice tunes man” or something else vanilla. Dude said, “Yeah I saw them live one time and they were sooo loud. They hit one chord and the girl I was with threw up all over herself.” Don’t know whether this is good or bad, but for the rest of the night I thought he was trying to sell me ecstasy.

Like a Rolling Stone

There recently was an article on cnn.com regarding the 1,000th issue of Rolling Stone. Like most gala events, someone’s unmentionables are being tugged for whatever reason, usually money. In this case it’s Jann Wenner, RS’ owner, showing how well he can do himself. Wenner points to his readership, 1.3 million strong, to show just how damn important his publication is.

It’s unassailable to say that Rolling Stone has had a great impact on the world of music, for better or worse. Sure, there’s been some incredible writing over the years, Hunter S. Thompson is one beacon, but there’s been little growth in the last 10 (more?) years. Every time I read it, it’s only because they have some List of the 243 Most Important Songs of All Time Ever in the Whole World. Don’t get me wrong, I love to read the lists, hell I love to write the things. The rub is that there’s no quality control or knowledge anymore in the pub. 3 Doors Down’s “Superman” at 476? Led Zeppelin’s “Stairway” at 13? Eagles’ “Hotel California” at 142? Obviously, there has to be a better way to expose people to incredible music that’s being made everywhere, underground and over, not a rehashing of “yeah we were there and we are awesome”. But to understand why they’re doing this is simple: they need to sell magazines.

Now it’s easy to turn your nose in the air and say that the last Deerhoof record was so much better than anything they would even give a 1/16 column to. Those of us indie/underground listeners feel entitled to be snobby about our tastes. After all, it took us time (don’t forget money(!) - for those of us that still buy music) to find these artists, research them and get into them. Michael Azerrad writes in his Our Band Could Be Your Life: “The underground’s musical diversity meant there was no stylistic bandwagon for the media to latch on to, so the record-buying public had to find things on a band-by-band basis, rather than buying into a bunch of talk about a ‘new sound.’” Well, here we are in 2006 and we have multiple online and some print media outlets to hear about all these new indie groups putting their spin on the new sound. Shoot, anyone remember the two words “dance punk”?

Essentially, the “underground” has disappeared and is only something worthy of the name for the mom-and-pop record labels and distribution channels. No, that Air Conditioning record isn’t going to make it into Best Buy – does that make it underground, exclusive and more important? Basically, the indie record consumer should control their urges to put that ringed nose in the air and begin to understand that you’re not so unique. Yes, what you’re listening to is most likely 10x better than the manufactured pap smears Jessica Simpson is putting out. But we should learn why that music is better by focusing only the music, not the exclusivity of it all. Because it’s not unique anymore. Just like everything else, the underground has been sold. Hell, it’s really not a bad thing – some kid in Oklahoma might be able to pick out the new Pissed Jeans record in Circuit City. They’ve recently signed to SubPop and you better believe they’re working their hardest to get on those shelves.

Cream of the crop/Rice of the top:

• Richard Hell - "Love Comes In Spurts": Can another song even come close to that title? Not even. Shame Quine died a while ago, guy could shred.
• Smog - Been reading a lot about this guy -- seems like an enigmatic character, at once guarded and super-arrogant. It's kind of annoying that Bill Callahan (yes, "Smog") gives such terrible interviews and is so standoffish with the press -- he's a genius with the pen, it'd be fun to hear him talk about it. Any of his records are hottness.
• Stiff Little Fingers - Inflammable Material - side A: Haven't gotten to B yet, had to hear
  Chocolate City by Parlament. So-so. This one I was thinking about after the fact more, for sure. Paint-by-numbers pop-punk at this point, but gruff vocals and raw spirit-of-'77 jazz this jawn up.
• 33 1/3 books: I read Endtroducing... and There's A Riot Goin' On in the past three days. Endtroducing... is the better read even though it's only really one long interview and the writer doesn't actually get to the record until a 1/3 of the way in. No joke: doesn't even drop the name until like page 25 or something. Still -- Riot goes track by track. I thought it'd be more about Sly melting down and doing massive amounts of PCP, play-by-play style and writing genius songs. Endtroducing... is a very well conducted interview with a smart guy, who just happened to put together a world class record.

How German Is It?

Leaving behind their deeply paranoid and fanatical vision of witches, Liars new record Drum’s Not Dead thankfully leaves the darkness in place, but rather than claw and holler through it Drum floats along like a misty fog through a cemetery. Ghouls abound: this record is liberal in its use of roomsound, exploring every nook of the East German radio facility they inhabited for the recording. These natural frequencies are the primer that Drum is built upon: they give focus to the industrial and tribal rhythms while spartan melodic accompaniment hangs up top. Liars use the album to craft a story based on two fictional artists: Drum and Mt. Heart Attack, Drum being the confident, assertive, and truculent-at-times artist with Mt. Heart Attack the opposite: questioning, frustrated and uninspired, jealous of Drum’s success. That plot sits a distant second to the unbelievable density and power of the music, even though it is also incorporated into the plot. Liars have developed from terse post-punkers, into full-fledged sound sculptors over the course of a short 3-album history.

From the thrust of the storyline it’s plainly obvious Liars are not a pop group; they’re adamantly arty and uncompromising in their vision. Their intentions are not disposable enjoyment but lasting impression. Drum succeeds on this front: it’s a full-length story or dream sequence, not short, unconnected bursts of inspiration. Their records, at least this and the We Were Wrong So We Drowned, are akin to novels and films in their scope. At a time when the album is supposed to be dying because the iPod mixes and matches any artist to another, Drum stands as a reminder that artists with patience and vision will continue to embrace the long view. Whether listeners will demand this type of craft remains to be seen. For the time being, it’s an incredible work of art waiting to be discovered. Take your time.

April Mix

For IMP:

1. The Breeders - "Cannonball"
2. Elton John - "Take Me to the Pilot"
3. Blood On The Wall - "Stoner Jam"
4. Bruce Springsteen - "Tenth Avenue Freeze Out"
5. The Clientele - "My Own Face Inside The Trees"
6. Chad VanGaalen - "Clinically Dead"
7. Archers Of Loaf - "Web In Front"
8. Fugazi - "Do You Like Me?"
9. Iggy & the Stooges - "Penetration"
10. Queens Of The Stone Age - "In The Fade"
11. Mission Of Burma - "That's When I Reach For My Revolver"
12. The Kinks - "Big Sky"
13. My Morning Jacket - "O Is The One That Is Real"
14. The Olivia Tremor Control - "A New Day"
15. Robert Pollard - "Dancing Girls And Dancing Men"
16. Akron/Family - "Italy"
17. Low - "Broadway (So Many People)"

When I can't write, I make lists.

I suggest the Archers of Loaf's "Wrong" or the entirety of The Speed of Cattle.

Zapp's first, self-titled record still jams, light-up dancefloor style.

Conversely, "Siberian Khatru" by Yes will make your nipples tight, especially the opening riff.

And it doesn't get better than this picture of Yanni.

If there is a more radical hard rock album than Boris' Pink all year, I will be very surprised. It's not Sunn 0))) redux (which could be good or bad), but some masterful thrash and doomy metal. Reminds me of Minor Threat as dropouts huffing gas.

Are people really convinced by this Matisyahu character?

Does anyone want to start a band and only play "I Only Want You" by the Eagles of Death Metal? I'm singing.

Cannonball Coming

It’s a transitory moment – coming right at the opening section after Kim Deal sings “Check Check, Ah Oooh Oooh” that seems to announce something new, something very exciting. The simple hi hat is played as tight as possible making tons of room for the fat, slip-slide bass, cleansing the palette and making room for the minutes that follow of pop perfection. That greasy clean guitar plays star gazer, while an undercurrent of powerchords keep things moving, and the clincher line that gets me glad every time “Spitting in a wishing well/Going to hell/Crash on the last splash.” But that chorus, with the chuh-chuh-chuh-chuh-chuh “Will you, (Indecpherible)! In the shade, in the sha-ade.” This isn’t nostalgia, it’s a blast.

I've been gone for a long time, mostly because I've hit a rut in writing and listening. For a while there I couldn't really enjoy anything that I put on. Maybe I was sick of my music or my work life bled over into private time, but a recent trip to San Francisco (for work, ya) again renewed my interest and faith in the human forces of life and love. Funny how a simple change of scenery can get the blood flowing again.

My first day was spent travelling. I woke at 6:45 for an 8:00 flight, first word out of my mouth being "f---". I threw everything I hadn't packed into a bag and ran downstairs to find a cab to take me to the airport. Luckily, everything worked out, I made my flight and even had a chance to grab a sandwich for the miserable 6-hour flight to San Fran. I didn't listen much to my iPod as I had planned, mostly because I realized I needed to make the juice last for the whole weekend. I forgot the charger. I did listen to the Boredoms' Vision Creaton Newsun (missed 20 minutes in the middle for some shut eye) and some of the new Destroyer, but I read pretty much everything I could get my hands on.

Once I landed in San Francisco my plans were only about an hour of work, setting up our booth for a convention. I did that and got my chance to go to Amoeba records in the Haight-Ashbury section. It's a grand store, huge and has everything I've ever really wanted to find. I got a few things: Fela Kuti's Expensive Shit (awesome), Boredoms' Super Ae, Love Is All's Nine Times the Same Song (eh), Green Milk From the Planet Orange's City Calls Revolution, Om's Variations On A Theme, and Smog's Red Apple Falls. I did have a chance to flip through these records a bit back in my wonderful hotel room (TV in the bathroom!), but the real pleasure was elsewhere.

What other city has such great people? I mean, nearly everyone is nice and doesn't suffer from that big-city aversion to conversation with strangers. Maybe it's a California thing, but everyone seems willing to talk about their past, their future, whatever. That first day was the best, talking to Russian cabbies, hipster goofballs in Amoeba, the Palestinian guy. It's such a romantic city, perfect for walking and smiling at complete strangers. It sounds hippy, but it's a great tonic for getting back into living, man. Sometimes I get so shut off, it's good to throw yourself out there and experience rather than wait for it to come to you.

‘I Was Just Another West-Coast Maximalist, Exploring the Blues…’

Some things I listened to recently:

The Microphones, The Glow Pt. 2: There’s something astoundingly breathtaking about this record in how it almost silently devastates you. The yawning gaps in this record that practically make your hair stand on end waiting for Phil Elvrum’s innocent voice and messy guitar to penetrate the expansive soundscapes. Not to mention, there never has been a record as well produced in lo-fidelity. Listen to this spot on headphones and you’ll be completely incapacitated for the duration, especially by those ominous foghorns.

Another thing too, I’ve never listened to this record in when it was light outside. Something about the night makes the perfect setting for tales of the infinite.


Destroyer, Destroyer’s Rubies: I’m not going to say that I know what the hell Dan Bejar, Destroyer’s head honcho/New Pornographers mainstay, is saying, but the wordsmith is pretty convincing. I have a sneaking suspicion that this is going to be one of those records that just completely takes over my life like The Dismemberment Plan’s Emergency & I or Wilco’s Yankee Hotel Foxtrot. Now keep in mind, I’ve only heard this once, but near everything sounded perfect to these ears (except for the last track). The music is really well-recorded indie music, ornate on some tracks, stripped down on others, with lots of intricate instrumentation and those quivery yipped vocals that are popular these days, but not by proximity, only by coincidence. I can’t wait to unravel this one.


Smog’s “Held” at 7:30 this morning, on the incline press: Somehow it’s really nice to feel feminine in the morning (‘For the first time in my life/I let myself be held/Like a big old baby’). Even while trying to meat up.


The Sword, Age of Winters: Not much to say about this. They’re certainly not rewriting the book on Metal, but it’s not awful either. You’ve heard it before, the re-re-recycled Sabbath riffs that crush and smoke, the D&D lyrics, the double bass drum. Yes, all awesome, all necessary.

But something makes me want to listen to High On Fire, Dead Meadow or Kyuss/Queens of the Stone Age. Speaking of, has anyone listened to Dave Grohl’s drumming on QOTSA’s Songs For The Deaf? Whew…

I Wanna Pee On You...

I can't remember if i wrote about this before, so pardon me if I have, but something made me think of it. And yes, I know I'm late to this party...

I was just flipping through iTunes looking for something to listen to and I saw R. Kelly. My wonderful lovebird gave me Kells' TP3 Reloaded for Christmas. (By the way, best artwork of the year. Standing on a mountaintop with your shirt mostly open? Correct choice.) Like most people, I was intrigued by the "Trapped in the Closet" suite. The record didn't come with every chapter, only 1 through 5, but plenty to give you a good idea about it and a DVD of those first 5 "episodes".

I flipped in the DVD to check it out and was, like most people, flabbergasted. That initial shock eventually gave way to laughter which quickly gave way to rapture. By the end of chapter 5, I had tears in my eyes, on the verge of losing it.

Really? Crying to music by a man who wrote the lyric, "Girl I'm ready to toss your salad/When I'm making love, I'll be feasting/Girl you're in the kitchen/Sweating up a storm/The oven's on 500/So you know the kitchen's warm."?

Yes. It's seriously that good.

I finally got my iTunes back up and working after a delay, so that's the main reason for lack of posts this week as I typically type and listen to music here on one thing. Problem is, every time I install the new version from the Apple site, Big Brother, Mr. Norton Antivirus, decides that its not safe enough for me to listen to my music through iTunes. Who does this dill think he is?

Anyways, I travel to NYC to visit friends on Friday so I should have something enjoyable and substantial for you to read by this weekend as I'll be keeping my ear to the ground during the commute.

For now:

• Blood On The Wall, "Stoner Jam" -- Real nice Sonic Youth-type rock that I (appropriately) first heard on the way back from heady Vermont on Sirius. These boys and grrrl are from NYC and the fashionably gritty coolness factor shows. The rest of their Awesomer record ain't that bad either.
• Boredoms, Vision Creation Newsun -- I haven't fully digested this one, but it's some tribal, prog-heavy and unbelievably ecstatic stuff made by the real Pro-Lifers. Praise God!
• Acid Mothers Temple & the Cosmic Inferno, IAO CHANT -- Come on. Just check out that name. How cool are the Japenese? More crazy psychedelic explosions from the maximalists. Also a more accessible place to start with this group, but only if you can sit still for the 50 minute run time.
• James Taylor is no better than a post-buffalo-wing poo. Fire and rain.

Call of the Wild

Like most of the entrancing minimalism I’ve been in contact with (art or music), Orthrelm’s newest record OV, puts me in that state of blissful Zen. Comprised only of guitar and drums for one 45-minute shot, OV features some of the most techinically astute, repetitious/never-repeating (you’ll know what I mean when you hear it) heavy music I’ve heard. This is not the noisy, over-bearing rock of today’s noisemongers, but rather academic virtuosos out to flatten your sense of linearity. The guitar played consists of the fastest, short repetitious bursts of shredding I’ve ever encountered, until a cue, guitar or drums (but weirdly mathematical and precise), instigates a switch into a different territory previously unseen and never revisited through the entire piece. Drums are tom heavy and rolling, perfectly punctuating the guitar cloudbursts and keep the only constant throughout the whole record: motion.

But words can’t possibly do this one justice, mostly because I don't know what to say. For anyone considering themselves a fan of modern human art (this is all live???), set aside 45 minutes and explore the fractured minimalism possible in heavy music. You will not be disappointed.

So I wrote a song last night on the guitar about these guys that were stealing dead bodies and selling the parts to people that needed them. It really didn't turn out as morose as it sounds, its actually kind of happy and the words aren't nearly that bad. If I can figure it out, I will post the song so you all can hear. (Does anyone know how to do this?) Problem is, once I usually record I get terribly embarrassed and critical about the sound of my own voice and my playing. But I'm psyched -- it's the first I've been able to write in months!

In other news, if you haven't picked up Sunn O)))'s Black One, and you're a fan of metal or horror movies, do so. It's some of the most twisted and surreal dark art -- it made me get more than a little woozy when I turned it up loud. The last track is super scary: the vocalist was recorded in a closed casket so you hear every one of his tight-chested breaths and bloodcurdling screams along side their trademark bowel loosening guitar and bass rumbles.

Haven't posted in a bit -- sorry for neglecting you. Here's a mix I made for my girlfriend:

1. Nada Surf – “Blankest Year”
2. The Unicorns – “The Clap”
3. Crooked Fingers – “Call to Love”
4. Superchunk – “Florida’s On Fire”
5. The New Pornographers – “The Bleeding Heart Show”
6. Spoon – “Sister Jack”
7. Toms – “(I Wanna Be A) Teen Again”
8. The Dismemberment Plan – “Do the Standing Still”
9. LCD Soundsystem – “Tribulations”
10. Vitalic – “Poney, Pt. 1”
11. Julez Santana – “Mic Check”
12. The Game – “Hate It Or Love It”
13. Amerie – “1 Thing”
14. Madonna – “Hung Up”
15. Beck – “Hell Yes”
16. The Postal Service – “The District Sleeps Alone Tonight”
17. Pixies – “Monkey Gone to Heaven”
18. My Morning Jacket – “Off the Record”
19. Ryan Adams & the Cardinals – “The Hardest Part”
20. Loose Fur – “Chinese Apple”

I went all smash hits, all the time on this one because I know she gets bored with artsy fartsy stuff and she like to excersize to it (read: squats and cleans). Don't mind if I toot my own horn though -- these are some great selections. And no, I didn't give her "The Clap". Yet.

Intermission

I will be gone from Wednesday until Sunday on vacation in Vermont and might not have internet -- see you all soon!

In the meantime:

• Chad VanGaalen - Infiniheart: Great bedroom indie, with one of the weirdest and most captivating voices I've heard in a while. Like Joanna Newsom, but a dude and not initially abrasive.
• Dinosaur Jr. - You're Living All Over Me: I'll be listening to this as I drive through Western Mass. Really amazing guitar work from a guy who's totally zonked. Anyone else ever see The Year Punk Broke and J. Mascis' hat? Whatta burnout.
• Don Caballero - American Don: For anyone who liked Bonham but didn't think he took it far enough over the top. Not to downplay any of the guitar playing, but Damon Che (drummer) is not following anyone's lead. Super intricate polyrhythms, ricochet guitar, and bass fatter than Large Marge. Don't listen to this drunk, you'll get the spins. I'm serious.
• Minor Threat - "Stepping Stone": Rock!
• Foo Fighters - Foo Fighters: Nostalgia's at play here for a lot of this, but I still love this record to death. From "Alone and Easy Target" on is nearly perfect. "Exhausted", "For All the Cows" and "Weenie Beenie" all got play in the band I was in throughout high school. Sexy as hell, I know. You should have seen the syncronized jumps...

I Give the Pitchfork Review a 4.1

A while back I wrote about a review of the new Pearls & Brass album on Pitchfork. In said interview, the writer acknowledges not actually caring about classic rock and bands that assimilate that classic rock sound. And the reason? Because, “I want music to interact with the moment we inhabit now, and the most frustrating thing to me about modern classic rock is how closed and final it seems, how unavailable to the living, breathing moment.” Closed and final? If there was one thing that classic rock, and this record in particular, is not, is final. Rather, it’s a launching off point for explorations on a live date. But I digress…

What really is the point of having a writer who acknowledges that they don’t care about a type of music write about it? I understand that there have to be some quality-control issues over at Pitchfork – meaning, they basically have to pan some albums (Travis Morrison’s 0.0? Yeah, not that bad still…) and boost others so they seem to know what they’re talking about and aren’t just handing out gold stars to everyone. But the assigning of a writer that automatically will not care about a record? Come on. At least give it to someone who cares about the genre and has the knowledge to say something. Speaking in generalities about the genre is doing nothing and avoids the task at hand of reviewing the record.

One of the most ironic things about the review is that he says classic rock writers tend to reveal more about themselves than the music at hand. And what were you doing, Mr. Howe?

As for The Indian Tower: It’s good. No, it’s not the future of music (whatever that is), but as far as the blues go, and heavy music goes, you could do a lot worse. These dudes (and I mean that) never let their fingers rest on the fretboard, churning out rolling rock boogie much like Blue Cheer’s pyschedelia, but without the rough edges. This is bro rock, but not in a bad chest-thumping way, more of a long-hair, Budweiser, stand-in-one-spot-softly-headbanging kind of way. And there’s nothing wrong with that.