I like music. I have a band. I’m gonna tell you all about it.
What I look for in rock: guitars, melody, guitars, energy, guitars, and guitars.
So, I’m going to review an anonymous album I have. Why would I do this? Am I a coward?
Probably. But this is a complicated issue. I have an entire illogical philosophy built up about who i will promote, and why, and not being negative, and much more. You’ll have to trust that it makes sense to at least me. Plus, now you have a puzzle to try and figure out. Email me! If you have the right answer, I’ll send you an email certificate of puzzle-ry!
This album is filled with big, indolent pop songs written by a guy who hasn’t seen a day of professional strife in his life. Each one different, a flight of fancy easily indulged because of a charmed career that consisted of being in the right place, at the right time, and sounding like a more popular artist. Early fame lead to early accolades, and built an army of yes-men and women that has convinced this artist that he can do no wrong. Is that bad? Not necessarily. But it shows.
What we have here is a collection of songs about girls with problems. Sad girls. But it’s not that simple. These are songs about fictional sad girls that only exist in the songwriter’s head. He’d like to think he knows these girls. About what makes them tick. But at most they’re romantic caricatures.
There’s quite a bit of pop sensibility, and it goes a long way toward power washing away much of the bullshit on the album. But it’s also telling that the best song on the album, by far, relies on the talents of another singer to take it to the stratosphere.
I can’t help think that the target audience for this are mopey, indie girls that grew up to be mopey, reluctantly normal mothers. And me, I guess. We all get adult contemporary, eventually. Me, I’m going to play that duet. Like, a lot.