Linkin Park - Minutes to Midnight

Minutes to Midnight is to Linkin Park as a finger painting is to a pre-school kid. They put a lot of effort into it, and when it’s finished, they run to you, presenting it to you with a beaming face. “I made it for you,” they say. Of course, you smile a big smile, say “thank you so much,” hug them, and hang it on the refrigerator. But part of you is saying, “it’s just a bunch of smears of badly mixed color on crumpled construction paper.” The artist is so incredibly proud of it, but from a completely objective standpoint, it kinda sucks. That’s what I think of Minutes to Midnight; it kinda sucks.

Just kinda, though. Linkin Park has a few brilliant moments on here, but mostly when they are staying conventional, not when they’re exploring unfamiliar soundscapes, which they do a lot of on this album. Yet for all their creativity and branching out, they’re sticking alarmingly close to home. “Leave Out All the Rest” sounds a lot like “Breaking the Habit.” “Bleed It Out” is the new “Faint.” “What I’ve Done” has strong echoes of “In the End.” They’re not just recycling old material, mind you. If they were, I’d be a lot more disgusted with the album than I am. But I think that they’re so entrenched in their particular style that it’s impossible to get away from, even when they try really hard.

And try they do. From their choice of producers, I’d say they’re being pretty inventive. Rick Rubin has produced some diverse material in the past, from Run DMC to the Red Hot Chili Peppers to System of a Down. I have a feeling his work with the Beastie Boys is the reason he got the chair for Minutes to Midnight, since they represent part of what Linkin Park is striving for: white boy hip-hop, a mix of suburbia and the streets.

The opening track, “Wake,” suggests pretty epic and classic-rock things to come, which the album doesn’t deliver on. It feels like a fragment of a good song, but it’s a really small fragment. The song that follows, “Given Up,” was a very large disappointment to me. Throughout the early 2000s, Linkin Park was a unique bright spot among a literal sea of rapcore bands, all of which spouted profanity like it was going out of style. I’m not against profanity as a rule, but using it with as much frequency as the rapcore movement did shows a vast lack of originality. Linkin Park was different because they didn’t use any profanity; not a single objectionable word. Alas, those days are over, as the f-word pops up on multiple songs, “Given Up” being the first. As I said, I have no problem with profanity being used in its place, but I’m sad at seeing what made Linkin Park stand out fall by the wayside. Oh, and apart from the swearing, “Given Up” is a clunky and bad attempt at a classic rock groove.

“Bleed It Out,” the second single, feels like another fragment as the song seems unfinished. The high-octane energy is cool, but the melody quickly gets grating. Then there’s “Shadow of the Day,” which is haunting, melodic, mature, and so completely NOT Linkin Park. It sounds more like Snow Patrol temporarily changed their name or something. It’s great, but seems very out of place. “Hands Held High” shows some understanding of the current world climate, but the rhetoric it presents, while applicable, sounds exactly like what we’ve heard from a million other musicians who hate Bush and the war. It’s become so clichéd to include some political element in your record nowadays, and I’m getting pretty sick of it.

Linkin Park show their rather obvious Metallica influence on “No More Sorrow,” with some splendid results. And “The Little Things Give You Away” finally gives a little of that epic-ness that we were promised on “Wake,” but it feels forced and incompetent. They score points for trying, but they should just stick to time signatures they’re comfortable playing.

Minutes to Midnight, while having one of the coolest album titles in recent memory, is a disappointing affair, and shows that change is not exactly the same thing as growth. It’s kinda like a college girl who’s out from under daddy’s watchful eye for the first time and decides to try lesbianism. In most cases, it’s just a phase, Minutes to Midnight included. This album was so delayed, and Linkin Park spent so much time and energy on it, that I was expecting something a lot more earth-shaking. A for effort, guys, but how’s about you play “One Step Closer” for us one more time?

Prime Cuts:
Shadow of the Day
No More Sorrow

22 Rating: -4

Anberlin - Cities

The climate in music today, while better than it was in that 4 year period between 1998 and 2001, isn’t ruled by any particular genre, but rather by individuals having a somewhat wide array of tastes. People are a little into a lot of music, rather than a lot into a little. Consequentially, individual genres tend to be a little more watered-down and general, as the average music listener can’t handle things going very deep, mostly because they don’t have the time to devote to a particular genre.

So isn’t it great to see a band like Anberlin that’s taking the general and doing grand things with it? A music aficionado like myself thought that excellence of this caliber was only achievable by bands seasoned in their genre, not upstart pop-punk bands who look pretty. But Anberlin reveals a vast understanding of what makes rock and roll great, while still staying very accessible.

Their third album, Cities, continues their musical maturation, if a bit slowly. When I first heard Never Take Friendship Personal, I knew right away that this was a band of a different stripe than the Panic! at the Discos or Fall Out Boys. They fit in nicely with the aforementioned groups, but stand above them, as if called up to a higher place. The intro to the album suggests a more epic feel than we’re used to, and the first real song, “Godspeed,” is the most frenetic and excited song on here, and indeed that the band has ever done. The high-octane energy doesn’t stop till we’re about a third of the way through, however, and perhaps a more modulated approach would have been better. Still, though, “Adelaide” and “A Whisper and a Clamor” are great and catchy songs, especially the latter.

Then Anberlin shows how much they have grown with “The Unwinding Cable Car,” a delicate acoustic song with a fantastic vocal part. The only “slow and sensitive” material on their previous album was “the symphony of (blasé),” a track that while nice, seemed inappropriate between two high-energy songs. Now, they have learned how to make a quiet song that’s both powerful and doomy while still being pretty, and is not saccharine or clichéd.

The second half of the record loses a bit of steam. “There is No Mathematics to Love and Loss” is interesting, but lacks a compelling melody. “Hello Alone” seems like single-worthy material, but actually got old pretty quickly. I definitely like Anberlin’s experimentations with the synthesizer, though, as on “Mathematics” and “Reclusion.” The synth, in this day and age, is only used really well by progressive rock groups; in other places, it seems like a hammy 80s throwback. But Anberlin use it in a subtle way that isn’t extravagant.

Then there is the final track, simply titled “(*fin).” It’s a little frustrating that the best song on the album doesn’t have a real title. This song reaches such heights of epic-ness and melancholy that it does more than just pull at the heartstrings. The acoustic opening (which lasts two and a half minutes) features a great melody and heartfelt vocal delivery, making it a beautifully despairing song. Then, the song instantly escalates into a full-on epic rock song, complete with a boy’s choir intoning a chorus of such marvelous beauty. Clocking in at just under 9 minutes, everything about “(*fin),” from its arrangement on down to its production, make it the BEST song to come out this year.

Cities demonstrates that music can be exciting, deep, and soul-enriching, while still being poppy and accessible. It also demonstrates that Anberlin is only getting better with years.

Prime Cuts:
(*fin)
The Unwinding Cable Car
A Whisper and a Clamor
Godspeed

22 Rating: 14

Modest Mouse - We Were Dead Before the Ship Even Sank

Oftentimes I think the music world at large is getting into a rut. Thankfully, at this most recent time, along came Modest Mouse to show me that not everything is just the same old boring filler. They renewed my knowledge that music can be daring, original, and boundary-pushing.

A little-known band since 1996, Modest Mouse finally broke out big-time with their 2004 smash Good News for People Who Love Bad News. After that, critics everywhere were anticipating their next effort on the edge of their seats. But part of what made them get so excited by Good News was that it was quirky, off-beat, and deliciously indie. Modest Mouse was commendably ignoring the fact that they had been on a major label since 2000. Actually, I’m surprised that a major label stuck with them for as long as they did. Having your first album with them be a flop, and then taking three years to make another one, is usually a recipe for getting you unceremoniously dumped. I guess it was luck that they weren’t.

The record label’s patience (as well as that of the audience) paid off, however, since they matured into one of the tightest bands of the new century. They caught the attention of the Smiths’ Johnny Marr, who became a full-fledged member of the band for 2007’s We Were Dead Before the Ship Even Sank. Here the band straddles the line between mass-market sensation and quirky indie act. And amazingly, they do an astounding job. Record companies seem to have caught on that when they acquire an indie act like Modest Mouse (or the Decemberists), they shouldn’t clutch at them with dollar signs in their eyes. If they just leave well enough alone and let the bands keep their originality and artistry intact, the dollars will just come. After all, The Crane Wife was one of the most successful albums of the year. I imagine Epic is hoping We Were Dead will follow in its money-making footsteps.

Indeed, Modest Mouse’s off-kilter-ness is intact from the very first note, which is produced by an accordion, of all things (no longer uncool, thanks to Arcade Fire). The biggest stumbling block for me is Isaac Brock’s voice. It turned me off initially when I first heard Modest Mouse back in 2005. For certain songs, he seems to be going for an insane Cookie Monster growl, and it’s pretty distracting. I just had to give it time, though. “March Into the Sea” has Brock’s weirdness cranked to 11, and it’s actually a very off-putting way to kick off the album. But that just seems to be the Modest Mouse way. It took a few listens for this song to actually grow on me, as it did for the entire album. “Dashboard” follows as the catchiest and bounciest song Modest Mouse has ever done. This song had me nodding my head and singing along very quickly, the mark of a pop gem. “Parting of the Sensory” has a great apocalyptic and troublesome vibe to it, such that you really get into it. Brock’s lyrics remain inscrutable, being more like free-verse poetry in places. Johnny Marr shows his influence on “Missed the Boat,” which is nicely polished and melodic. In the face of the daring (and messy) originality of the rest of the album, some would say this track doesn’t fit in, but it’s actually one of the most accessible songs here, while still retaining the aforementioned originality.

“Fly Trapped In a Jar” falls off the tightrope into a sea of confusion, “Education” is a bit boring, and “Steam Engenious” doesn’t have a compelling melody. Other than that, though, the whole album successfully walks a fine line between originality and accessibility. It’s just catchy enough to draw you in, but just strange enough to make you stick with it. I think we can expect more acts like Modest Mouse finding mass appeal, since people seem to be expecting more and more from their music.

Prime Cuts:
Dashboard
Invisible
Missed the Boat
Parting of the Sensory

22 Rating: 12

The Fray - How to Save a Life

I’m sure the members of The Fray are very nice people. They probably love their mothers, love their wives, don’t run stop signs, don’t cheat on their taxes, and never leave the toilet seat up. But there’s one area where they’ve committed a very heinous sin: they make music that’s ordinary. Music is an art form, and it should always stir in us some emotion, be it positive or negative. With How to Save a Life, the debut album from The Fray, it may as well not be there at all.

The Fray are basically exactly like Counting Crows (without the passion), or Matchbox Twenty (without the pop sensibilities), or Coldplay (without the British-ness). They don’t distinguish themselves from the huddled masses of piano-and-guitar soft rock bands at all. Actually, that’s not true. What makes The Fray different from the previously mentioned bands is that The Fray play with absolutely zero conviction. In all fairness, How to Save a Life makes no huge mistakes, but that’s because it takes no risks. Every song plays exactly the same, even having a similar structure and runtime. Nine of the twelve tracks are within 40 seconds of each other in time, all in the four minute range. The album gives new meaning to the word “safe.”

Things start off well enough with “She Is,” but that’s just because it’s the very beginning, and we don’t have a “rest of the album” to make it sound like it’s the same as everything that came before. The lyrics apply 6^th-grade workmanship in “she is everything I need that I never knew I wanted / she is everything I want that I never knew I needed.” “Over My Head (Cable Car)” is the first big single, and with good reason, because the lyrics are the sharpest and most telling of the whole album. However, the song suffers from a lack of catchiness and Isaac Slade’s terrible voice. “How to Save a Life,” the second single, has all the bad points of “Cable Car” and none of the good. And from there, it’s just all the same, as if it were performed by robots.

“All at Once” is of a slightly higher level that the rest, almost on par with Counting Crows. “Little House” is the closest thing to true rock and roll, but that’s sadly far from the mark. And the rest of the album is just boring, standard, uninspired, achingly ordinary, and ultimately forgettable. Well, it would be forgettable if radio stations weren’t playing so much of “Cable Car.” The song’s even been adopted by a few television gurus. I could see Dawson’s Creek making The Fray very big, if that show was still on. Hopefully, though, one of two things will happen. Either The Fray will grow some originality, or they’ll soon fade away into the night. Whatever road they take, I have a hard time caring.

Prime Cuts:
All At Once

22 Rating: -1

Fall Out Boy - Infinity On High

I can kinda-sorta sympathize with Fall Out Boy. After all, they were rather suddenly thrust into the spotlight. But honestly, if they didn’t want that to happen, or even didn’t think it ever would happen, what were they doing this whole rock and roll thing for anyway?

To their credit, Fall Out Boy is incredibly self-aware, and constantly keep themselves in check. No one laughs at themselves more than Fall Out Boy. They lampoon themselves at every opportunity, not the least of which is the video for “This Ain’t a Scene, It’s an Arms Race.” The whole thing is a ribbing of all things FOB, some things that only avid fans or people who pay very close attention would know about. But at the same time, they seem to be giving themselves things to make fun of. That is illustrated no more than on their new album, Infinity On High.

It starts of with rapper Jay-Z (yes, Jay-Z) doing a shout-out, just like a rap album. This set off dozens of alarm bells in my head. The track that follows it, “Thriller,” is a very poppy slice of punk rock, so much so that it almost made me sick. Like a lot of tracks on Infinity On High, I like it, but I don’t like that I like it, if that makes any sense. It’s polished to a high mirror shine, even as the lyrics of the album seem to be rejecting that.

Next comes “The Take Over, the Break’s Over,” which perpetuates the “shiny garbage” modicum. However, they come right back with their new “Sugar, We’re Going Down” with “This Ain’t a Scene, It’s an Arms Race.” This song illustrates everything I love about FOB; strong, catchy and punchy. Pete Wentz lyrics are so clever that he might break his arm he’s patting himself on the back so hard. He’s got to be pretty proud of his song titles, too. They dangerously dance back and forth on the line of ingenious and incredibly annoying. “You’re Crashing But You’re No Wave.” “I’m Like a Lawyer With the Way I’m Always Trying to Get You Off.” “I’ve Got All This Ringing In My Ears and None On My Fingers.” Riiiiiiiiiiiiight. This is only trumped by the lead-off track of their previous album, “Our Lawyers Made Us Change the Name of This Song So We Wouldn’t Get Sued.” Song titles like that make me smile and shake my head, make me laugh and cry at the same exact time.

Songs that they experiment on (where they play against type) generally don’t work. Their forays into the pop and hip-hop worlds are ill-conceived, but interesting nonetheless. It’s when they stick to their modern rock roots that they really shine. “Hum Hallelujah” is a pretty good punk song, though the rip-off of Rufus Wainright’s “Hallelujah” is a little over the top. In the context of the entire album, tracks like “The Carpel Tunnel of Love” and “I’ve Got All This Ringing…” seem like filler and hold-overs from the last album, but they’re some of the best on here.

Infinity On High is even more smarmy and self-aware than From Under the Cork Tree, and if you like Fall Out Boy at all, I think you’ll like this, or at least appreciate it. But I find that people generally fall into one of two groups when it comes to FOB: love ‘em or hate ‘em. So if you’re in the second group, stay far away from this album, because it will only piss you off. But if you’re under 17 and in the “no one understands me” phase, then by golly this is the album for you.

Prime Cuts:
This Ain’t a Scene, It’s an Arms Race
You’re Crashing But You’re No Wave
Hum Hallelujah
I’ve Got All This Ringing In My Ears and None On My Fingers

22 Rating: 6

Arcade Fire - Neon Bible

Arcade Fire’s new album wasn’t met with quite as much fanfare as I expected, them being “Canada’s hottest band” and all. And if you want my personal opinion (which you do, or you wouldn’t be reading this blog…), they didn’t get even an iota of the fanfare they deserved. Funeral was blazingly awesome, and it’s a pretty tough act to follow. Being cognizant of this, I would say my expectations for Neon Bible were fairly reasonable. Fortunately for Arcade Fire, my expectations were met and then some.

Funeral was the work of a band in turmoil, in the midst of personal tragedy. It made for an album that was, above all, passionate. Passion is a little dangerous, though, because it generally doesn’t concern itself with neatness or efficiency, and tends to make a mess. Funeral’s mess was very beautiful, though, and the band’s pain was palpable on the record. With Neon Bible, however, Arcade Fire wisely doesn’t try to duplicate that oeuvre. Instead, they take a more measured and careful approach, and it pays off. The music is still odd, and sometimes comes out of left field, but instead of just taking a scattershot approach, like on Funeral, they opt for steady shots with a steady hand.

Normally, that approach makes for a pretty stale record, especially for a band whose hallmark is beauty that is untamed. But amazingly, Arcade Fire make all the right choices, with the timeless beauty remaining intact with a very different approach. “Black Mirror” makes known that Neon Bible is not only a subtler album than Funeral, but a darker one, too. The immediacy of “Wake Up” and “Power Out” are generally gone, but in their place is a strong impassivity. “Black Mirror” is a good opening track, though not quite as strong as the second track, “Keep the Car Running.” It has very catchy verses, and is a shoe-in for a single. As on the last album, Win Butler’s voice is clumsy as not technically proficient at all, but it suits the material. “Intervention” continues the theme of featuring strange instruments, as a pipe organ plays the lead part. I again am struck by Arcade Fire’s uncanny ability to make the weird sound beautiful, eliciting a reaction of wonder rather than discomfort. The best track, “Ocean of Noise,” highlights the measured approach that the whole album takes, as it has a very subtle, Death Cab-like undertone to it.

On “(Antichrist Television Blues),” Win Butler seems to be channeling Bruce Springsteen, both in the musical style and the vocal quality. Near the end, Arcade Fire reworks a song from early in their career, “No Cars Go.” It’s slightly obvious that this song represents a younger band, as it’s a little nervier and more excited than the rest of the album, and doesn’t quite fit the general tone of it. However, I’m glad they finally put this great song on an album, so it can enjoy mass consumption. “My Body is a Cage” takes a little while to really get going, but eventually crescendos to a point that nearly equals the closing power and emotional punch of “In the Backseat.” It also leaves you hanging at the end, awaiting the third album.

A lot of great bands suffer from the sophomore slump, but Arcade Fire just laughs in that concept’s face. Neon Bible isn’t as emotionally affecting as Funeral, but it seems incorrect to compare the two, since they have pretty different tones. Really, they represent two points on this band’s journey, and hopefully, it will be a long journey indeed.

Prime Cuts:
Ocean of Noise
Keep the Car Running
Intervention
My Body is a Cage

22 Rating: 12

Nine Inch Nails - The Fragile

Did this really need to be a double album? I mean, seriously, Trent, the fact that you have so much art coming out of you (rather like puss from an open sore…) is great, it really is. But have you ever heard of the philosophy “less is more?” Wouldn’t it have been better to keep it concise, and in the process save your listeners a little money?

Double albums are a little bit tricky, because you need to do several things with them. First off, you need to make sure that you have enough to say to actually fill two album-lengths. Secondly, what you have to say better be pretty freaking important. Thirdly, you have to keep your listener’s attention through the entire 90 to 120 minutes of the proceedings. Bands usually do this by switching it up a lot, like on those two masterpieces, Mellon Collie & the Infinite Sadness and The White Album. Other times, they do it by having an honest-to-God story, like on Tommy and The Lamb Lies Down On Broadway.

Nine Inch Nails’ The Fragile falls just short on the first two things, but remarkably succeeds at the third, but not in either of the previously mentioned ways. No, The Fragile holds your attention by being so gosh-darned interesting that you can’t look away for long. I don’t think, however, that that feature makes it worthy of being a double album. It could have been every ounce as interesting if it had been an ordinary, 55-minute, single-disc album. Not only does The Fragile not have enough to say, it doesn’t even say anything new. Reznor basically covered the area of “my life sucks” ad nauseum with his first three albums. Like I said in my review of With Teeth, the main reason The Fragile was such a disappointment over The Downward Spiral was my age. I was 14 when The Downward Spiral came out, and 18 for The Fragile. That four years made a world of difference. I had grown up in the intervening time, and at a much faster rate, apparently, than Reznor. He was still stuck in the “oh woe is me” stage, though he had gotten a little subtler and smarter about it. The one leap forward he made, however, was that he no longer saw suicide as cool or romantic, as he said in interviews.

When you zoom out and look at The Fragile as a whole, you see that it’s a pretty ambitious effort that really pays off in its own weird way. It’s when you look too closely at individual moments that it starts to break down. But it’s a double album, so it has enough absolutely great moments to balance out the ho-hum and bleh ones. It takes quite a bit of effort (not to mention a sizable time commitment) to get much out of it, though. There’s really no sense in highlighting individual songs, since most of them have the same emotional color. The dirgy crunch and cold industrialism of this type of music is surprisingly aided by this album’s increased use of guitars and other stringed instruments. Trent Reznor has said that stringed instruments are imperfect, unlike computers, which will execute what you tell them to without error. That element fell exactly in line with what he was trying to accomplish with this album, and Reznor really has some intriguing sounds on it. Taken as a whole, The Fragile is a very good addition to NIN’s discography, even if it’s really long-winded and not very lyrically original. But to really enjoy it, you can’t think too hard about it. Trent wins points for expanding the definition of “music” a little, but loses a lot of them for not knowing what to keep and what to discard.

Prime Cuts:
Into the Void
The Wretched
Where is Everybody?
We’re In This Together
Just Like You Imagined

22 Rating: 7

(Incidentally, today is the first birthday of Drop 22!)