- Eisley - Freshly-released album Combinations strays from their niche sound of dreamy high-pitched coos that soothe and enchant. This album is devoid of the "Scarborough Fair" style lyrics that brought me to an undefined 19th Century-esque world with freely hopping rabbits, love that grows amongst the tall grass, and pretty young ladies wearing brooches. Combinations is fairly generic "chick pop-rock" that is still too good for Lillith Fair, but not good enough for me. This album is proof that no one should ever ever ever under any circumstance marry someone from New Found Glory. Ever.
- Motion City Soundtrack - I Am The Movie was like getting sacked by a Moog synth–it is uncomfortable, but sounds fantastic. There is something quite awkward about each track on MCS's first album; maybe it is the oddly misplaced synth or Justin Pierre's too-old-for-his-body voice that reaches a senior's near-raspiness when stretching for notes that are slightly out of range. Whatever it is, all the elements come together splendidly. Commit this to Memory lacks the endearing sloppiness and misplaced synth of the first album. This album is far more calculated and polished. Regardless, it is still an enjoyable listen. Unfortunately, Even if it Kills Me is buddah-awful (that's right, I avoided using God for all my Christian brethren). According to Pierre, it's an album entirely "about girls." What a striking concept. I wonder how they managed to pull that off. There is barely any synth on this album. I realize that the whole synth craze has died down, but the synth is MCS's mainstay, it is what made them what they are. Now they are a corpse that somehow can wiggle it's bones and crank out some craptacular power-pop.
- Jimmy Eat World - I spent a fair bit of time antagonizing over Chase This Light. As you surely can tell based on JEW finding itself on this list, the album does not have the staying power I had hoped for. In fact, upon listening to it again recently, well, I couldn't. I tried to listen to it and found myself disliking every track except for "Electable." What a pile of pissy puke.
- My Chemical Romance - Such a sad fate has wrapped its way around the black hair, black nail polish, black stage-hands, and black black souls (hah, they wish) of this band. Just as Gerard kicks his drug habit and alcoholism, allowing the band to release a fantastic pop-punk album that incorporates, yes, "dark" themes, a few oddly placed chords, some guitar machismo (compliments of that irritating guy with the frizzy hair), and some visually-pleasing music videos, every 14 year-old girl who pretends to hate her parents decided to swallow this band up and attend their concerts in order to jump up and down and piss me off. Three Cheers For Sweet Revenge was fantastic. It took the model laid out by I Brought You My Bullets... and made sense of it, providing thought-out song structures, hooks-a-plenty, and some other ummm stuff (I hate feeling like I always have to provide three points...damn that hamburger essay model). Ultimately, The Black Parade just panders to this new audience, the ones who incessantly request "the okay song" at concerts.
- No Doubt - Remember when Gwen Stefani was a feminist icon for Gen-Y? Me neither! Long gone are the days of her high-kicks and sporting that Indian red dot thing. Once I saw the video for "Wind It Up" (a shameless plug for her fall LAMB line and a tasteless rip-off of The Sound of Music) I could no longer see No Doubt putting out a long-overdue new album that actually had any merit whatsoever. Rock Steady was bad enough and essentially saw ND take a turn towards becoming an 80s rip-off band. Tony Kanal looks absolutely ridiculous holding a keytar (then again, everyone does). Gwen's first solo album should have gotten that whole hip-hop, "I just wanna dance!" phase out of her system. Yet, she had the audacity to release another solo album and expect the rest of ND to just sit with their respective thumbs placed firmly in their respective asses. What's worse is that this second solo album is at least 12 times worse than the first, leans more towards the sad appropriation that is white hip-hop, and includes a song about cellphone reception. There is no way that No Doubt can have any credibility after that.
- Weezer - Oh Weezer. You had so much potential. Even if critics believe Maladroit was just Rivers Cuomo's rock and roll wank off, it is their strongest release since their debut. Lyrically it avoids most of the pseudo-intellectual crap Rivers learned at Harvard. Musically it can be bittersweet on songs like "Burndt Jam" or staple your balls to the nearest bulletin board on rockers like "Slob." So what the fuck, Rivers? Make Believe? Really? We are all on drugs? Beverly Hills, that's where I want to be? Hoooooold me? You're as good as dead to me.
- Smashing Pumpkins - There is little that can be said here. What a poorly calculated mistake the Corgan made in "reuniting" the Pumpkins. This "reunited" band is no different from Zwan, Corgan's post-Pumpkins Jesus-pondering band that included himself, Pumpkins drummer Jimmy Chamberlin, and a few other assholes who sort of resembled James Iha and D'arcy. Let us look at the lineup of the new Pumpkins: Corgan, Chamberlin, some asshole who resembles James Iha, and some asshole who resembles D'arcy. Then he had the audacity to put out some over-distorted, poorly mixed album under the Pumpkins name that includes deep political lyrics like "Revoluuuuuuuuuuution!" and shows the Statue of Liberty sinking. Remember the lyric in "The Everlasting Gaze," "You know I'm not dead" ? Try singing that to me now, Corgan.
- Deftones - In 2000 Detones released one of the finest progressive albums to grace mine ears, White Pony. Who would have thought that such a style of music as avant-garde-nü-metal could exist? Chino wails, moans, screams, screeches, and does so wonderfully against a background of ambient noises, distorted guitars, and soothing beats. A few years later they released a self-titled album that marked a return to their 90s aggression, but with a newly acquired thoughtfulness and willingness to incorporate the ambient tools they had acquired recording White Pony. So what in the name of Satan (they do love Satan, correct?) is Saturday Night Wrist? It is directionless filler. They would have been far better off breaking up during the recording sessions, as they claim to have almost done. On certain tracks they fully disregard any elements of progressive ambiance in lieu of straightforward, dull "hard-rock." Then other tracks like "Pink Cellphone" are entirely comprised of progressive ambience and lack anything tangible. It is one of the most frustrating albums to listen to, because you are always expecting something more, something to interest you before each song ends and suddenly it ends and you are sorely disappointed and wonder why you just wasted an hour listening to a band that should have laid down their instruments and gotten jobs at Blinds to Go.
- Wintersleep - I shall keep this one short, as I already discussed my problems with Welcome to The Night Sky. The main reason Wintersleep is dead to me relates to their concert last week. They refused to play more than three songs from their previous two albums. Essentially, they shouted a big "Fuck you!" at me, suggesting that they not only have abandoned their old sound in order to gain more mainstream indie success, but also that they refuse to even acknowledge their old selves and crank out some of those old gems. It is as if they are the lead character in one of those 526 teen movies about a loser girl who gets madeover into a foxy vixen who suddenly grows breasts to go along with her new image and will not acknowledge her former self or talk to her old friends. Honestly Wintersleep, I'm not impressed by your new large rack. Just play "Nerves Normal, Breathes Normal."
- Idiot Pilot - This is the greatest casualty on the list. With the release of Strange We Should Meet Here, Idiot Pilot proved that bands with only two members (moreover, bands with one member who sings and another member who plays guitar and controls loops from his Powerbook) can fucking rock like no other (and do so in a unique and satisfying way). Sure, one might argue that the White Stripes were the first prominent two-member rock outfit, but come on....even if you can get past the fact that they have sadly become a corporate synergy in tight red pants (thanks Coca Cola!), there really is only one member in the band (My deepest apologies Meg, you look adorable at the drum set, but you're terrible). Idiot Pilot changed my views on music and have been greatly influential in my own musical endeavors (they gave hope to two-member loop-dependent bands everywhere....or at least to mine). Then Wolves happened. It wasn't just realeased, it happened. Gone are the glitchy loops. Suddenly there is a drummer on EVERY track. Yes, there is that incessant "glitchy" clicking to accompany the drums on nearly every song, but come on, that's like dumping your girlfriend, meeting a new, less interesting girl, moving in with her, but still having intercourse with your more interesting ex-girlfriend in the apartment you share with your new less interesting girlfriend. Why are you cheating on me, Idiot Pilot?! There are some songs on Wolves that not only lack the musical elements that made you fantastic, but are just awful songs. "Retina and the Sky" is a piece of shit pop-rocker that hinges itself on one off-key chord to claim uniqueness. Sorry, but the sing-song predictable chorus could easily be on an episode of Grey's Anatomy in a scene featuring that Grey chick who cannot muster up the strength to open her damn eyes all the way and some guy who breaks up with her and she decides to just run. She runs down the street which is slick and shiny because it rained that afternoon and she realizes that she has nowhere to go and has been running all this way for nothing. Fucking idiot. "Planted in the Dark" is the only standout track. It actually possesses the courage to have some screaming (seriously, where is the screaming on this album? It only appears on two tracks. And no, screaming is not passé; there is a clear difference between the Jesus-inspired wails for attention on an Underoath album and the true passionate screams of the first Idiot Pilot album). Unfortunately, "Planted in the Dark" cannot save an album that lacks any ingenuity or courage whatsoever. I'm sorry to say this, but Idiot Pilot, you are dead to me.
Honourable mention: Björk - There are two main reasons why, to me, Björk is barely alive. The first is that she has become a piece of pop-culture, but not for any relevant reason. I do realize that this is not actually her fault, it is the fault of a Western society that gathers up eccentricity with its fat, sweaty fingers to either place on a pedestal or heap scornful, poorly-constructed insults at (you're gay, emo is gay, go cut your wrists, nice hat, and soforth). The first appearance Björk made in a highly publicized mainstream event (The Oscars) essentially placed her in the latter categorization of eccentricity (because of that swan dress). From that point on, assholes, former Limp Bizkit fans (oops, that was redundant), and any sweaty, fat-faced suburban mother with a television set (not redundant, but close) had an awareness of Björk's existence and could poke fun of how "weird" she is. Combine that with her ridiculous decision to have Timbaland produce many of the tracks on Volta and you reach the reasoning through which I have concluded that Björk barely has a pulse anymore. Her album prior to Volta, 2004's Medúlla, was ingenious. On it she only utilizes human voice for instrumentation. This feat was also translated to a live setting, where she appeared onstage with several "instrumentalists." Fantastic. Timbaland is an overused producer who has been given too much credit lately. He certainly has upheld the careers of Justin Timberlake and Nelly Furtado and helped launch the career of Missy Elliot, but Björk did not need his "eccentric" beats. His production certainly is unique in terms of mainstream pop music, but in terms of Björk his production sounds like The Monkees. Björk, you are barely clinging to life.
