Sepultura – Chaos A.D.

Whenever I think of Brazil, images of a certain buck-toothed footballer, Rio de Janeiro and its parties, and, of course, Adriana Lima, all come to mind. But the first thing that pops into my head is, wait for it…Sepultura.

Sepul...what?

If you’re a metalhead and if you don’t know your metal geography then you shall your metalness revoked right this very instant. However, if you were to smile like an idiot who’s just discovered the right side of wearing undies and nod in elation to the mentioning of Soulfly, then your life has to end right this very instant. Your death shall be unhurried and extremely agonising. The punishment that shall be meted out to you is…a lifetime of nothing but Celine Dion and Barbara Streisand!

All right, enough of all this nonsensical talk. Onwards to the review!

Back when I first got into metal, I thought that Metallica were the best band in the world. Then when my ears were finally unstuck ala The Matrix, I craved unremittingly for music that was faster, more brutal and at the end of the day, something that doesn’t have James Hetfield going “Ooo!” and “Yeah!” like a country singer. And Sepultura was one of the first bands to really shake things up for me.

There seems to be two ways a thrash band progress with their career: one is to maintain their sound and thrashiness; meaning not moving forward thus putting out record after record with the same riffs (i.e. Slayer, Overkill). Or, you could do what Metallica pioneered, dumbing it all down.

For some strange reason, Refuse/Resist is the Brazilian equivalent to Enter Sandman. The two have different sounds but the effect is the same though Metallica has the upper arm in the catchiness department. Territory begins with a tremendous drum intro, and guess what, the riff makes you want to jump and down at the same spot for almost 4 minutes. If your area has a political election going on, then I highly recommend this song. The incumbents will feel right at home. Continuing the theme of the world is one big ball of shit, Amen pummels the listener with a heavier than thou riff. Of course, it was inevitable that they would go back to their roots and the instrumental, Kaiowas, is the first attempt. It’s a jungle jam, replete with tribal drums and a deep sense of connection with the earth. Propaganda speaks of, well, propaganda, while Biotech is Godzilla is a vitriolic attack against profit-minded corporations who would do anything to sell their drugs. Clenched Fist closes the album commendably but is nowhere near the thrash masterpieces of Primitive Future or Infected Voice.

Chaos A.D. is an album that came out a time when the world was first experiencing the beginnings of violence and turmoil that was getting out of hand, which is now a common occurrence in today’s world. The lyrics are a reflection of that time, it is full rage and venom but musically it as though the Sepultura gang decided that hey, let’s slow things down a little, instead of having a million riffs in a song let’s have 4 so that the lyrics can be clearly heard. Many have called this their Black album, the beginning of the end. I agree wholeheartedly. Much like how Metallica managed their career, Sepultura proved that they could do the same, just as disastrous. This is by no means a “bad” album. In fact, it has some pretty heavy moments. But how can you follow up with something like this? Arise, while not as riff-o-rific as Beneath the Remains, is still a hard-hitting wallop to the face of a thrash metal record. This is by comparison a genteel smack to the derriere.

I think I see Adriana Lima (NSFW-ish) waving at me. Bye!

Metallica – Reload

All right, you can stop laughing so hard now. While you’re at it, could you stop the silly grin? I’m getting redder. I’ll come clean: I was a fan of Take That (Shine is a pretty funky song), Backstreet Boys and GASP! ‘N Sync. I could even sing along to the likes of Back for Good, Quit Playing Games (With My Heart), and Get Down. Then the explosion of nu-metal—or to be more precise, music for the sonically challenged—boomed. I was one of those kids who took to it like an ugly duckling to hot water. I had the mile-long chain stuck to my wallet making me look like an aggressive shih-tzu, the cargo pants that could literally hold a cargo-full of contraband and my hair was spikier than Vlad the Impaler’s pointy sticks. I was into the Top 40 faithfully so much so that could I name—and still can—many of today’s musical artistes. This is all thanks to the country’s premier English radio station which came on air when I still trying to figure out what the heck is wrong with my cargo pants. At that time, the station played really good music. On a bright sunny day, a little band called Metallica with their new song The Memory Remains would soon change my life, forever…

Little did I know that I would to listen to nothing but Metallica for the next three years. Yes, you read that right. 3 solid years of Metallica and maybe just a little bit of Green Day. I was crazy about them. I honestly thought they were the best band in the world and that other bands were merely trying to copy, plagiarise, their works. Then I grew up. And the rest, as they say, is bla bla bla.

After that, I got older. And a tad bit wiser. (I hope so.)

I remember thinking that Fuel (the video was spot-on with the song) was one helluva fast ditty. This is by far one of their better “rock” songs. It is catchy; the main riff reminds me of a video game and it actually has a smattering of double bass from the normally lazy Lars Ulrich. The aforesaid The Memory Remains is also another catchy but hokey song replete with na, na, nas at the end. Marianne Faithful sure does creepy. Devil’s Dance has the makings of a really heavy and dark song but ruined by the lack of bass (Jason Newsted, I feel you, man) and James Hetfield still enunciating his Oooo’s with a zeal only heard in second-rate country singers. The next few songs follow a strict formula of plodding along and going nowhere. While the ideas are somewhat interesting, with a few nice riffs here and there, the gratuitous moments coupled with the obscene length of most of the songs can get wearisome pretty quick. I used to go apeshit over Where the Wild Things Are but now I can’t understand why. Probably because Newsted had a part in its creation thus making it a not-so-sucky song. Is Low Man’s Lyric the weakest song in the album? Nope. Not really. But it is by far the most grating. It’s a pseudo bluesy number that has Hetfield crooning about being a bum and all and wanting a fire to warm his hands. Once again, I have no idea. Thankfully, the album closes with a surprisingly sprightly and deliberate number, Fixxxer. Nope, I did not accidentally press X too many times.

As a whole and more accurately, a rock album, it gets a big, fat OK. Some of the material falls into the category of All Right, more than half in Ugh while the rest are utterly dog doodoo.

The Metallica name will forever be synonymous with producing 4 of the finest thrash metal records (all you detractors be damned!), one thoroughly commercial-sounding but still metal album and the rest of their discography shall be remembered only for their sellout-worthiness. As for me, Metallica will always be the band that has influenced my music preference and to a certain extent, my life, the most.

Alongside the dance sequence of Quit Playing Games (With My Heart), of course.

Initial Rating: 11/10 (I was young and highly impressionable mah.)

Current Rating: 4/10 (Trust me, I'm being too generous.)

Dio's Holy Diver Live and Whitesnake's In the Still of the Night

I’ve refrained from naming my blog post as “Holy Diver Live vs. In the Still of the Night” for the simple fact that if it were the case then In the Still of the Night would win hands down. But this post is going to be about my feelings and what I thought what was done right and what was done wrong.

David Coverdale and Ronnie James Dio. These two men started out as frontmen for their respective bands and are now revered as Gods. Rightly so I say. They have nothing to prove. They’ve set the blueprint for most of today’s rock and metal singing that all they have to do now is just to put out amazing concerts. While I may never get to see them perform (thanks for bringing in Lobo for the umpteenth time!) in my lifetime, thankfully they’ve released DVD that showcases them in concert.

This review of mine is going to be more focused on the performances and the overall quality. With regards to the picture and sound quality, both are superb and crisp with all the instruments clear accompanied with a superb bottom-end.

The Good: In the Still of the Night

This DVD simply smokes. You can see the fervour in all of the members. Naturally, Coverdale is the man people want to see and hear and boy does he deliver. Here’s a man that’s almost 60 yet he still moves around like a man in his 20’s. His singing is par excellence and his stage presence is immense. Tommy Aldrige is one seriously mad drummer. He may be pushing 50 but this skinny dude wallops the drum kit like it was like a big pillow. His drum solo is a must see. No words of mine can do it justice. As a fan, this is the closest to the real thing and it’s the only time you’ll hear me sing (yes, sing as opposed to my customary growling) songs about love and the person I hope to share it with.

The Bad: In the Still of the Night

It’s too short! There’s the case of omissions of Soldier of Fortune and Sailing Ships from the setlist. While I can understand why the former wasn’t included (it’s a Deep Purple classic), I find the exclusion of Sailing Ships to be a sad thing. I so love that song! At first I thought that Coverdale might not be able to pull the high notes of the song but I think he could have. Or maybe he did perform it and he chose not to include it for reasons unbeknownst to all but him. Damn!

Minor gripe: why did they censor the F-word? C’mon, most of Whitesnake’s fans are either old or dry for crying out loud! (I’m old not dry yet)

The Good: Holy Diver Live

The entire Holy Diver album is played in its entirety. For those who don’t know, Holy Diver is regarded as one of the best metal albums of all-time. Ronnie James Dio is still as theatrical as ever (and bloody short too). Nevertheless, I must say that could he have toned down the \m/ sign a bit. He really looks like an evil elf who’s trying to torment Santa Claus. Doug Aldrich (who incidentally is now Whitesnake’s primary guitarist) does a commendable job wielding the six-strings. He played most of the songs note for note especially original Dio guitarist Vivian Campbell’s (yes, it’s the same dude in the now shitty Def Leppard) solos and what’s more is that he didn’t use his own gear since he came in as a last minute replacement for the current Dio guitarist who was injured.

The Bad: Holy Diver Live

Oh my. Where do I start with this one. Firstly, Mr Dio sounds like shit. I cringe every time he hits the high notes. Damn, I got it wrong, it should have been the trying to hit the high notes. This is the same man who gave us Man on the Silver Mountain and Stargazer for crying out loud! And here he is sounding like he has a cork stuck in his nose. The theatrics are just plain silly by the way and the embellishments of “Ooh!”, “yeah, Yeah, YEAH!” just plain sucked. And it also goes to show that while you may have sung with the brilliant Rainbow and the reason for it all, Black Sabbath, no band can sound like them. The guitar tone was too happy-sounding and during Heaven and Hell I thought I was listening to ABBA.

So there you have it. My analysis of the above DVDs. While I’m still seething from Dio’s feeble attempts I must also applaud the fact he has taken RM100 from me just because it’s Dio. My hat goes to Whitesnake. They truly put on a fantastic show and the crowd went bonkers right from the get go and stayed that way till the very end.

This is Chris, signing off. For nooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooow…

Norah Jones – Come Away With Me

Back when it was all right to like effeminate boybands and silly-looking girlbands (which included yours truly, I remember clearly dancing to Backstreet Boys’ Shape of My Heart, something I have no qualms sharing with you guys and gals) and when jazz was perceived as music for people with large spectacles and a penchant for cigars made in Cuba by elderly men with cantankerous behaviour, came this little album from a little lady with a voice that was as smoky as it is hazy in Kuala Lumpur.

It was in college when my good friend Irwin and Kinsat bought a pirated CD from good ole Petaling Street. On the badly printed cover was this pretty, Indian-looking girl with freckles and a white woman’s name. When Irwin offered me a grubby-looking headphone to me I was assaulted by extreme tenderness. Her voice was husky and the song that I was listening to was slowly draining the lifeblood of me. I abhorred her and the world of jazz was forevermore off boundaries for me.

Funny how a few years and a good knockin’ from life can transform a man’s/guy’s/bugger’s life.

Yes, you purists will definitely vilify me for saying this, but Norah Jones is jazz albeit not of the variety that takes pride in its ability to play 100 notes a second. Her brand of jazz is tinged with hints of country and pop, meshed together to create music perfect for those days when I don’t feel like having my brain mashed by a cacophony of beats and riffs. When I first heard her voice I thought there must be something wrong with the headphones, she sounds just like an old singer I used to listen to when I was just a child. I shrugged it off, calling it boring as heck and went back to listening to Korn. (Which I have no qualms in admitting that I actually bopped my head to some their songs.)

The songs range from slow and breathy to slightly up-tempo. Opener Don’t Know Why pretty much sets the tone for the album. Probably the one most inane thing about the album is the fact that the title track, Come Away With Me, is apparently a bad song. This shocking revelation is due to the title itself, say it aloud, many times if necessary and think of the skin industry (ugh, nekkid people) and you’ll know what I mean. Still don’t get it? I sure as hell still don’t. It’s a beautiful song yet people with funny minds brand it immoral, decadent and detrimental to the soft and delicate ears of the Malaysian public. And let it be known that we have no problems with songs and the accompanying video clips from Pussycat Dolls who performed here and guess what, they weren’t exactly dressed in Eskimo clothing either and Nelly Furtado who incidentally is absolute horse droppings and a sell-out and can’t rap to save her life is signing about being promiscuous.

Maybe the moral guardians have a tough time in trying to figure out which word carries a negative or sexual connotation to it. I think a dictionary is a good investment for these prehistoric, cigar-chomping dolts.

Anyhow, the album closes with not one, not two, but three very good songs: Nightingale, The Long Day is Over and The Nearness of You. Every time it rains or when I travel I will play these songs for they really put me in a nice place. If there’s one Jones I’d like to keep up with then this lady is the one.

Initial Rating: 8/10

Current Rating: 8/10

Dream Theater – Octavarium

Let me be the first to tell you that as much flak is given to Falling Into Infinity, the band’s 4^th album, I love it. Its main criticism is, what else?, the music: it was too commercialised, sterile at parts and had Hit Song potential written all over it. But overall it isn’t, in fact it has some of Dream Theater’s most memorable moments just sandwiched in a couple of stinkers. But that’s another review altogether. What we have here is Dream Theater’s 8^th studio album and is a “back to their roots while forging forward” sort of album. The world calls it, I and I’m sure many long time fans will agree with me call it OctaDisappointmentExtravaganzarium.

Let’s go straight to the bad on this one. If the preceding album, Train of Thought, was to show that hey, we have a metal side and Octavarium is our pop side. The single, biggest disappointment lies in the lap of guitarist, John Petrucci. There is no denying this man is a genius, a savant of the 6-string, his melodies have captivated fans all over and we’re often beseeching for more. This time however we’re pleading, on our knees, for a heck a lot more. The intricate guitar playing that once characterised earlier albums is now replaced by a need to unleash mediocrity. Or maybe he ran out of ideas, I’m not sure. Just listening to his solo album (which you can’t buy from the stores because he’s selling it through his website, the bugger) makes me wonder if their record label had put a leash on him, restraining him and only letting him free briefly. It is with this opinion that I believe that Dream Theater has failed to deliver what could have been the album of their career.

But a single person doesn’t go about sabotaging his own money-maker, no, it’s a collective effort. Maybe it was the dastardly pushy record label, forcing them once again to deliver a more radio friendly album. Maybe they thought, “Hey, let’s make a middle-of-the-road album and then make a really good one to show that we’ve bounced back from the ‘setback’.” With all things going against them, it’s a shame and a sad thing to note that the other members deliver solid performances. James Labrie especially has kept his higher than high register to a minimum and voices the lyrics to great effect. Mike Portnoy’s drumming is still inventive and vibrant though the need for him to sing is rather annoying. His voice is frightfully unexciting while Petrucci’s own is flat and diffident. And John Myung is John Myung, nuff said.

Songs like the ballad The Answers Lie Within make you wonder what the hell they were thinking. There’s also a chugga-chugga ditty in the form of These Walls which is good but not good enough. Then when the opening chords of I Walk Beside You start emanating you can’t help but smile at the pitiable attempt at a U2-like song. And who can deny the wrath of Never Enough with its venomous lyrics asking the fans to cut them some friggin’ slack every now and then. Sacrificed Sons is Dream Theater’s contribution to the memory of 9/11. Another set of angry lyrics with some interesting stop-go riffing and drumming. Nothing great.

But the most anticipated song is undoubtedly the title track, which also happens to be the album’s closer. It’s a 24-minute behemoth that is a lesson in patience, aggravation and what could have been a hugely momentous occasion marred by directionless directions. The opening sees keyboard wizard Jordan Rudess playing all sorts of instruments to create a soundscape that either leaves you befuddled or hitting the Stop button. The next 20-minutes or so is a hit-and-run: the good is good but often suffers from a meandering syndrome while the bad is cringe worthy of the highest order (listen to the part where LaBrie and Portnoy battle it out with hilarious results when they sing “Trapped inside this Octavarium!”). Its salvage point comes, not surprisingly, at the end, where Petrucci shows us again as to why he’s the best guitarist to hear and not watch (if you’ve watched any of his live performances, you’ll know what I’m talking about). It is however, too little, too late.

If this is going to be your formal introduction to this band then by all means it’s an all right place to start off. As for long-standing fans such as myself, I have a simple message: Dream Theater, I hope you guys do something better next time.

Initial Rating: 5/10

Current Rating: 6.5/10 (I’m being more than generous, really)