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)

“I have had it with these motherfucking snakes on this motherfucking plane!”

Snakes on a Plane

Quite possibly the most entertaining movie I’ve watched this year. Thank you and have a nice day.

Gosh darnit, I hate having to fulfil my OCD quirk of having to write more than 500 words. Truth be told, how does one write a lengthy review about a movie you know already right from the title that it’ll feature snakes, and you guessed it, on a plane. The story is terribly simple: boy witnesses a brutal murder, boy becomes witness, person who did it is atypical Asian baddie and wants boy dead, tough as nails FBI agent is assigned to escort him to testify, highly amorous snakes are let loose, the passengers wage war on the cold blooded reptiles, they land the friggin’ plane and then they all live happily ever after. There’s no formula, no plot twists whatsoever, it goes from A to B and yet you still keep on watching even though you know the ending already.

For the life of me I still don’t know why Samuel L. Jackson put pen on paper and star in this B-movie masquerading as an A-list movie. But I am thankful, oh yes, if it weren’t for his trademark acting this movie would be on the bottom of even the most stupid C-movie pile. The other actors are so stiff it was fun seeing them get bitten on the boob, stabbed in the eye by a three-inch heel, and generally dying horrible yet comical deaths. And what the hell is wrong with them snakes? We all know that pheromones make male animals go extremely gaga but biting people on the jugular with pinpoint precision is a bit much don’t you think. The snakes would kill each other first, and then seek the stupid humans who are slathered in the frisky inducing scent. And can you actually land a real plane without the proper education, notwithstanding the fact that you’ve played a simulation of it for countless hours?

What’s that? Oh right, I forgot, it’s a movie.

The negatives are so bad that it actually is positives if you look at it properly. The acting is about as natural as Tara Reid’s chest attributes, the special effects are pretty decent, the storyline was probably drummed up by a pimply boy with a giant poster of some female wrestler in a tight fitting handkerchief, and the dialogue loaded with banal one-liners that they actually worked. But that’s the genius of it; you’re so offended and insulted by the absurdity that your brain shuts down for awhile and lets your funny bone be tickled pink.

The moral of the story? Doesn’t exist. Maybe kids will start playing flight simulator games. I don’t know. For sheer entertainment value this movie gets full marks. It takes quite a lot for me to laugh at movie jokes but this managed to get me chuckling and on occasion spurt out my chocolate milk. Through my nose. Sure maybe I lost some of my intelligence but it was for the sake of being entertained for one and a half hours. If there’s one movie to make your hypertension go down a little then this is it.

Iron Maiden – Dance of Death

I am not the world’s biggest Maiden fan. In fact, I can’t even consider myself a fan, not in the real sense of the word, anyway. You see, if you’re a fan of the band, then you’ll surely be in possession of most if not all of their albums. To be considered a fan you’d have to say that your favourite Maiden numbers are their classics: The Trooper, Killers, Phantom of the Opera and so on. Heck, you might even say that the classic Maiden line-up featuring Paul Dianno and whoever it was in the band at the time, is the best.

Not me.

Most metalheads would demand for my head for saying such blasphemous statements. Iron Maiden has some of the most fervent and loyal fans ever. After all, this is the band that helped shaped the music of heavy metal into what it is today. They’ve inspired countless bands and imitators. Some bands have come quite near though none seem into my mind currently so you’ll just have to accept my word for it. This is due to the fact that Maiden has a sound that whenever you hear even the first few chords, it is instantly and unmistakeably theirs.

So what is the Iron Maiden sound? It’s very simple: soaring vocals, beautiful arrangements, infectious melodies, sweeping solos and of course, the most annoying bass sound in heavy metal. All right, all right. Maybe not the most annoying but it certainly ranks high on the list. Put down that axe and hear me out first. I’ll try my best to justify my opinion. The bass in heavy metal is used primarily to boost the heaviness. It is also a part of the rhythm section together with the drums therefore mindless noodling on the bass is a big no-no when you’ve got the guitarist to do all the said noodling. I like it when everyone gets their instrument heard in the final mix. I go, “Ooo, there’s a double bass run,” and, “Ah, that’s a funky bassline there.” But when the bass is as annoying as Steve Harris’s then you’ve got a problem.

How do I describe the sound to someone who’s not heard it? Well, it’s sort of like garlic. I love garlic. I can eat a whole bulb provided it’s cooked right (raw garlic gives me gas). But when the garlic is overpowering the flavour of say, a lamb stew, then you’ve got yourself a dish that while is somewhat delicious, is also making you sick. It plods like a constipated elephant. It’s like a bridge that’s loose, held on only by duct tape. Steve Harris may be a good songwriter, at times subscribing to protraction and is slightly pompous, but by golly does he annoy me. On a good day, I may not be bothered by the obnoxious sound but that only happens rarely.

It’s a shame really because the material on this album is really good. I reiterate, I am not the world’s biggest fan of Maiden so if you find me gushing all over this then you can sod off. Where was I? Oh yes, the material. It opens with a somewhat catchy but forgettable track that is just a precursor to the first single, Rainmaker, a song with a silly video of silly men in silly costumes dancing in the, what else, rain. Montsegur is the “fast” ditty of the album, though it is marred only by sluggish drumming courtesy of bungalow-sized drumkit beater Nicko McBrain. McBrain is by no means a bad drummer, he’s good, knows when, what and where to hit the drums. It’s just that he’s slow. It’s the kind of slow that’s not too slow as to be almost plodding, but it’s slow enough to make you want to beat your fist on a freshly laid road. Paschendale is by far the most epic sounding Maiden song I’ve ever heard which would make any diehard fan feel faint and strangely murderous. It’s probably the only time I actually forgive Harris and his silly bass. The album then closes stronger than the start, which in many albums, is the way it should.

I may not be the world’s biggest Iron Maiden fan and frankly I couldn’t care less. I’d rather be the guy who likes this album very much.

Initial Rating: 7/10

Current Rating: 7/10