Papa Roach Metamorfosis

AbsolutePunk.net:

For over a decade, Papa Roach has stood strong, outlasting the nu-metal wave of the late 90’s, and evolving their sound with the times. Throughout it all, the line-up was consistent, four guys sticking together to create catchy rock music. That bond was broken with the messy departure of drummer Dave Buckner. In his place came ex-Unwritten Law Tony Palermo, who started out as a live drummer before joining the band full time.

Metamorphosis , the band’s sixth album, is a turning point in the band’s career. Papa Roach has a loyal fan base, one that has followed the band through thick and thin since the very beginning, but the band has become known more for their memorable singles then their collective bodies of work. Papa Roach hasn’t had a great album of consistent material since the Infest days. With fresh blood in the ranks, the band has a perfect opportunity to show that the flame hasn’t died out yet, and that there is enough left in the tank to put on a masterful performance.

That's right -- Papa Roach, a.k.a. "Cut my life into pieces, this is my last resort, etc." The latest incarnation of dirty, grimy hard rock with black nail polish sheen eeks out a chart-topper every few years, churning out the same multi-layered production efforts every time -- and somehow, they catch the ears of hard rock enthusiasts, thanks to their loud, repetitive riffs and big, anthemic choruses. Some things never change.

The Northern California band came up through the late-nineties rap-rock TRL blowout sale, but eventually changed their game into the metal version of Nickelback, writing enough singles to peak on hard rock charts and get some mainstream attention every two years (remember "Scars"? Sure you don't). Now, ten years after their debut got them onto the Anger Management stage, Papa Roach continue to be one of the leaders in the current shiny-metal onslaught.

Metamorphosis is an enigma, since the term is defined as a "transformation," which would ultimately lead one to believe this album sounds nothing like their previous one... correct? Maybe the band just thought it sounded neat, because there certainly isn't any true change present, with 45 minutes of lackluster effort accompanied by mild theatrics. The album has a desire to sound epic (the marching drum introduction "Days of War" is a big indication of this), like it's playing on a battlefield with fireworks and cannons exploding all around them, the world on fire as the destruction is celebrated through song. Sadly, it's halted by the same old material, despite producer Jay Baumgardner's (Sevendust, Evanescence) bass-happy knob-turning. "Change or Die" is pretty standard, the first words being vocalist Jacoby Shaddix screaming out, "Let's go!" We know, we know -- you want to get us up on our feet and moshing to the metal... but do you always have to tell us? We can figure it out ourselves.

Like a carnival ringleader, Shaddix has a great presence on the microphone and can really howl -- he just never brings anything new to his vocal abilities, more concerned with showing off how powerful his arena-hall voice can be. "Hollywood Whore" sounds like it could have been stolen from Nikki Sixx's lyric book (oddly enough, he actually guests on "Into the Light"), another strip-club theme song -- it doesn't really fit in with the whole "battle call" theme. "I Almost Told You That I Loved You" is unmistakably a Buckcherry ripoff on all accounts, and "Lifelife" has a digitally-enhanced riff that gives the song an early-80's vibe -- the whole thing sounds like it could be a Mellencamp cover.

Guitarist Jerry Horton wants to restrain himself here and be more like Robert Smith, as Tony Palermo brings some big background beats to the mix -- there are just far too many turns where songs are hindered by one ingredient not fitting the recipe. The anthem ballad "Had Enough" is held back by Shaddix's slightly-pitchy vocals -- ask Randy Jackson, he would agree. The band then shifts to gutter-rock material they've done so many times before, sending a mixed signal as to where they're looking to go here. That's the largest drawback on Metamorphosis, which seems to dart in different direction at every moment, never settling on one path. With the final two tracks clocking in at over ten minutes, it actually opens up some doors for the sound Papa Roach may have wanted to go for. "Nights of Love" shows some soul, but only slips in the production aspect, as it could sound so much bigger. "State of Emergency" is Hoobastank-ish in the hook, but picks it up in the second half as it closes the album.

Big anthems, Jonas Brother album cover, lyrics that weave in & out of ambition-slash-unified hope and back-alley corners? Too many times the band takes one step forward and two steps back, at least showing some minimal signs of life in a dying genre built on repetition. Shaddix has a solid voice for this sound, and Horton seems to be discovering a new use for his distortion pedal, there are just far too many cliches in the ocean Papa Roach is trying to swim across, and the band can't seem to cope with their identity.


Puntuacion:4.4/10


411mania.com Review:



At first, Metamorphosis seems posed to become Papa Roach’s strongest effort to date. The opening moments have a burst of energy, a spark not seen by the band in years. All of a sudden, about halfway through, Metamorphosis trails off, with the energy seeped right out of the album, as the band sticks to formulaic material; one mid-paced sappy song after another. There are brief moments where the fire seems to burn bright again, but that’s all they are: short and fleeting.

The band itself isn’t to blame for this. Jacoby Shaddix has a powerful set of pipes, and over the years he has steadily improved his range.Metamorphosis shows every side of Shaddix, save for the “white rapper” gimmick from Infest. He screams with conviction, and the slower tracks benefit from an emotional punch from Shaddix’s crooning. Guitarist Jerry Horton has always been the heavy-hitter of the band, and his guitar work is solid, if rudimentary at this point in the band’s career. The rhythm section gets a kick in the balls from the addition of Palmerno, who fits in quite well with the rest of Papa Roach. The sense of chemistry between himself and Esperance wasn’t immediate, but that can grow with a little bit of time.

Where the faults lie is the same place it has always for years: songwriting, plain and simple. Papa Roach can write singles, but when it comes to albums, they stumble more than a band with this much experience should be. In this day and age, having a few singles is enough to get by, but the full album package is the Golden Icon of the music industry, an elusive treasure that Papa Roach misses out on.

After a short instrumental, “Change Or Die” hits the speakers with a blast of rock that can only be described as a firm kick in the ass. It’s the best opening track Papa Roach has ever had, and the mini-solos each instrument gets in the bridge is a nice touch, almost a “Last Time On…” segment meant for those who may have forgotten about the band after three years. “Hollywood Whore” continues this upward momentum with a hard-hitting tune that has Shaddix ranting about the glorification of the entertainment industry. “Wake up, the party’s over,” Shaddix yells at the top of his lungs, letting everybody know that Papa Roach is ready with gas can in hand to burn everything to the ground.

“I Almost Told You I Loved You” has this sleazy, 80’s glam-metal feel to it that is way out of place on Metamorphosis; however, Papa Roach makes it work somehow. The lyrics, though, are quite weak, with the bulk of it chock-filled with unnecessary coarse language that got bands like Buckcherry to the top of the charts. Single “Lifeline” has gotten mixed reactions from fans, but it is a catchy number and suited for radio airplay.

This is where the point in Metamorphosis where the momentum is stalled and the flow of the album is compromised. “Live This Down” and “Into The Light” are the only tracks which have any sort of forceful impact to them, with the latter track featuring a low-key guitar solo from Mötley Crüe’s own Mick Mars. The rest of the material is slower tunes, with some experimentation in Horton’s guitar playing, utilizing a jazz-influenced style on “Nights Of Love.” None of this material is essentially offensive, but it lacks a certain pizazz that was evident on past albums.

Metamorphosis had a chance to be Papa Roach’s shining moment, a defining statement to those who were hesitant if the band had enough life left in them to pull out another winner. Instead, it is an album of lost opportunity, with fleeting moments of brilliance in the first half. Papa Roach fans will eat the album up, but most rock fans will find solace with a couple of tracks and nothing more. The potential was endless for the foursome, but Metamorphosis turns out to be nothing more than a glimmer of hope in the vast emptiness that has become modern rock. 


Puntuacion: 6.5/10
sputnik.com review:
After gaining mainstream appeal with power ballad ‘Scars’, Papa Roach then released 5th album ‘The Paramour Sessions’ in 2006. Surprisingly proficient no matter what the style of song, the LP ranged from adrenalin rush nu-metal to poppy mainstream rock and from hair metal to power ballads. However, Papa Roach left it to the very end of ‘The Paramour Sessions’ to further show the growth of their band. Closer ‘Roses On My Grave’ not only showcased matured songwriting and a fantastic string arrangement, but really left fans with something to look forward to from the Californian quartet. When it was revealed that the band’s new LP would be titled ‘Metamorphosis’, the expectation only heightened.

The dictionary definition of the word ‘metamorphosis’ is “A transformation. A distinct change of shape, character, appearance, condition or function”. Technically, Papa Roach are not lying to us that there has been a metamorphosis of some sort; former Unwritten Law member Tony Palermo has replaced Dave Buckner on drums! Apart from that however, there really is no change in musical style, unless you consider a regression in quality a metamorphosis.

The album at least begins in a promising manner with 90 second instrumental ‘Days of War’ building up well to the shout-along mosh-worthy ‘Change or Die’. While this aptly titled pseudo-opener may be relatively simple accessible metal in the vein of a more melodic Bullet For My Valentine or Disturbed, it is effective both in isolation and in pumping up the listener for what is hopefully going to follow on this 45 minute LP. Unfortunately, it is pretty much all downhill from there.

Lead single ‘Hollywood Whore’ takes aim at the flirtatious females that have invaded tinsel-town of late. There is a half-decent riff courtesy of guitarist Jerry Horton and some melody contained within the cut, but it is all brought down by clichéd lines such as “the talk of the town is that she’s going down”. And when the song ends with “don’t let the door hit you where the good lord split you honey” and the following ‘I Almost Told You That I Loved You’ begins with “You know I love it when you’re down on your knees”, a double-take is in order to ensure lead vocalist Jacoby Shaddix has not been possessed by either Chad Kroeger (Nickelback) or Austin Winkler (Hinder).

From there, it is almost a welcome relief that ‘Metamorphosis’ settles down into a more mainstream rock sound. 2nd single ‘Lifeline’ begins a sequence of at least four tracks that are straight-forward mid-tempo rockers. Each of these cuts attempt to contain more meaningful lyrics, yet are not as powerful as they should be, meaning that they come off sounding a little ridiculous. Again, there are flashes of hooks, riffs & melody during this middle section of the album which will grow on you over repeated listening, however these factors are simply not as apparent or memorable as on the band’s previous releases.

To be fair, there is a trio of exceptions from the Nickelback formula on the second half of the LP, but even then the results are mixed. ‘Into The Light’ is more of a genuine hard-rocker (if an average one) that contains some guitar-work from Motley Crue’s Mick Mars. Yes, that is the same Mick Mars who also appeared on Hinder’s ‘Take It to the Limit’ (Chad Kroeger should be expecting a call soon). Thankfully, the closing duo of ‘Nights of Love’ and ‘State of Emergency’ rise above the pack a little as the former contains a nice sincerity about it, while the latter includes a soft/loud dynamic that effectively highlights its charging chorus. The fact that this duo both cross the 5 minute mark is a surprising positive since it allows them a little extra room to provide depth.

Make no mistake about it, drummer change aside, there is no metamorphosis for Papa Roach apparent on their 6th album. More importantly, the LP is a regression on their previous releases. The band seem to be aiming at as broad an audience as possible here, but the likelihood is that they will reach even less targets since basically every track lacks a certain something to distinguish itself from the large pack of similar artists flooding the market. Chances are that most listeners will find a couple of songs to like, but as a whole, ‘Metamorphosis’ fails to impress.


Puntuacion:2/5

Breaking Benjamin Dear Agony

sptunicMusic.com Review:

The general perception towards post-grunge outfit Breaking Benjamin has always been an interesting one. For a band that often gets compared to critically panned groups such as Nickelback, Seether & Three Days Grace, the quartet from Pennsylvania appear to get off lightly. Is it due to their relative technical proficiency, consistent competency, or simply as they have yet to break worldwide with a smash hit single like those other performers? Do not feel too sorry for them however, since previous LP ‘Phobia’ still sold over a million copies, so they are sure to be living comfortably enough.

With ‘Phobia’ consolidating on 2004’s ‘We Are Not Alone’, one could have been forgiven for thinking that the band’s 4th album may have been looking to stretch their boundaries. Unfortunately, that is not the case as Breaking Benjamin predominantly play it safe with another inoffensive and consistent release. There is no outlandish experimentation, hardly a foray into metal, no side-step into pop-punk catchiness, not even some offensive lyrics a’la Hinder & Nickelback. They know what they are good at doing and appear comfortable enough to continue following that formula.

In truth, there is not a great deal more to say about ‘Dear Agony’. As always, there are a handful of standouts (lead single ‘I Will Not Bow’, the catchy duo of ‘What Lies Beneath’ & ‘Without You’, and the heavier ‘Crawl’ & ‘Lights Out’) that are complemented by a solid batch of tracks that a little too often blend into each other. Aaron Fink’s guitar-work is rather impressive, the rhythm section capable, and Ben Burnley’s vocals are as strong and melodic as ever.

Burnley’s lyrics (occasionally assisted by Red’s Jasen Rauch) are also sufficient, if a little disappointing considering his neurotic nature. For someone that fears flying, is a recovering alcoholic, believes he has countless disorders and has plastered a scan of his brain on the album’s front cover, one would think he could have explored a wider variety of subjects than what he does here. In general, it is just a shame that the album does not include a little more imagination… Even a differentiating stripped back acoustic cut would have been nice, since it is something the band have nailed in the past.

To a point, Breaking Benjamin’s strength and weakness are one and the same. They are competent in almost every area of making their music and can be relied upon to deliver a solid collection of songs every couple of years. However, that same competency seems to also hold them back from breaking out of their comfort factor to distinguish themselves from their peers. Whether you judge the glass as half full or half empty is an individual choice, but either way, ‘Dear Agony’ is unlikely to change your opinion of Breaking Benjamin… Or for that matter, mainstream rock in general. 

Puntuacion:3/5

tunelab.com Review:

Knowledge: Here’s Breaking Benjamin in a nutshell: 2 platinum albums, six top ten rock singles*, and one hell of a rabid fan following. Breaking Benjamin make their return with a fourth LP entitled ‘Dear Agony’. *-Includes “I Will Not Bow”, the debut single from ‘Dear Agony’.

Turn-Ons: “Fade Away” is a soaring kick-start to ‘Dear Agony’, Breaking Benjamin’s most immediate album opener yet. It’s (sic) the little things about “Fade Away” that make the track shine, such as the warmth and maturity of Ben Burnley’s delivery and the doubled-up snare hits by Chad Szeliga on the words “almost over” in chorus two. The rhythmic and gentle catharsis “Give Me A Sign” is one of Breaking Benjamin’s most honest moments. Almost transcendental at times, “Give Me A Sign” is enlightened by Szeliga’s astute crash cymbal flourishes and whimsical bridge and back-end that humbly keep the slinky float of the tune flowing gracefully. “What Lies Beneath” is haunting and urgent, yet sun-kissed and thorough, sporting one of the most evocative and memorable riff progressions on ‘Dear Agony.’ Much of what makes “What Lies Beneath” so stellar can be attributed to the song’s masterfully dynamic arrangement; the mix is tucked down during its dark verses, then propped up for the radiant choruses seamlessly. The bridge of “What Lies Beneath” is nothing short of incredible, thanks to the pristine note sėlection of Burnley and co. “Lights Out” is a punchy and trigger-happy jaunt that seamlessly balances the dichotomy of berserk verses with glorious choruses. Breaking Benjamin’s work on “Lights Out” is so good in fact, that the original kings of the aforementioned structuring, Sevendust, would be dazzled. The band kicks you back to ‘We Are Not Alone’ with the groovy “Into the Nothing”, where Burnley and Fink’s guitar plucking craftily carves out a hop for the cut. Mark Klepaski’s bass chugs are thrust to the forefront, giving the majestic “Into the Nothing” some body as well as some earthy tones. “Into the Nothing” is similar to such songs in the Breaking Benjamin catalogue as “Believe”, “Breakdown”, “Topless”, and “Dance With the Devil”-an overall standout track that’s simply too cool to be a single.

Turn-Offs: There’s a lot of borrowing going on throughout ‘Dear Agony’. “Fade Away” is the womb buddy of “So Cold”. “Crawl” is an uber-predictable rehashing of “Breath”. “Give Me A Sign” tastes of “Dance With the Devil”. “Hopeless” is undoubtedly a forgettable and formulaic take on “Evil Angel”. And don’t get me wrong-I think “Fade Away” and “Give Me A Sign” are two of the best tracks off ‘Dear Agony’. However I just wonder why Breaking Benjamin, a band with clearly more to offer than the norm, would feel pressed to stick to a template, albeit one that works. ‘Dear Agony’ has a wealth of creative ingenuity, but its full potential can never be realized with that glass ceiling hanging overtop.

King: “What Lies Beneath”

Queen: “Lights Out”

FAIL: “Dear Agony”

Cool Points: Chad Szeliga is one of those rare drummers who can fully utilize a splash cymbal on a rock recording and make it sound not just good, but like the splash BELONGS on the music. That’s some freakin’ savvy behind the kit folks. Kudos to producer David Bendeth as he delivers a record with an agenda free sound-this album was made for Breaking Benjamin, not for the satisfaction of label folk, top 40 radio or anybody else.

Moral of the Story: ‘Dear Agony’ has its faults and Breaking Benjamin get a little lazy at times, but at the end of the day ‘Dear Agony’ is a fine piece of work. If Breaking Benjamin’s goal was to pen a record that represented a synergy of ‘Saturate’, ‘We Are Not Alone’ and ‘Phobia’, then they nailed it with ‘Dear Agony’.

A Fine Line: “Carry me under/You’re the devil in disguise/Sing for the hopeless/I’m the one you left behind.” – from “What Lies Beneath”

Puntuacion :9/10

Absolutepunk.net Review:

There's a line a band can breach between creating a distinctive, unmistakeable sound and being so utterly predictable it's mind numbing, and Breaking Benjamin can easily be accused of falling on the latter side of that line. Over the course of their career, they have repeatedly rewritten and repackaged the same tired formula every few years, rewarded of course by chart-topping singles and platinum sales. Now, I probably reserve less disdain for this than most; the whole post-grunge explosion of the mid-'90s was pretty significant in shaping my musical tastes, and I'll never be that guy that hates something just because it's commercial. I was even pretty excited to hear Breaking Benjamin's Phobia following the release of the single "The Diary of Jane," the staccato riffs of which got implanted into my brain and stayed there a while, but after hearing that record, and now its successor Dear Agony, I almost have to wonder when radio and the record buying public are going to say "enough is enough."

Previous albums have typically had a standout track that strayed from the path slightly or upped the ante a bit -- Phobia had the aforementioned "Jane," We Are Not Alone had the surprisingly subdued "Rain," and they'll probably never top the pop-metal catchiness of theSaturate single "Polyamorous" -- but Dear Agony is painfully even more undeviating in form and tone, so looking for highlights amounts to finding the tunes that execute the formula most effectively, which is essentially choosing which slice in a loaf of white bread tastes best. Personally, I'll take the heels: I find "Fade Away" and "Without You" to be the best examples of the band's melodic sensibilities.

Singer Benjamin Burnley has never been the happiest of campers, and given the title of the latest album, it seems nothing has changed, and Dear Agony expectedly finds his skies covered with dreary gray clouds. All of the depressed grunge-rocker cliches are present here in droves, ruminations of "falling," being "down," being "torn apart," "holding on" and "letting go," and of course "breaking." The entire record is unvaryingly downtrodden and almost has you hoping for a song about Burnley partying, getting high or getting a blow job, just to break up the monotony. Alas, it never happens, as that would ruin the whole tortured tough-guy pastiche.

Four albums into their career, this might have been a good time for Breaking Benjamin to step out and take some chances, but instead, they say "why mess with success," as each of their albums has been safer than the last, and Dear Agony only continues that trend. Burnley has an instantly recognizable voice, and his bandmates are certainly capable, so it's unfortunate that they've grown comfortable replicating the same snooze-rock time and again. Yes, this record will generate a few popular singles, probably push a million units and earn the band another spot on the next WWE soundtrack, but the only people who will be buying this record are likely to be those that already own their other releases (which are essentially exactly the same). That's irony at its finest.

Puntuacion:5.5/10

Katy Perry Teenage Dream

muumuse.com Review:

Katy Perry is probably the only pop star I could ever feel compelled to deem a “guilty pleasure.”

In my opinion, there are two types of catchy in the world: The one with pop hooks so well-crafted you’ll want them replaying in your head until the end of time (“Umbrella,” “Just Dance”), and then there’s the obvious, derivative kind of catchy that cause you to itch and burn like an STD.

Perry’s productions are often in the latter category. In fact, they sort of like the music equivalent of herpes: Wildly contagious, annoying, and ultimately likely to lead to an intense awkwardness when revealing your condition to lovers and friends.

Take for instance one of the summer’s biggest singles, “California Gurls.” The track is little more than a direct rip of BFFKe$ha‘s superior drunk-pop anthem, “Tik Tok,” yet it’s managed to thrive nonetheless.

It isn’t always the songs–usually the product of a suite of Swedish pop masterminds–that cause such pangs of guilt and anguish, but rather Perry herself, whose doe-eyed, potty-mouthed persona leaves much to be desired.

Perry’s shtick is obnoxious and, at times, hypocritical. Bolstered by a devoutly religious upbringing (and short-lived run as a Christian rock artist), she has the gall to criticize her fellow pop stars for being blasphemous sluts while simultaneously shooting whipped cream out of her tits and posing topless for Rolling Stone and Esquire.

For me, she’s a hard one to like–let alone to outwardly enjoy in public.

But good pop is good pop, and every now and then, Katy Perry delivers good pop.

This week sees the release of Teenage Dream, Katy Perry’s follow-up to her massively successful 2008 debut, One of The Boys. The album, like the one before, is a veritable “who’s who” of the top pop producers in the game, including Max Martin, Tricky Stewart, Greg Wells, Benny Blanco, Dr. Luke, and Stargate.

The album begins with its title track, which also happens best song of the bunch in terms of songcraft. “Teenage Dream” is not only a masterfully crafted pop tune with a smart hook, but a rare moment of tenderness for the otherwise bratty bombshell: “You think I’m pretty without any makeup on / You think I’m funny when I tell the punchline wrong,” Perry whispers on top of the song’s setting sun guitar strums.

Sure, the lyrics offer a cornucopia of only the most stereotypical lovesick vagueries, but “Teenage Dream” is still an amazing and evocative pop song. At the risk of massacring my reputation (what reputation?), it simply must be said: Listening to this song just makes you want to feel that way about someone.

“Last Friday (T.G.I.F.),” in contrast, feels entirely inauthentic. Much as with Perry’s summer smash, the song is almost a direct lift of everything you’ve already heard off of Ke$ha’s debut released earlier this year, Animal. Say what you will about Ke$ha’s aesthetic (or what she probably smells like), but any and all talk of drunken hook-ups and glitter on the floor are strictly within her domain at the moment. Any other attempt to emulate her drunk-pop revelry? Well, it just comes off sounding cheap.

The slap-happy silliness is pervasive throughout Perry’s record, including the stomping ode to the penis, “Peacock.” Scribed by one of the naughtiest names in popular songwriting at the moment, Ester Dean (“Rude Boy”; “Drop It Low”), “Peacock” is a most infectious, cheer-tastic celebration of the male member hidden behind the thinnest of veils: “Are you brave enough to let me see your peacock? / Don’t be a chicken boy, stop acting like a beeotch.” It’s the most fun offered on the record, even if the schtick wears stale after a few days.

It’s not all cotton candy and cocks, though. In interviews leading up to the release of Teenage Dream, Perry expressed her desire to fill the void of an Alanis Morrissette-like figure in today’s pop market on her next release.

“Circle the Drain” is the result of such desire, one of the album’s most impressive numbers. The song contains the best, most biting lines of the entire record: “Wanna be your lover, not your fucking mother,” Perry explodes with a vitriolic, shaking-with-anger kind of enunciation while exorcising her ex-flame’s demons.

“E.T.” and “Who Am I Living For?” follow along a similarly angst-ridden path. Still, Perry’s self-searching offerings are a bit too modern/major production (excessive instrumentation; squeaky-clean studio sounds) to be dubbed worthy of a Morrissette comparison–even if they dare to bare their teeth more than your standard Kelly Clarkson vengeance-seeking smash.

At best, Teenage Dream is a top heavy collection of party pop anthems and occasionally good, often schmaltzy slow numbers. Perhaps if she left the glitter act to Ke$ha and nixed the soggy ballads clogging up the second half of this record, Perry might have stood to offer something as tasty as her album’s cotton-candy scent. (No, really…the albumsmells.)

Aside from the occasional moment of sugary sweet brilliance however (“Teenage Dream”; “Firework”), the party balloons deflate rather quickly, resulting in a record that feels about as fluffy as the pink cotton candy swirled around Perry’s naughty bits on the cover.

Puntuacion:3/5

Slankmagazine.com Review:

Inciting a minor shit storm with her 80-character review of Lady Gaga's "Alejandro" video in June, Katy Perry tweeted: "Using blasphemy as entertainment is as cheap as a comedian telling a fart joke." Having declared flatulence beneath her, Ms. Perry's instead churns out maladjusted sleaze. On her latest release, she finds humor in drunken make-out sessions and single-entendre sex talk, finds that being a celebrity isn't always a walk in the Candyland porno park, and through it all, finds maybe two or three songs to justify her album's existence. From Ke$ha's Animal to Christina's Bionic, pop music in 2010 already looks like a trainwreck of over-produced bad-girl debauchery, and Teenage Dream only adds to the pileup. That anyone managed to make a pop album worse than Animal this year is both perversely impressive and hard to believe, but Ms. Perry has found a way to lower the bar.

At that, it's hard to imagine a song crasser or more aggravating than "Peacock." Every review of Teenage Dream will mention this track, and that's because it's potentially historic in its badness, to the point that, once you've heard it, you too will have to describe it to other people just to convince yourself that it really exists. The short of it is that Perry wants to see some guy's peacock, and by peacock, she, of course, means penis; she says the word "cock" somewhere around 100 times, and the only thing she successfully rhymes it with is "cock" (some of the misses include "biatch," "payoff," and "shoot it off"). It's one of those viscerally embarrassing musical moments where you start to feel ashamed of yourself just for witnessing it, like Fergie rapping on "My Humps," or that YouTube video where Fergie pees herself on stage, or Fergie misspelling "tasty" ("T to the A to the S-T-E-Y") in "Fergalicious."

And Teenage Dream doesn't come off much better when discussed in terms of its highlights. "California Gurls" became a summer anthem by force of will: As a frothy club track about beaches and babes with a high-budget video and a big-name guest spot, the song's inevitable rise to the top of the charts was pretty well bought and paid for. But the chorus lacks a strong hook, the verses lack melodies, and Perry's vocals aren't any closer to on-key than they've ever been. Second single "Teenage Dream" is much better. It realizes the Cardigans-meets-Madonna sound that Perry talked up in pre-release interviews, and, as a genuinely enjoyable track in the company of so many unmitigated disasters, suggests that the intermittently pious Perry may have earned herself a small miracle by choosing God over Gaga.

"Firework" will probably be a single at some point too, on the grounds that it's not an actively painful listen. Sure, the would-be inspirational lyrics ("Baby you're a firework/Come on show them what you're worth") are nonsensical, and the vocal lines, which sound like they were written for someone like Leona Lewis, are well beyond Perry's capabilities, but the chorus gains some momentum and the song would work well enough in a club setting that you could forgive its otherwise glaring weaknesses. And with that, we have concluded our brief tour of the listenable songs on this album.

The remainder of Teenage Dream is a raunchy pop nightmare, with A-list producers lining up to churn out some of the worst work of their careers. Over the last decade, DJ Luke's production has gone from brilliant ("Since U Been Gone") to serviceable (Avril Lavigne's "Girlfriend") to nearly unlistenable (every Ke$ha song you know). The god-awful "Tik Tok" signaled that his metamorphosis into an artless industry hack was nearly complete, and onTeenage Dream he bursts out of his cocoon like a horrifying electro-pop Mothra. "Last Friday Night (T.G.I.F.)" is a lifeless roller-rink jam with a "T! G! I! F!" shout-along that will no doubt provide the soundtrack to any number of trashy sorority parties this semester, and on the inscrutable "E.T." Perry compares her lover (favorably?) to a space alien and Dr. Luke nabs the backing track from t.A.T.u.'s "All the Things She Said," presumably as a tribute to his forbears in the field of exploitative dance-floor schlock.

Perry's ironic persona—all gum-smacking, eye-rolling sarcasm—signals that those tracks are, if nothing else, shallow by design; it's the album's second half, when Perry dons her serious artist face, that Teenage Dream transcends its own middling crappiness and becomes truly, remarkably shitty. "Circle the Drain" finds Perry telling off a self-destructive ex, but she's almost less sympathetic than the pill-popping object of her scorn. Her put-downs are alternately pedantic ("Wanna be your lover, not your fucking mother") and hypocritical (she's offended that he takes drugs before foreplay, but wasn't she the one blacking out and hooking up "Last Friday Night"?). Tricky Stewart's "Who Am I Living For?" is a one-note wallow in self-pity, weighed down by clichéd lyrics, a leaden beat, and a tone-deaf vocal turn from Perry.

That track is intended as a stark confessional, but if Perry is indeed baring it all, it's only because she gets off on you watching. Her career has been one voyeuristic stunt after another, and at this point, it's hard to read self-exposure as anything but another surface—just like the "California Gurls" video, where she sheds her cutesy Zooey Deschanel dresses to reveal a spray-on tan and a pair of synthetic foam-spouting tits.

Puntuacion:1.5/5

sunsonbleeker review:

I know what you’re probably thinking – “WTF? Is Sam seriously reviewing a Katy Perry album?!”Yes, it’s true.  While my iPod is chock full of all manner of heavy metal, for that is my musical bread and butter, I like to dabble in other genres from time to time.  It helps to keep things from becoming too staid or boring, and it keeps me open-minded as a listener.  And this dabbling certainly does not preclude mainstream pop music.  I’ll even let you in on a little secret – I used to like the Spice Girls.  I’m not proud of that, but it’s true.  But the genre of mainstream pop music, while plenty full of trite, insincere music designed solely to separate impressionable young kids from their money, does indeed maintain some substance of worth.

Sadly, that worth is rarely ever found on the album level.  Pop is based around huge hit singles that can be snatched up individually on iTunes and played on every Top 40 radio station in the country.  It’s usually pretty easy to immediately identify which songs are the hits and which ones are the dime-a-dozen subpar filler, and with some exceptions that remains the case on Katy Perry’s third album, Teenage Dream.

The album starts off strongly with the hit “Teenage Dream” – a track that pulls off the difficult feat of being an unpretentious look back at a hot and heavy adolescent romance.  But any goodwill and momentum that is built up with the first song is just as quickly destroyed with the second one.  “Last Friday Night [T.G.I.F.]” is exactly the opposite.  It’s the definition of contrived, bland bubblegum pop with Perry singing “I smell like a mini-bar/DJ’s passed out in the yard/Barbies on the barbecue/This a hickey or a bruise?”

It’s this division that toes the line between sweet believability and downright trashiness that defines much of this record and makes it very difficult to reconcile as a coherent piece.  Case in point: She extols the virtues of getting black-out drunk on one song and then decries the fact that her ex-boyfriend is addicted to pills (“Circle The Drain”) on another.  And then you have the ultimate skanky anthem “Peacock,” where Perry musters up all of her elegance to chant “I wanna see your peacock, -cock, -cock/Your peacock, -cock.”  That song also includes this classy refrain: “Oh my God, no exaggeration/Boy, all this time was worth the waiting/I just shed a tear/I am so unprepared/You got the finest architecture/End of the rainbow-looking treasure.”  I’m sure there is some way to present that as a playfully sexy romp, but this is not that way.

All of that being said, I’m not suggesting that all pop should be focused on deep, mature matters.  Perry’s included her fair share of that here on tracks like “Pearl” and “Who Am I Living For?,” the latter of which references the story of Esther.  Perhaps more than anything, pop is about catchy hooks and having fun.  I’m much more open to enjoying the sugary-sweet sassiness of an anthem like “California Gurls” because it sounds effortlessly playful whereas some of these other songs sound like Perry is trying too hard to come off as the edgy party girl.

And while the content and delivery of the subject matter makes for an up and down listening experience, the beats are more or less plain and expected.  Like I said, the hits are easy to pick out, but the executive producers, Dr. Luke and Max Martin, seem to be aiming for safe, lowest common denominator stuff.  The songs are easy to listen to but hard to remember, and too often Perry’s voice is over-processed.  She’s got decent enough pipes, and I’d be interested to hear them in their natural state more often.

The bottom line is that Teenage Dream is a perfectly acceptable bunch of pop songs, but it lacks the experimentation or courage to try anything new.  Perry makes some admirable strides towards being more than just a pretty face with a naughty mouth, but that’s still her comfort zone and she goes to that well often.  I wouldn’t exactly call this bubblegum pop, but it’s kinda hard not to when the packaging literally smells like cotton candy and Smarties.

Puntuacion: 2.5/5

Iron Maiden The Final Frontier

Culture Bully.com Review :

The Final Frontier is Iron Maiden‘s 15th album, and one that initially brought with it rumblings that it would be the legendary band’s swan song. After all, it is called The Final Frontier and founding member and bassist Steve Harris has put 15 albums on the board as the predetermined lifespan of the group. In recent interviews Harris has scoffed at the unofficial marker though, subsequently adding a cheeky exclamation point to an album that has been eagerly awaited since the release of Maiden’s last studio album, 2006′s A Matter of Life and Death. And without much of a shock the opening track looks back, touching on a sound that is sure to please old-school fans, though it’s likely to attract its share of curious looks along the way.

The introduction to the album comes in the form of a two-part track, “Satellite15/The Final Frontier”: the first half of the opener is strange song which sounds uncharacteristically hollow and—truth be told—wouldn’t harm the rest of the album had The Final Frontier bypassed it completely. As soon as “The Final Frontier” takes off, the opening riff connects in classic Maiden fashion, representing as a nod to the past as the band moves ahead into the future. Next comes the record’s lead single, “El Dorado,” which thematically follows a deceptive character’s narrative as the band chugs along behind Bruce Dickinson’s ever-youthful sounding vocals. Setting the tone for the album, the song’s solo does well in acting as a stunning interlude between the track’s chapters of dialog.

“Mother of Mercy” continues with a less frantic pace than the previous tracks, warming up as a lyrical portrait of a battlefield and its casualties is slowly painted. Nicko McBrain steps in with a rumbling beat before the band follows suit and chimes in with an oh-so-familiar rhythm. Later, following the song’s solo, Dickinson further solidifies the focus of the track, “Rivers flow with blood, there’s nowhere left to hide/It’s hard to comprehend there’s anyone left alive/Sick of all the killing and the reek of death/Well, God, tell me what religion is to man?” A relative-ballad in comparison to much of the album, “Coming Home” follows, including one of the record’s most technically impressive solos while lyrically focusing on an ever-present longing for Albion (Great Britain), “Coming home when I see the runway lights/In the misty dawn of the night is fading fast/Coming home, far away as their vapor trails alight/Where I’ve been tonight, you know I will not stay.” “The Alchemist” revs the pace back up as a story is told of John Dee and his trials with the “strange alchemy” of Edward Kelley.

It’s at this point in time where the band begins to take liberties with the attention span of the listener: Each of the following five songs run roughly eight to eleven minutes in length—to date, The Final Frontier is actually the longest studio album in Iron Maiden’s catalog. “Isle of Avalon” features an extended dialog between guitarists which is gorgeously revisited with the tandem guitar pieces in “The Man Who Would Be King.” The gritty guitars of “Starblind” and the slow-boiling intensity of “The Talisman” fall in the middle of the two aforementioned songs, but as much as the band might push things when it comes to the length of the tracks, they never really toy with useless experimentation or include much—if any—aural waste; everything is in order and plays out accordingly. “When The Wild Wind Blows” concludes the album with its characters preparing for some sort of end-times, an Armageddon which is subsequently manipulated by a mass media set on confusing a nation’s citizens with misdirection. “There will be a catastrophe the like we’ve never seen/There will be something that will light the sky/That the world as we know it, it will never be the same/Did you know, did you know? As the band winds down and softly plays Dickinson out, a swirling wind howls in the distance and the album fades to black.

How many bands can you name, just off the top of your head, who have long-since outlived their expiration date? And how many of rock’s greatest names continue to play on, cashing in their legacies for another “farewell” tour, or even worse, ridiculously sub par studio albums that are no sooner released than they are forgotten? Here we are, some 35 years after Iron Maiden began creating a legacy which the band never set out to make for itself, and the group sounds as tight and energetic as it ever has. Not only that, but Iron Maiden is making music that is—shocking for a band of its age—honestly relevant in the grand scheme its genre; if you were to take away Maiden at this point in time, the band would leave a hole in today’s metal scene, not just the metal scene in general. The Final Frontier is a substantial statement backing up that sentiment, though in all honesty, by this point in time they never really needed one.

Puntaje : Muy positivo

Metalstortm.net Review :

Iron Maiden have had ups and downs, but they consistently stuck to their unique style. 2006's A Matter of Life and Death saw a serious departure from that style towards a darker, more progressive sound - it was only a partial success. Unfortunately, Steve Harris and Co. felt encouraged, and decided to go further in their departures. The first 4 songs on The Final Frontier rank among the worst this band has ever committed and most of the time sound nothing like the Iron Maiden everyone knows. Departure from style my ass. If they wanted to depart again, the previous album was the way to do it.

'Sounds like shit' - this was my first thought when I heard the longish introduction to the album. "Satellite 15..." is so unlike anything that Iron Maiden have ever recorded. A crude, repeating drum pattern, distorted, spacy sounds, drunken guitars that go nowhere. Even the vocals, when they enter, sound strange. Not only does that intro suck, but it also sounds really weird. Fortunately, the song changes radically after 4 minutes into a remote semblance of a good song.

'What the hell have they done to Iron Maiden?' - that was my second thought. The opening tracks are decent enough for thousands of obscure bands who would be proud to have recorded them, but for Iron Maiden standards, they are sodding poor, and I mean really poor. "The Apparition" poor. "The Final Frontier" isn't utterly abysmal - resurrecting the spirit of the 70's metal, with a catchy chorus, it is remotely palatable. But to balance it, "Coming Home" is an Iron Maiden fan nightmare, sounding like it was recorded during the Fear of the Dark session, which, in my opinion, is the worst Iron Maiden album, with only 2 good songs.

The next six tracks brought back some of my faith in Iron Maiden. Long songs, catchy choruses, melodic solos, everything is seemingly in place. Seemingly - Maiden fans can at last feel at home, and utter a sigh of relief, because there will be no more experiments until the end of the album, at least not as blatantly obvious ones as the intro. But what follows isn't top-notch Maiden, it's mid-range most of the time. Solos aren't too memorable, vocal lines aren't too melodic, riffs don't stick in my head.

Only the last song, "When the Wild Wind Blows," can be honestly called excellent. The riffs supported by simple, but powerful drumming somewhere in the 7th minute of the song - in that solitary moment Maiden sounds really classy. The song isn't quite as good as Maiden's best classic tracks, but it's on a par with the good songs from the later period. Maybe the leading vocal theme sounds too joyful and optimistic, in spite of telling a grim tale, but the song is deliciously complex and rich, a real treat to end this album.

Having died during the first 4 abysmal songs, I was partially resurrected by some good ones that followed, of which, sadly, only one is brilliant. The Final Frontier clocks in at over 76 minutes, and most of these minutes are well spent, assuming you have a pair of paddles handy to shock you back to life after the cardiac arrest that you will undergo at the onset of this album. Better yet, start listening from "The Alchemist." You should be at least partially satisfied.
How do I rank this? I could try to turn a blind eye on the beginning of The Final Frontier. But 4 terrible songs out of 10 is quite a lot. Sorry guys, not this time around. I can't ignore 40% of the album. 1 point up for the last track.

Puntuacion: 7.2/10

Ultimate Guitar.com Review :

Sound: We couldn’t just let it end, could we? It’s strange to think that one day, Iron Maiden will release their last record, will play their last show. But it is not this day! I don’t think a full encapsulation of this global phenomenon could ever be committed to disc anyway, but ‘The Final Frontier’ has only the grandeur of your average Maiden release, though that is not to be underestimated. The cartoony artwork could hardly have been further removed from that of the dark, dramatic and aptly named ‘A Matter Of Life And Death’ opus of four years ago, and on the whole there is an air of positivity about the package.

It’s not often that Iron Maiden open an album without letting a riff or three out from the starting blocks, but something tells me this is the first and last time we’ll kick off with anAdrian Smith home demo. ‘Satellite 15’ is atmospheric, intense and absolutely one of the biggest curveballs they’ve ever thrown, and for every problem with the unpolished mix, there’s a reason to love the uncompromising drum machines and desperate melody. Once the intro is over and done with, it’s Maiden being Maiden for an hour-and-a-bit. Lovely! All the expected conventions are ticked off promptly, including those of the last two albums – long excursions through ideas as they come and, for all the developments in progginess, highlights in the form of vocal hooks and lead breaks.

Two top-quality singles are thrown in the bag early, and from there that bag goes relatively unmixed. ‘Coming Home’ is a great ‘Children Of The Damned’ style singalong, and ‘The Alchemist’ is actually the closest to the Di’Anno sound they’ve come in many years, but the lengthier songs predominate. A couple of them ebb without flow at times, ‘Isle Of Avalon’ being a quite brilliant exception, but this album is refreshing indeed.

Hats off, once again, to Mr. Adrian Smith for his contributions to proceedings – not to take away from Dave Murray or Janick Gers, but the man can’t half solo! He tends to dominate the solo sections, but ‘Isle Of Avalon’ boasts the best guitar work (best everything, in fact) overall, with tasteful modal playing. ‘When The Wild Wind Blows’, one of the initial fan favourites following the album’s leak, comes with a mental image of 40,000 fans screaming their lungs out, so if we’re remembering albums for their flagship guitar leads, ‘The Final Frontier’ has a solid place in the history books. 
Lyrics and Singing: It is only before you look at the lyrics that you might think that this album is without drama. The topics of religion and war make welcome returns, yet the overbearing themes are of solitude and homesickness. You can feel the decades worth of touring experience, though it’s fed through a theatrical Maiden/space mission funnel. The title track, though, is worryingly self-referential given its ‘dying thoughts’ perspective: “I surely will burn, like Icarus before me”, “There isn’t much time, must say my last rites”...while the ostensible story is of an astronaut, these allusions are cruel, if not indicative of anything.

Other lyrical high points include ‘El Dorado’, a suitably menacing characterisation of bankers, and ‘When The Wild Wind Blows’, which is about nuclear holocaust but somehow ends with something even more tragic. It is, then, chiefly the music that keeps things upbeat. Tell you what though, that Bruce Dickinson is sounding pretty good! While his vocal power has taken a mild battering since the glory days, his timbre is as good as it’s been in years and all ten tracks benefit from it with at least one big juicy wail.
Impression: Would this have been the perfect send-off? Not quite, but it’s a fine way to reach the 15-album landmark and another testimonial to the strength of this band post-reunion. It’s also testimony to their capability to write more than ‘the hits’ that everyone’s favourite song is different. ‘The Final Frontier’ has not shattered the Earth with either innovation or emotion, but any Maiden fan - big or small, young or old – should leave content, well fed by this chapter of what is hopefully a story that shan’t end for many years to come. 

Puntuacion: 8.7/10