A fan site for the Japanese rap-metal quintet Missile Girl Scoot sports as a monkier the headline for this review.
And it’s pretty damn accurate.
Missile Girl Scoot answers the question of what would happen if Rage Against the Machine wrote hook-filled choruses and were fronted by two Japanese women.
On Fiesta!, the band collects some of the most blistering but catchy rants to be set to aluminum.
Missile Girl Scoot make no qualms about what influences their music, often combining different styles in a single song.
“Big Mouth” alternates between ska and metal. “Gaze Into Space” sports dub chanting while breaking into a psychedelic chorus.
“One Track Mind” is a straight-forward, double-time exercise in punk, while “No Needs” could have come right out of a marriage between the aforementioned Rage and The Real Thing-era Faith No More.
While the broken English of duo frontwomen Junn and U-Rie are buried under Tatsuya’s Jim Martin-tinged guitar work, the two women dominate the choruses of each song.
Listeners intent on rapping along with Missile Girl Scoot might have a hard time keeping up, but they can always hum along with the choruses.
In short, Fiesta! is … well, you can read that headline.
All right. Finally. A teen-marketed band that self-respecting music critic-wannabes can half-way appreciate.
England’s BBMak distinguishes itself from the ‘N’Syncs, Backstreet Boys and LFOs of the world by writing their own songs and playing their own instruments.
Of course if you can write your songs and play your own instruments, what are doing dashing out radio-friendly ear candy about love gone awry than trying to push the envelope of rock music excess?
Oh. That’s right. Rock is dead.
In any case, BBMak’s music traffics in the usual teen-scene gestures of strategically-placed falsettoes, syrup-smooth vocal harmonies, immediately gratifying hooks and oh-so-earnest, heart-wrenched lyrics.
Thankfully, BBMak has also wrapped such predictable affair in guitar-driven, thump-whack-drummed pop music. This trio is a bunch of white boys from England — they’re not going to pretend to be Boyz II Men or New Edition.
They will, however, pretend to be George Michael, as demonstrated on “Unpredictable.” And on the infectous first single, “Back Here,” they might even sound like a sugar-coated version of an alternative pop band without the requisite Michael Stipe and/or Eddie Vedder clone.
BBMak could almost — just almost — be a Duran Duran of their generation: a band with looks and musical chops to have some semblance of longevity.
Twelve- and thirteen-year-olds devoted to their Britney or Christina or 98 Degrees would do well to pick up BBMak. In 2007, Sooner or Later won’t sound so embarrassingly dated.
Dammit. I hate good albums that don’t reveal their excellence right away.
There’s a maxim that states, “Never trust an album that takes more than three listens to like,” and Dr.StrangeLove’s Twin Suns fails that test miserably.
The first few listens of Twin Suns leaves listeners with the impression that the Japanese duo of Takamune Negishi and Susumu Osada are studio whizes who aren’t necessarily the best interpreters of their own songs.
Takamune has already made a name for himself as a producer, most notably lending his prowess to Cocco and her scorching brand of rock.
But after a while, it becomes apparent that Dr.StrangeLove’s brand of expertly-crafted, fiercely-independent pop music could be written and performed by no one else.
The album starts out incredibly promising with a title track that’s pretty much a drummer’s showcase. The harmonic guitar hook, while catchy, isn’t the real focus of the song.
After that, Takamune and Susumu trade very untrained vocals on a series of songs that range from neo-Duane Eddy twang-rock (“Be Off the Moon”) to drum ‘n’ bass-driven pop (“The Wild Age”) to mid-90’s psychedelia (“Love on the Air”) to ambient, Lennon-esque balladry (“Dolly”)
This album is gloriously all over the place, and after a while, the pair’s lethargic, off-key vocals aren’t all that bad.
But man — the marketing department at Pony Canyon probably lost a lot of sleep trying to figure out how to plug this album. An American indie label would probably have just as many problems.
Dr.StrangeLove embraces bits of electronica and a whole lot of post-punk, early-psychedlia in its songs, and it’s a combination that’s rings familiar and unfamiliar at the same time.
As a songwriter, Stephin Merritt is impressive if not totally convincing. Just because he had enough gumption to write 69 Love Songs doesn’t sell a person on the notion of owning every single Magnetic Fields album on the planet. (At least it didn’t for me.)
As a lyricist, Merritt is a master, as the title track to the Future Bible Heroes I’m Lonely (And I Love It) aptly demonstrates.
A series of contradictory sentiments, “I’m Lonely (And I Love It)” revels in clever cognitive dissonance. “It’s the strangest thing, I’m sad and I don’t care/And I’m dancing on air.”
Out of Merritt’s four simultaneous projects, Future Bible Heroes is an evenly split collaboration. Merritt contributes only lyrics; the task of songwriting falls to Christopher Ewen.
Ewen is blissfully — maybe even blessfully — trapped in a time warp. The EP starts off with the sort of fast-paced arpeggio Tears For Fears used on “Change,” and from there, it’s all analog MIDI — the glorious sound of early-80s New Wave.
No one has written this kind of music since 1981, and it’s refreshing to hear it done in 2000.
Think of a sunnier Kraftwerk or Depeche Mode on Prozac on such tracks as “My Blue Hawaii” or “Good Thing I Don’t Have Any Feelings.”
Call it bias on my part, but my favorite moments on 69 Love Songs were the times Merritt went the New Wave route on his clunky Kurzweil K-2000. I’m Lonely (and I Love It) delivers a full EP of those moments.
Hence, it’s an instant keeper for anyone raised during Ronald Reagan’s first term as president.
There was something charming about the booming, lo-fi production of Number Girl’s earlier albums, but on its latest album, Sappukei, the Japanese punk quartet teams up with the Flaming Lips’ producer David Fridmann.
Fridmann has boosted the group’s rhythm section, cleaned up the guitar effects and flitered Mukai Shutoku’s banshee vocals through a number of effects processors.
At first, it’s hard to listen to Number Girl with such a polished sound. It almost goes against the total visceral experience of School Girl Distortional Addict or even Shibuya Rocktransformed Jootai, the band’s live album.
At the same time, it’s great to hear a Number Girl album blaring out of a stereo the way it ought to.
But enough of all this audiophile stuff — is the album any good?
Mukai’s songwriting has becomed a bit more sophisticated. Either that, Fridmann’s effects have given Mukai’s songs a different shade of loud. The hooks of such songs as “Sasu-You” or “Tattoo Ari” aren’t as immediate as, say, “Iggy Pop Fan Club” or “Young Girl Seventeen Sexually Knowing.”
On “Urban Guitar Sayonara,” Fridmann’s more orchestral touches — as evidenced on the Lips’ The Soft Bulletin — get in the way. The piano hook and a timpani roll are nice, but that atonal sax has to go.
After a week of listening to Sappukei, many of its song start seeping into the subconscious, and an album that gave the first impression of losing something vital to Number Girl’s essence in fact turns out to be a clarified version of the same.
Sure, the guitars don’t whack a listener in the ears like on the old albums, but your blood will pump no less when guitarists Mukai and Tabuchi Hisako tear through riffs on “Abstract Truth,” “Brutal Man,” “Brutal Number Girl” or “U-Rei.”
Number Girl is still one of the hardest rocking bands on the planet, and on Sappukei, it’s still all there.
It’s a familiar formula — soulful diva with guy rapper backed by a DJ. C&C Music Factory used it. The Fugees used it. Heck — even the Sugarcubes was an alternative rock version of the same set-up. (Sort of.)
So too do m-flo.
On its cosmically-themed debut album, Planet Shining, m-flo takes a number of influences from seemingly disparate sources to create a form of R&B and hip-hop at once familiar and new.
Make no mistake — this album is R&B through and through, but at the same time, there’s a sensibility to m-flo’s music that goes beyond deep soul.
On “Ten Below Blazing,” a drum ‘n’ bass beat drives singer Lisa’s multi-layered chorus. “Come Back to Me” includes a space age arpeggio more akin to Deee-Lite than to Lauryn Hill. And “Hands” contains a piano hook that could have been lifted from a Steve Reich composition.
And while all these little sonic flourishes add up to an impressive overall sound, Planet Shining still relies on great hooks to anchor the group’s music.
“Come Back to Me” is without a doubt the most infectous ballad to grace a pair of stereo speakers. “L.O.T. [Love or Truth]” has a chorus that makes you wish you could speak Japanese.
The only moment where Planet Shining falls flat is on “Interlude Three.” Until then, the aircraft-themed interludes were mostly non-obtrusive, if not midly entertaining. But here, three rappers attempt to create an in-house radio show — for four minutes.
If you’re not listening too closely, “Interlude Three” can be quite annoying, although there are moments when the Ebonics-inflected Japanese banter is quite amusing.
In all, Planet Shining is an impressive debut from a group with a very keen sense of itself.
In hip-hop, the words pretty much are the music. So what happens when a language barrier interferes with the words?
For a band like Dragon Ash, it doesn’t really matter. The Japanese quartet’s sampling talents and writing chops makes its third album, Viva La Revolution, a riveting listening experience — even for folks who despise hip-hop.
If anything, the words are pretty negligible. Furuya Kenji could be rapping in Mandarin Chinese, and it wouldn’t take away from the big beats, the jump-cut arrangements, the clever sampling or anything else. It could even go so far as the make converts out of hip-hop detractors.
But from track eight (“Drugs Can’t Kill Teens”) to track 12 (“Nouvelle Vague #2”), Dragon Ash take a detour into pop-punk, ska and jock rock, attempting to capitalize on the whole rap-metal thing.
It’s a serious misstep that disrupts the momentum of an otherwise promising and brilliant work.
Dragon Ash comes to its senses on the last three songs of the album, closing it with the big hit single “Grateful Days.” Unfortunately, the detour lasts so long that listeners converted by the hip-hop tracks will lose patient with the rap-metal tracks.
Still, more than half of the album is pretty enjoyable, if not downright cool. Dragon Ash’s wild popularity in its home nation is quite justified, and Viva La Revolution demonstrates why.
Clocking in at 35 minutes, Number Girl’s second album, School Girl Distortional Addict, left listeners craving for more of the Japanese quartet’s wall of noise.
Clocking in at a few seconds more than hour, the group’s live album, Shibuya Rocktransformed Jootai, leaves listeners unable to digest any more Number Girl afterward.
Number Girl’s ear-crushing sound is so intense, more than an hour of listening gets quite exhausting. The band pummels its audiences with one barrage of distortional hooks after another. Mukai Shutoku’s throat-damaging scream is the most musical wail to come across a pair of stereo speakers since Kurt Cobain.
Distortional Addict, which was recorded and produced by Mukai, is something of a high quality, lo-fi production. Mukai managed to capture the chest-pounding power of the group’s sound without sacrificing any of its rough edges.
Shibuya Rocktransformed Jootai adds the missing element in that recording — audience feedback. Number Girl is a band best experienced live (with a pair of really good earplugs, no less), and Shibuya Rocktransformed Jootai allows listeners outside of Japan a chance to live that experience.
A good number of the album’s tracks features songs from Distortional Addict, but a few gems from the band’s indie days are included. “Iggy Pop Fan Club” sounds like an appropriate song for its namesake. “Samurai,” one of the group’s most performed songs, finally gets recorded. And “Super Young” closes out the disc with a hypnotic, minimalistic hook.
Shibuya Rocktransformed Jootai is the album Number Girl was destined to make, by virtue of the fact they’re one of the best live acts in music today.
Judging by the singles she released in the two years since recording her second album, it was easy to assume Cocco was mellowing out.
Not. Likely.
In context of the rest of Rapunzel, the Japanese singer’s third album, these singles serve as means to anchor the disc’s wilder moments — of which there are plenty.
The album’s opener, “Kemono Michi” (“Animal Trail”), establishes the grunge-y threshold over which subsequent tracks eventually surpass. By the conclusion of the feedback-overloaded “Kagari Bi” (“A Watch Fire”), listeners will welcome the mellow reprieve of “Polomerria.”
Cocco’s more rocking moments tend to suffer for a single-note syndrome, and a few of the melodies on Rapunzel resemble other Cocco songs a bit too closely. But what she lacks in verse writing, Cocco more than makes up for in creating a totally visceral listening experience.
Cocco also indulges her sweeter side, strategically placing lighter but no less compelling tracks as “Shiroi Kyouki” (“White Madness”) and “Jukai No Ito” (“Thread in the Deep Forest”) between the louder moments on the album.
Even the requisite “fun” track, “Unabara no Ningyo” (“Mermaid in the Ocean Field”) doesn’t seem out of place. (On previous albums, Cocco included self-written children’s songs that stuck out like sore thumbs against the rest of her emotional work.)
Cocco’s voice has gotten dramatically stronger. “Shiroi Kyouki” sports some high notes that gives Mariah Carrey a run for her money. “Kemono Michi” includes both Cocco’s blood-curdling scream and some musical wails.
Although not as hook-filled as her 1997 debut bougainvillia, Rapunzel is still a forceful opus. Cocco has greatly expanded the emotional breadth of her music to astonishing results.
I really didn’t want to write a first-person perspective review, but oh, well — I’m a Duranie, and a review of a new Duran Duran album is an Important Event, please note the caps.
Quick verdict: Pop Trash is a lot better than the songs previewed in last year’s tour let on.
On stage, tracks such as “Lava Lamp” and “Hallucinating Elvis” came across not as kitschy, keepable trash, but as silly, disposable refuge.
Even the poignant “Someone Else Not Me” — which replicates the first two chords of “Ordinary World” and includes a quote of the descending guitar riff from “Come Undone” — seems less crass upon repeated listenings. (Although that line about the flower needing a bee is perpetually cringe-worthy.)
There are even moments of inspired complexity. “Starting to Remember” sports some really odd time signatures, and “Last Day on Earth” is the hardest rocker the band has produced since “Hold Back the Rain.”
I was really expecting to hate this album, but I don’t. It’s yet another well-crafted, solid collection of songs written by some seasoned industry veterans. Duran Duran on a bad day is still better than, say, Dynamite Hack on its least generic day.
At the same time, I can’t recommend Pop Trash to listeners searching for “The Wedding Album, Part Two.” Pop Trash does not engage in the kind of emotional depth forged by “The Wedding Album,” or even Medazzaland
“Pop Trash Movie,” with its sweeping, psychedlic strings, certainly comes close, but such moments are scarce on the album.
Duranies will like this album, maybe even love it. The rest of the public can and probably will pass on it and not miss much more than some tasty but unremarkable confections.