WOW this is a bad album. Oh god. This is awful. This is a shame; this is the degradation of everything we may have held dea
Let’s start with the first song, “Help, I’m Alive!” First of all, it’s called “Help, I’m Alive!”, so that’s stupid and whiny and ridiculous. And no, it’s not a Frank Zappa kind of thing. It’s a self-centered. bullshit, non-love song, like the rest of the album. It’s ultra-glossy, ultra-corporate “indie” rock, with all the nonsense such a self-centered endeavour entails. The lyrics are trite garbage, and the song itself…what the fuck, it just kind of lurches into the chorus four times, with no build-up whatsoever, or indication that the chorus is meant to start. And then it ends, with a similar trite anticlimax. Zip-a-dee-doo-dah.
And that’s pretty much the theme of the album. Glossy pop-rock music that tries to be indie, with trite, boring lyrics and jarring, inexplicable changes in how the drums or guitar sound according to how their producer decided the songs should change sound. It’s not a band anymore, it’s the Metric Production Company, doing its bullshit thing.
I mean, I live with these roommates from Slovakia who came here for a better life. What would they think of these dumb, faux-clever lyrics? Oh, I know, they’d be insulted by the whininess of them all. For reference, the cleverest thing here is the line “who’d you rather be, The Beatles or The Rolling Stones?” That’s the CLEVEREST thing here, and it’s a dumb cliche. Elsewhere it’s all “burnout stars they shine so bright” bullshit around obvious chord changes. The worst is probably “Gold Guns Girls,” which paints a stupid picture of men and power with exactly one way-too-loud, stupid-ass riff that goes on incessantly. It’s just unnecessary. The quiet moments are nice, but every time there is one it’s drowned out by more big dumb loud guitars and too loud drums that try to make their lazy choruses more dramatic. Yuck.
Lastly, “Gimme Sympathy” is really catchy, and “Twilight Galaxy” is actually pretty nice, and “Stadium Rock” isn’t bad at all. Where’d they come from? I dunno, but I’d guess it’s from Feist’s last gasp of creativity. Whee.