Boy, computers are great. Technology affords me the luxury of watching Tigers baseball, sending e-mail and updating MySpace instant- and simul-taneously.
Now, that’s multitasking. Of course, that has nothing to do with Blanco Diablo.
Unlike the ’06 Tigers, they stink. Thanks to this great age of technology, though, none of the time I spent listening to Paper Poison Revolution was wasted (Tigs lost, by the way).
The PR that came with this disc promised “blues-drenched soul” from the Charlotte, N.C., three-piece. I didn’t know a third-rate Black Crowes cover band could be considered “soul-drenched”. Well, if I had stopped appreciating music in ninth grade and I had never heard real soul, I guess I might think “Jealous Again” was the pinnacle of songcraft, too, but I digress.
I won’t get into the ridiculous descriptions that lead singer/guitarist Jamie Ray gives of his favorite songs from the 10-track set (“Don’t get downwind of the Crow or you’ll get a speeding ticket listening to this damn song …). Yikes, someone needs a reality check.
“As the Crow Flies” is a good example of introspective songwriting gone really, really wrong. “Pills will fill your soul / Pollution fills your mind / Your family and friends divided / Taken for a ride,” Ray sings. What? Sounds personal. Good luck with that.
“Pour me something strong / Don’t wanna (sic) to know what’s going on / I gotta get right before I do / Something wrong,” from “I Feel Fine” furthers my urge to wince from Blanco Diablo’s 8th grade poetry contest lyrics karaoke’d over predictable metal guitar riffs that went out of style 20 years ago.
Of course, I don’t think BD is being retro on purpose. Based on his notes, I really think Ray sees “She feels like home / She never feels along / It’s raining in my head / Things we left unsaid,” as some serious poetic justice for … um, something. And hey, a paper poison revolution sounds sweet, if only I could figure out what the fuck that is.
I’m fighting the instinct to dismiss this record with an ‘F’ rating because despite its elementary stanzas, Ray can shred him a mean solo. However, this kind of mindless, boring cock rock won’t change your life. It barely altered my Sunday afternoon baseball-watching routine.
Good rock music and to a much greater extent true “soul” music must connect with the listener in some capacity. I hope Jamie Ray likes the record he made for himself, because I sure as hell don’t.
