Review: Butch Walker – Left of Self-Centered

“Just think, with Rock Vocal Power, you’ll never have to sound like this guy again!”

It’s hardly surprising that Butch Walker’s debut solo album—titled Left of Self-Centered and released by Arista Records in 2002—opens with a fair dose of sarcasm, cynicism, and self-deprecation. The above line comes from “Rock Vocal Power,” the introductory spoken-word track that kicks off the album. The song is satire, playing like a mock infomercial for an instructional audio series that can turn you into a famous rock singer for just six easy installments of $69.95(!) Butch makes fun of well-known and oft-imitated rock frontmen by offering to reveal their secrets (like Eddie Vedder’s “pickle-in-mouth technique,” or Kidd Rock’s “ever-popular hey-look-at-me-I-can’t-sing-so-run-me-through-the-computer” maneuver), and a fake Scott Stapp (the Creed guy) even provides a laugh-out-loud testimonial about going from a “bar singer playing Pearl Jam covers” to the frontman of his own original music band, all thanks to the series. The line quoted above is the final part of the comedy number, acting perfectly as a fade-in to the proper album opener (an energetic, sing-along rocker called “My Way”), and even years later, the bit is still pretty funny because its music-industry-oriented jokes have yet to go out of date. Unorthodox as it is in the opening slot, “Rock Vocal Power” is a patent Butch Walker number, a reminder of both how fickle the music industry is and of Butch’s refreshing decision as a performer to never take himself too seriously.

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Review: Marvelous 3 – ReadySexGo

When Elektra Records picked up the Marvelous 3 and released Hey! Album as a major label debut in 1998, they thought they were signing a hit act. After all, the flagship single from that album, the mercilessly hooky “Freak of the Week,” had done quite well for itself as an independent release, notching near-ubiquitous airplay on the band’s local Atlanta radio stations and earning the Butch Walker-fronted power-pop-rock trio a passionate fanbase. But the wider mainstream audience wasn’t really ready for the catchy, idiosyncratic sound of Marvelous 3, which blended biting sarcasm, bitter lyrics about failed relationships, and easy-to-swallow melodies together into a unique concoction. Instead, the radio was turning toward boy bands and rap metal, and as “Freak of the Week” failed to score a high chart position, Elektra realized that they had signed anything but a hit pop act; they had signed a band that, in that age of pop music, wasn’t marketable to the average radio audience. At all.

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Review: Marvelous 3 – Hey! Album

In the first installment of Butch Walker Week, I wrote that Math and Other Problems, the debut album from Walker’s 1990s power pop trio, the Marvelous 3, felt like a half-formed statement from a band that was still very indebted to their influences. On Hey! Album, the group’s sophomore-record-turned-major-label-debut, the leap forward is almost remarkable. Don’t get me wrong, Walker and company don’t try that many new things here: it’s still a slick, catchy album full of punchy power pop songs and with a foot planted firmly in 1980s alternative rock. But instead of spending the whole record imitating his influences, Walker establishes himself here as full-throated rock ‘n’ roll frontman, with the charisma, the passion, and the songwriting ability to go the whole nine yards. Naturally, his band follows suit.

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Review: Marvelous 3 – Math and Other Problems

In the years that followed the dissolution of the Marvelous 3, a 1990s one-hit wonder power-pop trio fronted by Butch Walker, Butch would often remark that his band was “15 years too late and five years too early.” After all, Walker and his bandmates—bassist Jayce Fincher and a drummer who was only ever known as “Slug” in the album liner notes (his real name is Doug Mitchell)—didn’t really fit in with the broody nineties crowd. There’s not a single iota of grunge in any of the three records Walker and the rest of the Marvelous 3 ever produced, nor is there anything akin to the boy-band/pop-princess radio fodder that was poised to take over the world as the decade and the millennium ground to a close. Instead, the guys in the Marvelous 3 were disciples of eighties hair metal and trashy pop-rock songs, with a fair amount of classic glam and singer/songwriter mentality thrown in for good measure. Those influences probably meant the band was straight fucked from the moment they signed with Elektra Records, a label that became known for screwing over similarly-minded pop-rock acts (Third Eye Blind and Nada Surf, for example) before they ran out of money and went bust in the face of the Napster revolution. But for a few years at least, the Marvelous 3 got to act like rock stars, and in the process, they produced three of the finest power pop records of the past 20 years. 1997’s Math and Other Problems was the first.

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Review: John Mayer – Paradise Valley

John Mayer - Paradise Valley

Tell a bunch of people you meet at a party that John Mayer is one of your favorite songwriters, and you may get a few curt nods, perhaps even one or two wide-eyed declarations of agreement, but quite often, you will see rolled eyes and barely restrained scoffs instead. Whether a result of the off-putting public persona Mayer was putting forth a few years ago or a lingering disrespect for the artist’s early pop radio hits, I have found that a lot of people still dismiss John Mayer as an asshole, a playboy, and a mediocre songwriter. I can’t claim to have met the man and wouldn’t presume to make accusations in the first two categories, but I have always found it strange that my friends and family members don’t share so much as a fraction of my adoration for Mayer’s musical output, especially because he has proven himself to be so much more than just the twenty-something heartthrob that sang “Your Body is a Wonderland” on MTV over a decade ago. 

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Review: City and Colour – The Hurry and the Harm

City and Colour - The Hurry and the Harm

A corridor of darkness wraps around my car as it shoots down some county two-line road on the backstreets of town. There’s no one else around, no one but me, my blue beater of a Chevrolet, and the sounds pouring out of my stereo. It’s the summer of 2008, my first summer with a car, my first summer since my siblings moved out, my first summer with any semblance of freedom or responsibility, and it’s both the best and worst season of my life. I’m driving home from work at a job I hate and it’s midnight. I could call my friends and see what they’re doing, but chances are that most of them have either stayed at their houses too late for their parents to let them leave or are too many drinks in to register my call. I could also call her: the girl who used to be my best friend, the girl I’ve spent the past six weeks falling for, head over heels, but I know she won’t answer either. So I let my phone lay dormant at my side and I just drive. I drive and I turn up the stereo, and I listen to the strains of an acoustic guitar and a desolate voice as they nourish my wounds or cut them deeper. Or maybe they’re doing both. Truth is, I’m not sure which side of the pain I’m on anymore. All I know is this: when I walk into my house tonight, I’ll immediately want to leave it. I’ll feel pathetic and lonely and miserable for spending another night alone in my bedroom, even if the actual “night” is already gone and going anywhere else right now would just be stupid. But in the 10 or so miles between my workplace and my front door, with the music coursing through me and the brisk night air flicking through my hair, I feel more alive than I’ve felt in weeks. This is my stronghold, my bulletproof vest, my Fortress of Solitude. So instead of turning right and driving straight home, I turn left and take the long way. These songs aren’t done with me yet.

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Review: Jimmy Eat World – Damage

Jimmy Eat World - Damage

It’s always been astounding to me the way that songs, albums, lyrics, melodies, instrumental lines—even album titles or cover art—can become more than the sum of their parts when they collide with the right listener at the right time. In a world full of critical acclaim, “best of the year” lists, and verbose Pitchfork reviews, it seems that we have stumbled into an age of relative consensus. How many publications ranked Frank Ocean’s Channel ORANGE or Kendrick Lamar’s Good Kid, M.A.A.D.City at number one last December? Or went with Bon Iver the year before? Or Kanye West in 2010? Few collective outlets, at least within the inner circle of the big critical players, venture too far beyond the same five or six favorite records at the end of any given year. Sure, those same publications review hundreds and hundreds of albums and hand out great scores to a lot of up-and-coming obscurities, but from looking at the top ten lists scattered across the web each year, it seems like the idea of an objective “best album of the year” is becoming more and more corporeal.

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Review: Josh Ritter – The Beast in Its Tracks

Josh Ritter - The Beast in Its Tracks

After Josh Ritter’s last couple releases, I was beginning to wonder if his music would ever connect with me again like it had in the old days. His finest albums, 2006’s The Animal Years and 2007’s The Historical Conquests of… were both loaded with terrific melodies, astounding lyrical content, and emulations of musical influences that sit directly in my wheelhouse, from Bruce Springsteen to Bob Dylan to Leonard Cohen. 2010’s slow-burning return, titled So Runs the World Away, largely sought refuge in a sunnier folk-pop vein, a la Paul Simon, but despite a few stellar stand-outs, fell short. And last year’s EP, Bringing in the Darlings, failed to connect with me on any level.

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