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Jan 19, 2018







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Arcade Fire, Everything Now (Columbia Records)




 Living Colour, Shade (Megaforce Records)

If you’re a ’90s kid, you already know what I’m going to say about this record, because you know the axiom that comes bundled with any album from a hard-rock band that’s been around for three decades and somehow survived the horrors of diving into jacuzzis full of Fredericks models and having to choose a Ferrari color during their brief peak. It’s the opposite of the million-monkeys-with-a-million-typewriters saw, that is, give any hard rock band enough time and they’ll eventually morph into a Vegas act in which you can tell the old tunes from the new tunes because the new stuff makes you realize the band was once pretty freaking cool, and not a bunch of finger-snappin’, blues-diggin’, leather-vested Wayne Newtons. Here, the whole “Wow, four hip black dudes kicking Judas Priest’s ass” thing naturally devolves into lounge-metal from your “B”-est 1980s Steven Seagal B movie, beginning with “Freedom Of,” a grim reminder of when The Cult decided to drop the Native American accoutrements and go full phoned-in groupie-bait. The horribly named “Expression (Fox)” had me running for my Nazareth records to get the stench out of my ears. Et cetera. C- Eric W. Saeger




Arcade Fire, Everything Now (Columbia Records)
CD Reviews: August 24, 2017

08/24/17
By Eric Saeger news@hippopress.com



 Haters gonna hate, and boy, I despise nearly everything about all the hayloft-indie oatmeal that’s come out of Canada during the last decade. Toward seeing it all end and never having to put up with any more of that smug, what-me-worry, ironic-but-unamusing tripe ever again, I’d love to hate this album and give it the sort of treatment I’ve restrained myself (and I’m proud of that) from pulling for a dog’s age now. But it’s not this band so much, even if their candlelit, bring-your-own-crappy-wine, off-schedule shows feel like subtle class warfare and their last LP’s knowing anti-consumerist nod to Naomi Klein’s No Logo (that was definitely what they were doing with all that wall-flyering and whatnot) was a little too cockeyed, even for a “rock” thing. No, I don’t completely hate this at all, and I mean that personally, not as someone doing due diligence — the tunes are fine if you miss the Bee Gees (I don’t). The 45-second opening bit dredges up 10CC from the 1970s, and then comes the title track, whereupon the whole exercise goes mirror-ball-disco (in the realest sense) and 1980s radio. They admit there wasn’t a central theme to this record, which is fine, but what it boils down to is a 13-song “Don’t Worry, Be Happy” statement that couldn’t have had worse timing. Yes, critics are divided about this album, but not the ones with brains in their heads. C — Eric W. Saeger

 





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