"Can I go back to when I was a winner?"

Butch Walker & The Black Widows - The Spade

Dangerbird Records, 2011

Four and a half stars

Almost everyone knows that Butch Walker is and always will be my favorite artist: he's one of the guys who got me into music in the first place, has a slew of near-perfect albums, and puts on the most fun live show I've ever seen. He also will never make the same album twice, and The Spade, his sixth full length solo album, proves that yet again. It's a short burst of a record, running for just over 36 minutes, and it hardly slows down for a single one of those, delivering big guitars, huge hooks and a ton of old fashioned rock and roll charisma in each of the album's ten tracks. The result is, if not one of Walker's best, still a very good album, and one that will almost certainly earn a place in my top 5 albums of the year.

 I'm of the mind that Butch is at his best when he's at his most introspective: Letters and Sycamore Meadows, two of his best records, dealt with a rough break-up and a wildfire that destroyed everything he ever owned, respectively, and both of those records found him turning inward and delivering more serious, emotional material than he's generally known for writing. Walker is a pop-music God, a go-to producer and songwriter for some of today's biggest acts, and it's not hard to figure out why: the guy can write a hook like almost no one else in the industry these days, and that, along with his playful, sarcastic, tongue-in-cheek lyrics, has become his trademark, but that's not what made me a fan in the first place. What got me originally were his ballads, where his earnest lyrics and his raw, emotional vocal delivery just cut right through me. That's not to say Walker's more common persona bothers me: on the contrary, it's always nice to hear an album like the glammed-up party record that was 2006's The Rise and Fall of Butch Walker and the Let's-Go-Out-Tonites!, because it means Walker's had a great couple of years. And that album is probably my second favorite of his anyway: a slew of terrific songs, ranging from big rock and roll to introspective piano balladry.

If The Spade has a cousin in the Walker discography, it's almost certainly The Rise & Fall..., as that record's cornerstones of glam-rock and alt-country both reappear here (the country influence was also expanded on with last year's I Liked It Better When You Had No Heart). It's apparent from the beginning of opener "Bodegas and Blood," where a loud guitar breaks the silence for the first time, that this is going to be a big, carefree, summer rock and roll album. The massive single "Summer of '89," with it's "woah-oh" hook, big chorus and Bryan Adams references, is probably the best realization of that, and it makes me wonder why Walker didn't choose to drop the album earlier in the season rather than at the tail end of it. Still, the single is one of the finest tracks here, and I'm glad he at least released that in June, since it found it's way onto just about every mix I made all summer. "Day Drunk" is classic Butch Walker, and features him pushing his vocals to the limit, while the "Come on Eileen"-rewrite that is "Synthesizers" has a irresistable sing-along chorus and pays tribute to his love of 80's pop music.

  

"Dublin Crow," a bizarre cross between alt-country and Irish-folk music, kicks off the record's incredibly strong closing stretch, and is one of my personal favorite songs on the album. In addition, the song, with it's handclaps and gang vocal harmonies, sounds like it will be a welcome addition to the Walker live set on his upcoming tour. "Closest Thing to You I'm Gonna Find," with Chris Unck's nostalgic lap steel complimenting the guitar lines and Walker's vocal perfectly, is arguably the best song on the album, an alt-country track that, much like the twangy "Don't You Think Someone Should Take You Home" off the last record, has me convinced that Walker should make a full album of country music and roots rock. It's also the closest this album gets to a ballad, which gives a nice break from the big pop and rock songs that populate the rest of it, and grants Walker's voice room to really soar. The song, which is reminiscent of both "Take You Home" and The Rise and Fall's "When the Canyons Ruled the City" (my favorite songs on both releases) is where Walker sounds the most relaxed and at home on this record: in his songwriting, his singing and his own frontman persona, which is all the more reason that it's a direction he should explore more than with just a track or two on future releases.

The respite doesn't last long though, as the final two tracks find the Black Widows turning the amps up to 11 and Walker rocking harder than he has since The Rise and Fall. "Bullet Belt" has arguably the album's biggest hook and a band that is clearly letting loose: Jake Sinclair's booming bass forms the foundation as Chris Unck and Fran Capitanelli duel on their guitars and Walker leads them all to the song's massive chorus. It's a song meant only to be played at maximum volume, and is one of the very best things I've heard all year, something that should absolutely become a Butch Walker live staple and one that I'll be furious at him for if he doesn't play it live on the upcoming tour (preferably at or near the end of the main set). This is the kind of song meant to set fire to a small club. "Sucker Punch," the album's closer, is in the same vein: a freewheelin', full band party of a rock song that provides a fitting end for the album, even if it's an anomaly for a guy who usually ends albums on a much more subdued note.

Overall, The Spade isn't going to end up being one of my favorite Walker releases, but it has a fantastic electricity and sponteneity about it that I really dig, something that I feel has been missing from Walker's music since The Rise and Fall. One of my only gripes with Sycamore Meadows was that I felt like Walker had fussed over it too much in the studio and had ended up overproducing it a bit, which is why I still prefer a handful of those songs in their live or demo versions. I felt the same way with a good portion of I Liked It Better..., but Walker didn't play much of that album's material on his tour last year, and I think that had a lot to do with me never growing to love it like I had loved the rest of his stuff. The Spade sounds like it could have been recorded live, from the rougher vocals to the band chatting and laughing in the studio between songs, and that's something I immediately loved about it. That said, there are no songs here that sit among his best, but for a guy who has set such a high standard for himself over the past ten years, I guess I can't fault him too much for that. The Spade is the best thing Walker has done since Sycamore Meadows and one of the best albums of the year. It could also be the basis for his best live set since the Rise and Fall... days, so here's hoping he plays most of it when I see him next month (more on that later). It's a shame that the album released so late and I missed out on this as a summer soundtrack, but chances are I'll be playing it all through the fall, and chances are better than I'll be pulling this thing out to herald the summer when the weather starts to warm up next year. Because I'm certain there's no better way to listen to this loud, fast, house-party of a record than in the hottest months of the year.

"You're the song I wrote that I will always love"

The Dangerous Summer -War Paint
Hopeless Records, 2011
Five stars

Two years ago, when The Dangerous Summer landed on my radar with the release of Reach For the Sun, I was checking out the record based on one great review of it, without hearing a single track and lacking any knowledge of this band's background. The band turned out to be the best discovery I made that year (and I made many), and over the course of that spring and summer, that record got to me in ways that only a few albums ever had before and maybe only 2 or 3 have since. It found me in an interesting place in my life: I was about to graduate from high school, had just received my acceptance letter into my college's music program, after a solid month on the waiting list, and I didn't have more than a faint idea of what I wanted to do with my life. Reach For the Sun came into my life and became my soundtrack: all of my uncertainty, all of the bittersweet feelings I had about graduating, and then later about leaving behind the only town I'd ever known, seemed to be staring back at me just under the surface of The Dangerous Summer's emotional vocals, heartfelt lyrics and their wall of guitars. There were songs I felt I might have written myself, songs that flawlessly described the way I was feeling, or songs that spoke of experiences like ones I had faced over the past few years. I took those songs, filled them with my own experiences, and they became immortal to me. It would quickly lead that album into my top 25 of all time.

Two years later, they're back with a sophomore record that makes me feel almost the same way, an album that is every bit as good as it's predecessor (or even a little bit better) that has become the soundtrack to my summer and unquestionably my album of the year thus far. War Paint picks off where Reach left off. Make no mistake, this isn't a departure: most of these songs would have fit comfortably on the last album (a record which wasn't notable for it's sonic variation anyway). That's not to say that all the songs sound similar, but they could easily blend together on first listen or for someone not already used to the band's songwriting style. The key to the record is frontman A.J. Perdomo, with his earnest lyrics and fiercely emotional vocal delivery (what he lacks in technical skill, he makes up for in conviction). The guitar sound on this record is massive, and though the constant presence of the instrument may be tiring for some listeners, Perdomo's songwriting is simply too good to ignore.

I could go through this album, describing bits of each song and quoting lyrics, but those things couldn't possibly express the way I feel about this album. The Dangerous Summer, more than perhaps any other artists I know, more than Butch Walker, more than Bruce, more than Jimmy Eat World, appeal directly to my emotions. When I hear A.J. Perdomo sing songs like "No One's Gonna Need You More" or "Siren" I can't help but be drawn in. And when he sings the bridges of those songs, the part of a song that seems to be his songwriting specialty, I can't help but get a little bit choked up. This isn't a record I can go through and speak at length about every single musical nuance, because honestly, there aren't many. The instrumentation is basic: guitar, bass, drums and vocals, the chord progressions pretty standard. A detractor could easily find a lot to complain about on this record, and yet, when I hit play, I can't help but be completely captured by what is coming through my speakers. There hasn't been a record this year that has been able to involve me so thoroughly. Whenever I play a track, I can't resist listening to the rest of the album from that point. And I always sing along to every word.

For as far back as I've been in love with music, a band or an album has defined my summers: 2004 belonged to the Counting Crows and Hard Candy. 2005 was ruled by Butch Walker, as was 2006, though he was joined there by Dashboard Confessional with Dusk and Summer and Jack's Mannequin with Everything in Transit. 2007 was all about Black Lab and Moses Mayfield, 2008 encapsulated by Safetysuit's Life Left to Go, 2009 by Reach For the Sun and Mat Kearney's City of Black and White, and 2010 had a varied soundtrack dominated the most by Chad Perrone.

War Paint will be the album that will always take me back in time to summer 2011: that night in mid spring when I first heard an unmastered version of the dark "Work in Progress." Rushing home to download the record the night it leaked and hearing the opening bars of the title track cascade out of my speakers. And plenty of early Sunday evenings or late weeknights, driving home with the album playing at full volume, singing along with every song at the top of my lungs and marveling at the beauty of this town, at the gorgeous night skies or the breathtaking sight of the evening sun sparkling on the water. All the time I spent with my girlfriend and her family or with mine, all the nights performing at my local dinner theater and just loving my life and all the people in it, always wishing this season could last forever, will at least be forever preserved in these songs: in the retro guitar intro of "I Should Leave Right Now," in the shattering bridge of "Miscommunication," or in the massive chorus of "Everyone Left" and the emotional release that comes during the climactic moments of "In My Room."

"Waves" is the album's closer, and I can't really imagine a better finale to my own near-perfect summer than that. When I hear that song, the entire season, from the day I left school until today, flashes before my eyes. I see the sun-drenched beach where I spent so much of my time, and for a moment, I can almost feel what it was like to be there, but then the song is over far too soon, and it's gone. And then it strikes me just how quickly this summer flew past: it seems like it was only yesterday when I took a twilight walk around campus on the first (and one of the only) gorgeous days of last spring and felt like I could almost taste the summer, like it was finally within my grasp after what had been a truly awful semester. Now, here I am, with less than a week left in my hometown and wishing with all my heart that I could go back.

But as A.J. sings in War Paint's final song, "I'll take my time and move on from all of this, it's all about the rolling waves." No matter what happens, no matter where life takes me from here, I think I really am ready to face it, it's just always so hard to say goodbye to something that feels completely safe and friendly. It's times like these where albums like War Paint come to mean the most to me, and I can guarantee this is a record I'll be listening to for the rest of my life. The best album of the year, the best album I've heard so far this decade, and probably the first new album that will join my all time top ten since Butch Walker dropped Sycamore Meadows in 2008, War Paint is a masterpiece, and means more to me than I think I'll ever be able to express to anyone. It doesn't matter to me that it isn't going to show up on end-of-the-year lists for the likes of Pitchfork or Rolling Stone, and I don't care that the vast majority of the people I know will never have any idea who The Dangerous Summer are. I don't need anyone else to tell me this album is something special: my heart's already done that for me.

New Music Review: Mat Kearney - Young Love

Album review: Mat Kearney - Young Love

4/5 (stars)

I can still remember the first time I heard Mat Kearney's breakthrough single, the title track to 2006's fantastic Nothing Left to Lose. It was an evening in late summer 2006, and my sister had just sent me a large assortment of songs she'd gotten for free off iTunes for some promotion. Out of the two or three dozen songs, "Nothing Left to Lose" was the one that caught my ear the most. It was a perfect summer song: a breezy piece of acoustic pop that fit right with my music tastes at the time and immediately became a part of my summer soundtrack. I eventually picked up the CD, and I was a bit surprised at what I heard. Roughly half the songs were straightforward singer/songwriter fare, in the vein of the title track, but on the other 6 or 7 songs, Kearney blended pop with hip hop, rapping verses that flowed and built into big pop choruses. That genre blending, which at first sounded jarring and alien to my young and not-so-experienced ears, kept me coming back years after I picked that record up, and I'm still, to this day, discovering and rediscovering favorite songs from it.

I fell so in love with the freestyle vibe of "Nothing Left to Lose" that by the time the follow up, entitled City of Black & White, dropped in 2009, I found myself furiously disappointed that Kearney (or perhaps his label) had decided to drop the hip hop element of his sound entirely. The record was a straightforward summer pop album, and I did enjoy it for what it was, but on my first few listens, I noticed only 2 or 3 standout tracks and was ready to set it aside and write Kearney off as a talented gentleman who just went in the wrong direction with his music. It was a classic example of my expectations coloring my actual opinion of an album, but thankfully, I decided to give it a few more chances, and I'm glad I did. Once I set aside my expectations for another Nothing Left to Lose, I was able to view City for what it is: a stunning collection of well crafted pop songs that is solid from top to bottom. Today, both records probably sit somewhere in my all time top 25.

Which brings me to Kearney's third full length major label effort, Young Love. Kearney changes directions once again, finding a middle ground of sorts between the hip hop influence of Nothing Left to Lose and the folk infused pop of City of Black and White. The most notable thing about these new songs is how beat heavy they are, especially on the first half of the record. Kearney has said that they essentially made this album like it was a hip hop project, focusing on the beats and production as much as the lyrics and music. That's apparent from the second track and album highlight "Ships in the Night," which with a little label push, could have been a huge hit on the radio this summer. The song is flawlessly produced, layered in synths, shimmering keys, and a persistent beat that will make sure the song earns a spot on your summer playlist. Kearney speak/sings the verses, making the track reminiscent of the best tracks on Nothing Left to Lose, and builds to the album's biggest chorus. Opener and first single "Hey Mama" gets things started with an irresistable summer-esque vibe and a classic Kearney hook, but doesn't make much sense as a lead single next to a song as good as "Ships."

"Sooner or Later" continues in the same poppy vein, with a chorus that blends the best of City of Black and White with Kearney's new beat heavy sound. On the chorus, Kearney sings in a smooth falsetto that, when mixed with the beat and production, gives the song an almost dancey vibe. "Learning to Love Again" is Kearney in his element, a laid back acoustic-based track that sounds like it could have fit with the more straightforward moments of Nothing Left to Lose or with the final few tracks of City of Black and White. The echoing harmonies throughout are reminiscent of the chilling closing moments of the last record, and add a subtle beauty to an already good song. The song kicks off the stellar second half of the record, continuing into "Down," which opens with a jangly guitar riff that recalls "Mr. Jones" by the Counting Crows and builds into an anthem, while "She Got the Honey" might have the record's most memorable hook. The song is an enormously fun, catchy jam that's almost guaranteed to make you smile, and "Young, Dumb and In Love" pulled me in with an infectious opening riff and never let go.

In true Mat fashion, he saves two of his finest, more subdued songs for last. The first, "Rochester," was released a year ago as part of the Black Swan Shadow EP, a vinyl EP that Kearney sold only at the shows on his acoustic tour last year. Mat played the song almost nightly on that tour, alongside a slowed down cover of Bruce Springsteen's "Dancing in the Dark," so perhaps it's appropriate that "Rochester" finds Mat Kearney playing up his Springsteen influence in an obvious way for the first time. The song, a gorgeous piece of acoustic storytelling, is extremely reminiscent of Nebraska-era Bruce, most specifically the song "Highway Patrolman." Springsteen recorded that record on an 8-track in his bedroom, painting a stark portrait of the trials and tribulations of middle class America, and Mat's song clearly owes a lot to it, both in sound and in tone. Mat spins a tale (his father's) of escapism and redemption, two themes that Bruce is no stranger to, and the result is probably the best song on the record.

"I would hop the fence out to those government fields
Run till there was nothing left to feel
Lying there, watching planes just disappear
Knowing one day I'm gonna fly on out of here."

When Kearney sings those lines, sparsely accompanied by his acoustic and what sounds like a distant steel guitar, you can almost see the scene he's describing. Kearney hasn't done a lot of storytelling songs in this vein (the last album had one, in the form of "Annie") but if this song is any indication, he should be doing a lot more of them. If he's looking for another new direction to take his sound on the next record, I wouldn't mind hearing a Nebraska-esque album.

The gorgeous "Seventeen" closes the album out, and I can't imagine a better way to end the record. Young Love is an album about the wonderment and naivety of falling in love for the first time and about the dreams you have as a kid before life gets in the way. Kearney has said that he tried to write from a more innocent perspective, and the result is a record that is very hopeful throughout. "Seventeen," interestingly enough, comes across as the most hopeful track of all. It tells the tale of a man who, at the age of 17, gets a girl pregnant, but she has a miscarriage, he loses her and he never gets over it. The years fly by, and he meets and marries the girl of his dreams, and on the night she has a baby, he remembers a similar night when he was younger, when everything went wrong. He's scared shitless, both that something like that could happen again and at how his life is about to change forever. When the song hits the bridge, you can almost feel the passage of time, and the final verse and chorus wrap the album up perfectly. Because despite the fact that the character has experienced pain and suffering and isn't as naive as he once was, the final moments of the record find him coming back to the innocence and wonderment of young love, and there could be no more perfect finale to Kearney's record than that.

Young Love isn't Kearney's best record: I think that title still, even after all these years, belongs to Nothing Left to Lose, but Kearney has become one of my favorite artists working today, simply on the basis of two terrific albums (and now a third) with sounds and themes that are always tweaked a bit, but remain familiar enough to be welcoming. Only time will tell if Young Love will reach the same level for me as the other two, but for now, it stands as one of my favorite records in what has been an extraordinarily strong year for music (with much more great stuff on the way), and a big part of the soundtrack to my summer. And if Kearney's next three records are half as good as these three, he'll be one of those guys I follow for a long time. Here's hoping.