On the majestic, bombastic sounds of the summer album...

*I wrote most of this in a one-night creative/nostalgic burst that I had earlier this spring, back when the weather first started to warm up and summertime seemed imminent. I left it behind, thinking it was unfinished, but I read it over and liked it to much not to put it up.

It happens every spring: as inevitably as the blooming of the trees, as sure as that first 60 degree day, where myself and thousands of others jump the gun, throw on shorts and a t-shirt, and roll down the windows in the car, pretending like it's May or June instead of March or April. I am speaking, of course, of my tendency to anticipate summer through music. And it always happens on nights like this: nights where a warm breeze blows through the trees, nights where the ghost of winter finally lifts, disappears, and is replaced by evocative smells and rivers of nostalgia; it happens on nights where my neighbors shoot off fireworks and scream in celebration at two in the morning, on nights where the people on the porch across the street drink beer and shout through their intoxication, and on nights where those things, for whatever reason, don't bother me, where I realize (to quote The Dangerous Summer's "I Will Stay"), "oh my God, it's almost summer."

Summer music is my favorite kind of music: I don't know why that is, but it's most certainly true. Every year, most of my favorite albums seem to drop in the summer (last year, I believe eight of my top ten came into my life between leaving school in the spring and returning in the fall); so many of my favorite songs or records recall glorious moments of summers gone by. And every year in recent memory, it hasn't felt like spring or summer until I've given some solid play time to a few key records. The most obvious is Jack's Mannequin and Everything in Transit, with its whirlwind depiction of a California summer and its power-pop aesthetic. It's a record that has served as soundtrack for a lot of important moments in my life over the past few years, and which has even served as a welcoming committee of sorts for Earth's most flawless season. This record has an interesting connection to the summers that followed my two freshman years: first, when I was fifteen years old, I was a year late to the party (Transit released the summer before), but that turned out to be okay, because the season that it did end up soundtracking instead was remarkable. I still remember long evening runs on the golf course near my house, with the sun setting over the hills and the sounds of that album blasting through my headphones. Andrew McMahon has a lot to say about being young and completely alive on Everything in Transit, and that was a theme that I related to that summer and during every single one after it. The other freshman year, the college one, included probably the most definitive experience I ever had with the album (which, for a record that had been one of my all-time favorites for four years at that point, was saying something). It was two years ago this month, and I'd just wrapped up the last exam of my first year in college. The weather was glorious, with sun streaming down from the sky and the temperature rising. And when everything was packed and I'd checked out of the dorm, I got in my car, scrolled through my iPod, and picked this album out. What followed remains one of my most fondly recalled road trips: the weather, the music, the anticipation to be going home for the entire summer, it all made me feel immortal: it was a great start to what turned out to be the best summer of my life.
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But even though it might always be the definitive summer record for me, Everything in Transit is merely one of many that fit that qualification. Perhaps the first was either Counting Crows' Hard Candy or Sister Hazel's Chasing Daylight: I don't quite recall which I snagged first, but I know for certain that both came into my life in the summer of 2004, and both were instrumental in shaping my love for music: they're still among my all-time favorites. Hard Candy has probably the best summer bookend lyrics out there: "Up All Night" and the line "we could drive out to the dunes tonight, 'cause summer's almost here" still drives my anticipation for the season to a fever pitch when the temperature starts to warm up, and the part in "Miami" that goes "the bus is running, it's time to leave/this summer's gone, so are we" transformed the song into my definitive, bittersweet end-of-summer ceremonial for years on end. But after those two came along, there were plenty more to come, and I can still hear pieces of my past in each of them: childhood memories echoing through The Wallflowers' Bringing Down the Horse and Third Eye Blind's self-titled album; a perfect family vacation in the strains of Better Than Ezra's Before the Robots; the angsty remains of my first summer with a job and a car in Safetysuit's Life Left to Go; the duality of the summer that followed my graduation, the balance between victory and uncertainty, unbridled freedom and fear of what my life would bring, and of course, day and night, represented by Mat Kearney's City of Black and White and The Dangerous Summer's Reach for the Sun; the first love that I discovered to the final two tracks of Dashboard Confessional's Dusk and Summer; and, though it seems like it was only a couple of months ago, last summer, completely encompassed in the flow of The Dangerous Summer's War Paint.

All of those records have played a massive role in my life, and each is at least partially responsible for my infatuation with this so-called "summer music," but even after getting the "soundtracks" out of the way, there has still been so much more: the boozy bombast of The Hold Steady's Boys & Girls in America,  the soaring voice of Chad Perrone, on his solo records and on Drawn to Revolving Doors with his old band Averi, which still take me back to the beginning of summer 2010; a slew of classics from last year, from the lovelorn pop symphonies of Matt Nathanson and Mat Kearney, to the dusky jams of The Damnwells' No One Listens to the Band Anymore; from the immaculate midnight atmospherics of Bon Iver's last record, all the way to Butch Walker's The Spade, which played as soundtrack for my farewell from town at the end of last summer, and will do the opposite upon my return for this one. And of course, there's Springsteen: Born to Run, which hardly left my stereo for the entire spring of my senior year of high school, soundtracked my graduation, and remained in constant rotation all summer long, and The Wild, The Innocent, The E-Street Shuffle, which is about as perfect an inaugural summer record as any I know.

When I look back at the summers of my life, I do so through the eyes of the songs that latched themselves onto moments from each and immortalized them. When I hear these records, they take me back to hundreds of reflective late night drives, to every brilliant moment spent outside in the glorious weather, enjoying the company of the people I love, and cherishing every splendid moment. I don't know what this summer will bring: I know that it could very well be one of the last I spend in my hometown, this place where I grew up and where so many amazing moments of my life have played out. If it is the last one, if a big chapter of my life ends in four months time, I can only hope that it's one of the greatest as well. And whatever record that comes along to encapsulate that? It's going to be one that I treasure for the rest of my life.

On the Horizon: My Most Anticipated Albums for the Rest of 2012

2012 has been a pretty solid year thus far, as far as music releases have been concerned. The overall output of great records to grace my ears this year has actually surprised me quite a bit, considering the fact that a large percentage of my favorite artists put out material in 2011, and I thought for awhile that last year's embarrassment of riches my lead to a dearth of greatness for this year. But I should have known better: I've been discovering progressively more music than ever before during each of the years since 2008 or so, and this year has been no exception: making my end-of-the-year list is already going to be a battle. As close as I can figure, about 3 or 4 of the slots in my top ten are already spoken for, with Springsteen almost guaranteed to be sitting in the top spot. That leaves plenty of room for great new discoveries, not to mention late-year arrivals of favorite artists. And of course, there's the summer season, which generally brings out the albums that capture my consciousness the most.

Anticipation is a difficult thing: expectations can color your opinion of an album to a degree that it would never hit you as hard as it could have otherwise, but they also lend a valuable aura to the releases they surround. Very often, an artist can never top the "first" album you heard from them: I know this has proven true for a number of my favorite acts, Butch Walker, Jimmy Eat World, and Jack's Mannequin, to name a few, and year after year, I start my listens to albums from artists of that level with disappointment, and move toward elation as time goes on. I always need a few listens to shed my pre-ordained expectations of what the album should be so I can start to appreciate what it actually is. And although there are some albums that do, ultimately, end up on the "letdowns list" at the end of each year, more often, the albums that I looked forward to the most end up somewhere near the top to the list. Which brings me to the topic of this post: my top five most anticipated full-length releases on the horizon for the remainder of the year. For this group, I tried to steer towards albums that had titles, tracklists, and release dates already announced, and left the more "speculative" picks for the section at the bottom, but in a few cases, my adoration for a specific artist, plus a few hopeful indications, overpowered that impulse.

1. The Gaslight Anthem - Handwritten (out July 24th)

It's only taken about four years for Brian Fallon to evolve from a respected indie-punk frontman to a potential savior of the rock 'n' roll art. That transformation began on 2008's massive The '59 Sound, where Springsteen references, big choruses, and Fallon's desperation-laced vocals built a nighttime drive record for the ages. 2010s American Slang and last year's side project, The Horrible Crowes, were only slightly less stellar, but if "45," the first single from Handwritten, is any indication, Fallon and company might be poised to drop their masterpiece. The song sounds like vintage-Fallon, channeling equal parts Springsteen and punk-rock, and delivering an opus of crisp electric guitar tones, elegantly nostalgic poetry, and soaring vocals that suggest that, yes, Brian Fallon really might be the guy to save rock 'n' roll. I've been dying to see these guys live since the first time I heard "The Backseat," the colossal and emotional closer from The '59 Sound, and I'm hoping this record will finally bring them close to me (or, at very least, SOMEWHERE IN THE UNITED FUCKING STATES), but if nothing else, I have a very strong feeling that Handwritten could end up playing the part of my fabled "summer soundtrack" record this year, and if that's the case, then it could even have a shot at my album of the year title (against, who else? Springsteen).

2. The Wallflowers - TBA (out Fall 2012)

It's been 7 years now since The Wallflowers moniker got its last full-length release. They've toured since (I saw them for the first time in 2009), and frontman Jakob Dylan was been busy (he's released a pair of folky, acoustic-based records), but for a long time, it seemed like the '90s alt-rock band was just going to fade off into dust. That last record, entitled Rebel, Sweetheart saw The Wallflowers at the top of their game, with Dylan embracing the poetic style of his father's writing, but doing so in a context and sound that never sacrificed the band's roots. Their breakthrough album, 1996's Bringing Down the Horse will always be my favorite work of theirs, but Rebel was a terrific and lyrically brilliant set of songs that, in the many times I have listened to it since then, has both made me yearn for new material and ruminate on how, if the band were to never reunite, it would be more than an appropriate swansong. But that's all for naught now, since the band has been in the studio all year, and plans to release a new record this fall. And while I enjoyed Dylan's solo material, he never sounds better than when he's got ringing electric guitars and Rami Jaffee's soulful B3 organ swelling behind him.

3. The Killers - Battle Born (tentative title, out Fall or Winter 2012)

It's been a long time since Day & Age topped my list of biggest letdowns for the year back in 2008, and a lot of things have changed since then, including my opinion of that album. While it's certainly their worst (and that ranking includes frontman Brandon Flowers' stellar 2010 solo debut, Flamingo), Day & Age still contains a lot of great work, and I rather unfairly wrote it off back in the day. Still, I'm hoping for a return to form on the follow-up, though I must confess, I don't really know what that form would be. The band traversed a lot of musical ground, from the new-wave synths and dance-floor beats of Hot Fuss, to the Bruce Springsteen worship of Sam's Town, all the way to the eclectic and bizarre collision of those things that took place on record number three. There's not a lot that's known about their fourth, but I think we can be pretty sure of one thing: Flowers' and co. love to surprise their fans, and even if there's a return to form here, anyone looking for Hot Fuss 2 or Sam's Town 2 is setting themselves up for disappointment.


4. John Mayer - Born and Raised (out May 22nd)

Ever since I bought a copy of Heavier Things back in 2003 (which, I'm fairly certain, was the first album I ever purchased for myself), Mayer and his music have been completely entwined in my musical evolution. Since then, he's dropped an album every three years, like clockwork, but his albums have always been September, October, or November releases, and never spring/summer ones. Mayer's records have always been the kind that I'm more likely to get lost in on a long autumn day than to blare, full volume, on a summer's night, but Born and Raised, with it's promised alt-country and folk tendencies, may make a compelling argument for the contrary. Mayer has never been content to make the same album twice, and I have very little idea of what to expect from this album, whether it will be full of sunny, folky jams, or steel-guitar laden slow-burns perfect for late-night drives, but either way, I can't wait.

5. Green Day - ¡Uno!, ¡Dos!, ¡Tré! (out September 25,  November 13, and January 15, 2013, respectively)

I think it's audacious for bands to attempt double albums, but the concept of a triple-album goes right past that into insane territory. Because of that fact, and because all of Green Day's contemporaries that have attempted the double album (The Smashing Pumpkins, Red Hot Chili Peppers, Foo Fighters) have done so with distinctly mixed results, I have my reservations about this project. Green Day's last album, 2009's 21st Century Breakdown was decent but disappointing after the masterful American Idiot, and we don't know anything about this project, whether the albums will span the musical influences of the band's three members or just contain a bunch of songs from the same writing and recording sessions. Either way, the three album sequence, which will span a four month period and produce a pair of records eligible for 2012's end-of-the-year lists, is most certainly an indulgence in pop-music excess, and I'm excited to see what comes of it. It's doubtful that the band has a masterpiece on their hands here, but my highest expectations envision a ridiculously eclectic set of songs from a band that most people have always written off as distinctly one-note. Only time will tell.

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The two without release dates and titles present a difficulty for a list like this, since it's easy for a band to promise a release one day, and change their mind a few months later. That said, the word from The Wallflowers just broke today, and I have faith in them, since they've been posting pretty regular studio updates on their Facebook all year, and since Jakob Dylan isn't a guy who tends to disappear for long periods of time. I'm a whole lot less sure about The Killers, since we haven't seen any decent updates since January (or so). But Flowers has released an album every two years like clockwork since Hot Fuss broke back in 2004, and you'd think that Island would be keen on getting one of their biggest properties back into action: my guess is that we'll see that record in November or December, right in time for the Holiday Season and the sales boost it provides.

Beyond those albums, the year is still a pretty open slate, but there are some pretty exciting things on the horizon, both confirmed and scheduled (Motion City Soundtrack's Go, The Tallest Man On Earth's There's No Leaving Now, Glen Hansard's Rhythm and Repose, Sun Kil Moon's Among the Leaves, among many others) to the much more speculative list (New stuff from U2, Matchbox Twenty...I'll believe that one when I see it, and Mumford & Sons). U2 has been all over the place in terms of release rumors recently, from saying they had three different albums in the works a year or two ago, to Bono hinting that the band might be ready to call it a day. In the wake of the biggest rock 'n' roll tour in music history, it's safe to say the band has earned some time off. But since they've been toying with releasing Songs of Ascent, an album of material from around the No Line On The Horizon era, since 2010, and since they teased fans with the interesting prospects of a Danger Mouse-produced reinvention, it would be a shame for them to close the doors before at least seeing where those roads might lead. As for Matchbox Twenty, it's been ten longs years since the '90s alt-rock darlings dropped their last full-length (More Than You Think You Are, which was also their best work), a hiatus that saw both a Greatest Hits collection and a pair of decent solo offerings from frontman Rob Thomas. If the band finally makes their return this year, it will be the long overdue arrival of an album I've been waiting for since I was 11 or 12 years old, and while I'm certainly not in the same place I was back then, musically or in any other way, I'd certainly welcome a new record from those guys any day of the week.

As of now, I don't think this year will be quite the illustrious display for music that 2011 was, but if all of the albums listed above live up to expectations, and if a few albums come out of nowhere and knock my socks off (which has been happening more and more recently), then who knows?

Lucero - Women & Work

Lucero - Women & Work

ATO Records, 2012

4 stars

Since they got together in 1998, Memphis-based rock band Lucero have made seven full-length records, ranging from dirty, southern-tinged punk to roots rock 'n' roll, gathering alt-country influences along the way, and even layering their sound with soulful horns on 2009's 1372 Overton Park. Many fans dubbed that record as Lucero's magnum opus, and while their latest, "Women & Work," is a step back, it remains an alluring collection of raucous, bar-band rock 'n' roll that arrives just in time for the spring and summer seasons that it was so clearly meant to soundtrack. And while being the world's greatest bar-band (a title they've been fighting over with The Hold Steady for ages) is a rather dubious honor, it's clear from the album cover (which depicts the sextet sitting on a street corner outside of a bar), that it's exactly what Lucero is shooting for here. Look no further than the all-out-party that is the record's title track, which juxtaposes the aforementioned horn section, some terrific guitar playing, and a crashing piano into one of the most well executed rock 'n' roll rave-ups I've heard all year. "On My Way Downtown" is no less impressive, for all the same reasons, while "It May Be Too Late" utilizes the piano to an even greater effect, creating a song that would have sounded as good ten or twenty years ago as it does now. Indeed, Lucero find most of their inspiration for Women & Work by looking back in time, drawing from their Memphis-soul heritage, as well as from the bar-band honky-tonk of classic records like Bruce Springsteen's The River. Take the bluesy "Juniper," whose chorus sounds reminiscent of Queen's "Crazy Little Thing Called Love" for a split second, before frontman Ben Nichols launches into a killer bridge section, or "Like Lightning," where the band burns through a pre-ordained showstopper.

Not enough can be said of the high benchmark the band sets here (and regularly breaks) in terms of pure musicianship or versatility. Nichols has the kind of rough, weather-worn voice that you can just hear ringing through some hazy, 98-degree bar on a summer night, while John Stubblefield (bass) and Brian Venable (guitar) add classic, atmospheric flourishes to the sound that would be all too easy to miss if you weren't paying close attention. Frequently, a perfectly nostalgic B3-organ slices through the arrangements (or takes the lead, as in "Who You Waiting On?"), instantaneously transporting me back to some of my favorite records from my youth (The Wallflowers' Bringing Down the Horse and Counting Crows' August and Everything After both come to mind), adding a certain timeless, folky quality to every song it graces. That same timeless quality is palpable in the contributions of the horn section, which suits the band's sound as perfectly here as it did on Overton Park. However, it's the keyboards that take Women & Work to the next level, injecting the songs with that extra ingredient that I've always missed in records from the likes of The Gaslight Anthem, or on the last Hold Steady album (following the departure of piano virtuoso Franz Nicolay). The horns and the lurching piano lead the way throughout the record, allowing the band to play with the spontaneity and freedom of the seasoned live outfit that they clearly are.

Women & Work has one minor stumble, in the form of "I Can't Stand To Leave You," a song where the melody works and the band delivers (as usual), but which just doesn't quite go anywhere. Nichols sings in clichés, with a tired and dull vocal performance that makes them even less convincing, a shame, since it derails a fairly stellar full-band arrangement. Luckily, on the remaining occasions where the band sees fit to slow down the tempo, the resulting songs are dynamite. First is the wistful sweep of "When I Was Young," whose elegiac texture and chillingly distant steel guitar sounds make it a candidate for "best song" on the record (and one of my favorites of the year so far), while closer "Go Easy" brings a gospel choir into the studio to back Nichols up. The pairing is a strikingly natural inclusion within the band's southern-rock sound, and the call-and-response nature of the song legitimately sounds like it's inspiring Nichols to amp up his delivery. These two songs are the cornerstones of a killer quintet that carries the album out on a celebratory high note, and the other two are nearly as good. The rootsy "Sometimes" sees the band channeling their country influences, while the almost ragtime-influenced piano intro to "Like Lightning" quickly gets swallowed up by a bass crunch and explodes into a windows-down, fist-pumping guitar solo. The song unfolds into one of the album's best, most rollicking moments, accented by big horn hits, and featuring a committed vocal performance from Nichols that is sure to land the song on plenty of summer mixtapes. It also epitomizes everything Lucero does well on Women & Work, showcasing both their stellar musicianship and their ability to create music that is at once both fresh and timeless. So while Lucero might not be aiming terribly high with this record's bar-band anthems, and while it is unlikely to ever be considered their best effort, Women & Work is an addicting and nostalgic album that I can't wait to blast in my car, at maximum volume, all summer long.

The Tower & The Fool - How Long

The Tower & The Fool - How Long

Run For Cover Records/Earshot Media, 2012

4.5 stars

Every once in awhile, an album comes along, out of nowhere, and just stops you in your tracks. It's a rare but beautiful thing when you can listen to a record for the first time, completely free of all expectations, and have it knock you down. Last year, a pair of records landed in my top ten from artists that I had known nothing about prior to my first listen: the first was Charlie Simpson's Young Pilgrim, a gorgeous folk-pop effort that was right up my alley from the get-go. The second was Mansions' Dig Up the Dead, an emotionally intense set of break-up songs that wormed its way into my consciousness as the year moved on until I couldn't ignore it: I expect that a similar fate will befall How Long, the excellent full-length debut from Rhode Island-based rock band The Tower & The Fool, a break-up album that encompasses some of the best melodies, the most emotional vocals, and the most stunningly heartbreaking lyrics that I've heard all year (or, perhaps, all decade). 

In the realm of musical statements, I find a well-executed break-up album to be among the most fascinating. Undoubtedly, some of the greatest art of all time has been the product of personal disaster. When artists let the world in to see them bleed, put all of themselves and their lives into a musical work, the result is the rawest, most unadulterated portrait of them that we can ever glimpse. Its why so many of my favorite records have this associations: albums like Butch Walker's Letters, or Will Hoge's Draw the Curtains, Fleetwood Mac's Rumours or City And Colour's Sometimes, Bruce Springsteen's Tunnel of Love or Bob Dylan's Blood on the Tracks. Each of these records, whether or not I consider them the best the artist in question has to offer (which, except for Springsteen and maybe Dylan, I do), has a raw honesty that is truly enrapturing, and each of them include some of the greatest songs I have ever heard. Were it not for Springsteen's protest-album masterpiece Wrecking Ball, which will very likely be my album of the year, I could say that none of those artists ever again reached the dizzying heights of their break-up masterpiece. There's something electric about a break-up album, something real and fleeting that is impossible to re-capture, but difficult to walk away from, and few artists are ever able to achieve that emotional apex more than once. Here's hoping that the guys from The Tower & The Fool don't succumb to that curse, but from the moment frontman Alex Correia references "Tangled Up In Blue," the definitive break-up anthem from Dylan's Blood on the Tracks, on album-highlight "Broken," it's clear that he's not kidding around.
 

The band isn't kidding around with their list of influences either, which reads like a 90s-throwback compilation and includes artists like Counting Crows, Whiskeytown, and The Gin Blossoms. There are shades of those bands' folk and alt-country leanings all over How Long, but Correia's whiskey-drenched vocal tone is a bit rougher around the edges than those groups' respective frontmen, and some finest moments here veer closer to more recent artists like Jimmy Eat World and The Dangerous Summer: emotional lyrics, set to sweeping melodic choruses and devastating verses. It’s a formula that never lets the band down, and there isn't a moment that even comes close to being weak across the record's ten tracks. Anthems of heartbreak, like "Dive Bar" and "Broken," give way to more pensive numbers, such as the title track, "My Heart is Dead in NYC," and "Breach," with Correia delivering a handful of lines in each that hits like a ton of bricks. In "Dive Bar," the album's rousing opener, it's "maybe you fell in love with a feeling and not a girl," while in "How Long," the album's elegiac centerpiece, it's lines like "And at night when I sleep, her ghost crawls in my sheets/I hear her voice calling out my name" that will transport us all back to those moments when we were forced to get over a person we had no interest in moving on without.

A swell of B3-organ keys and a scorching guitar solo are the cornerstones of penultimate cut "Die Alone," which serves as the climactic peak of a heartbreaking record. Desperation cuts through Correia's voice as he belts out the song's chorus ("And I'm praying to God that her love keeps me afloat/'Cause man, I don't wanna die alone") but we feel distinctly like there's no end to his suffering here, and the closer, though it reaches resignation, is one of the album's hardest-hitting moments. Set to the backdrop of a single acoustic guitar, softly finger-picked in a swirl of intimacy, "Who Does She Think She Is?" lands very much in the tradition of great break-up album closers. It's a slow-burn of regret and resignation, where Correia sounds tired and broken, and just like many of his predecessors in this tradition, like he has nothing left to give or to say. "Love is a horrible thing," the album concludes, and though The Tower & The Fool may be inviting a pity party of sorts with this record, that's an important part of the tradition as well.

Ultimately, How Long earns itself the rather dubious honor of being the saddest album of the year (at least so far), and while the constant surge of heartbreak and bitterness that Correia sings about may grow tiring for listeners who aren't going through a similar situation (such as myself), we've all been through a romantic disaster at least once, and these songs express those feelings perfectly. It's the kind of record you can disappear into, an album full of lyrical gems and musical triumphs that build to a sublime catharsis, and the overall impact is breathtaking. Only time will tell whether or not anyone will construct a better ode to a relationship or a more emotionally intense record this year, but for now, The Tower & The Fool is in about the best position any 2012 release could be: in my number two slot, right after Springsteen.

The Land of Hope and Dreams: Bruce Springsteen & The E Street Band Live in Detroit, 4/12/12

Bruce Springsteen & The E Street Band

Live at The Palace of Auburn Hills, Detroit, MI

April 12th, 2012

Five songs into his marathon, 3 hour, 26 song Auburn Hills
set (27, if you count both pieces of the "Apollo Medley"), Bruce Springsteen broke musical ranks during a brassy, orchestral re-imagining of "My City of Ruins" to have a word with his audience. "Good evening Detroit!" he shouted gleefully. "I love you old Michigan! That's right, I know where the fuck I am!" He was referring to his last visit to the Palace (on November 13th, 2009, also my first Springsteen show), where he famously forgot he what state he was in. On that particular occurrence, he shouted "Hello, Ohio!" three or four times before Little Stevie finally set him straight, but tonight, he had a fan's "Bruce: You Are Here" (with a drawing of Michigan) poster to help him out. It was a good-hearted callback to a night I count among the best I've ever had, and a perfect way for him to re-acquaint himself with the crowd. He continued, telling us all, "You're gonna go home tonight with your hands hurtin' and your voice sore and your back hurtin', and tomorrow you're gonna say '...what the fuck happened to me?!?'"

"And of course, we're here to tell you a story, as always," he said a few moments later. "And tonight's story is a story about hellos and goodbyes, and things that leave us, and things that remain with us forever. So let's get started." And they did, playing through three quarters of the song before pausing again for Bruce to do a roll call of his legendary E Street Band. After he had introduced everyone onstage, the longtime virtuosos and the new additions alike, he asked the big question of the night. "Are we missing anybody?" he roared at the audience. As nice as the gesture would have been, everyone in the Palace on Thursday night knew that Bruce wasn't talking about his wife, back-up vocalist Patti Scialfa, who was absent from the proceedings tonight. No, Bruce was clearly referring to the mammoth presence of Clarence "Big Man" Clemons, whose iconic saxophone sound was stolen from the band when he passed away last summer, due to complications from a stroke. And Thursday night's crowd, aware of this fact from the moment they entered the arena, screamed his name back at Bruce as loud as they could muster, over and over again. It was the night's first direct reference to Clemons, but there wasn't a minute of the show's 180 minute run-time where he was far from everyone's minds - Bruce's included. But just as he's been saying all tour long, "the only thing I can guarantee is that, if you're here, and we're here, then they're here with us tonight." And from the moment Jake Clemons (the Big Man's nephew and his perfect spiritual stand-in) nailed the first sax solo of the night during "Badlands" (the first of many brilliant deliveries), the show felt like a tribute, a farewell, and a catharsis.

But it was also so much more than that. It was a powerful display of a band and a frontman who, 40 years down the road from their first record, are still absolutely performing in top form. It was a slate of some of the best music ever written, coming alive for new generations and past ones alike. And for me, it was a reminder of the power music can have, but I'll get to more on that later. All of those things were evident from the show's introduction (where Springsteen memorably introduces himself) and the one-two punch opening of "We Take Care of Our Own" and "Wrecking Ball," a pair of songs from his latest record that crackled and thrived in this setting, even alongside a smattering of classics. The former, especially, came alive tonight, and "Wrecking Ball," while I personally found it more striking when I saw him two and a half years ago (at this same venue) on the final leg of the Working on a Dream tour, was certainly welcome here, as it remains one of the highlights from the new record and possesses a certain amount of bombast that is very appealing in a live setting. Speaking of new highlights, the Irish rave-up that is "Death to My Hometown" was as ferocious and riotous as I hoped it would be.

Photo by John T. Greilick / The Detroit News

The epic sweep of "Badlands" is welcome in any setlist, whether it occurs near the beginning or towards the end (it served as the main set closer on Springsteen's last visit to Detroit). The Darkness on the Edge of Town opener represented one of only three forays into that record tonight (another being "Candy's Room," which also appeared early), but both songs clearly illustrated why the Darkness tour holds such legendary status, as both still ring with the kind of electricity and life that begets the best live shows. Hearing "My City of Ruins" was a particularly emotional experience for me, not only because of the Clarence, or because of the 9/11 association I will always have with it, but because, aside from maybe "Born to Run," it was the first Springsteen song I ever fell in love with. Hearing it seven or eight years after it first caught my ear, especially in such a centerpiece role, with such a lovingly rendered arrangement (the horn section Springsteen has on this tour was especially effective here), was nothing short of breathtaking. The way Springsteen commands the audience on the classics and the rockers is one thing, but his ability to bring things down to pin-drop ambiance on late-career ballads like this one is testament to both his charisma and the devotion of his fanbase: I can think of a lot of bands that are pretty much relegated to playing their greatest hits these days, but I for one am as pleased to watch Bruce play through his post-millennial output as I am to hear his classics.

Then again, not all fans are so accommodating, and I saw more than a few people heading for the doors in pursuit of bathroom breaks and beer runs during "Jack of All Trades," the most pensive moment from Wrecking Ball. While the song is hardly my favorite on the record, the live performance was undeniably effective, plunging the Palace into an elegiac darkness and allowing Springsteen's voice and words (and later, Nils Lofgren's stunning guitar solo) to ring through the arena unhindered by special effect. On the other hand "Trapped," a cover of a Jimmy Cliff song, thrived on lighting effects, starting in a hazy purple light (which perfectly accentuated the song's nostalgic guitar intro), and exploding into the chorus just as the house lights went up. A muscular electric version "Youngstown," a blue-collar anthem originally from the all-acoustic Ghost of Tom Joad album, played spectacularly well in Detroit, which has fallen on harder times than a lot of other places in the country, while "The E-Street Shuffle," a block-party style jam session from way back in 1973, played up the other side of things and gave the city's residents reason to dance and sing along. Each of these songs epitomized the spirit of the first half of the set, where Springsteen spent most of his time diving in the back catalog and snatching out deep cuts, a practice which might not be rewarding for casual fans, but which I found fascinating.

                     Photo by John T. Greilick / The Detroit News

But the "golden greats" did start to appear eventually, first with "She's the One," the first of four Born to Run cuts to make it onto the stage tonight, and then with live stand-bys like "Waitin' on a Sunny Day," where Springsteen brought a little boy up onstage to sing the chorus and taught him how to do his patented "knee slide" ("His life peaked at seven," my brother exclaimed later. "What could he possibly do that would be more exciting than that?"), or "The Promised Land," the third Darkness cut and another chance for Jake Clemons to show off his chops. I personally don't understand the ubiquity of "Sunny Day" as a live staple, as I've always found the song to be one of the more innocuous moments on The Rising: it's a simple, somewhat tongue-in-cheek pop song on a record of deeply spiritual songs dealing with tragedy. That said, the song is a lot of fun, and I was more jealous of that kid than I would care to admit (though going back to reality after this concert was hard enough for me, even without having shared the stage with a legend). "The Promised Land" was as solid as ever, though I would have traded it out for either "Racing in the Streets" or "Darkness on the Edge of Town," and no complaints on "She's the One," as any Born to Run song is a good one.

Perhaps the best moment of the night came when Springsteen plucked a fan's poster from the pit and held it up, saying "special request for Detroit." The sign read "Incident on 57th Street," a title that prompted every hardcore Springsteen fan in the place to let loose a few ecstatic expletives. That song is one of the three classics that constitute the flawless second side of Springsteen's second record, The Wild, The Innocent, The E-Street Shuffle (and is generally considered "his best song not on Born to Run). However, despite the adoration it receives in fan circles, "Incident" is rarely played live (this was the proper-tour premiere of the song), but hearing the E Street Band play the song tonight made me wonder why. The song was neither the longest, nor the shortest performance of the set (clocking in at 8:30, it was sandwiched between two longer segments in the forms of the soulful "Apollo Medley," where Springsteen paid tribute to Detroit's Motown history, and "American Skin," which I'll get to in a moment), but it was certainly among the best. Most of the audience quieted down to hear this (nearly) historical moment, allowing the song's melodic splendor and lyrical depth to shine. By the time Bruce got to my favorite line of the song ("Hey little heroes, summer's long but I guess it ain't very sweet around here anymore"), I was in heaven.

Photo by John T. Greilick / The Detroit News

"American Skin (41 Shots)" emerged over a decade ago for the E Street Band reunion tour in 1999 and 2000. That tour eventually lead to the inception of The Rising, but the song never made it onto a proper record, and remains available only in live recording. As a result, it's not a song I've spent a lot of time with over the years, but that changed when Springsteen brought it out and polished it off on Thursday night, using it to deliver one of the most emotionally intense moments of the night. Written for the controversial 1999 shooting of Amadou Diallo, Springsteen revived the song last month in Tampa, FL, a mere two hours' drive from Sanford, where Trayvon Martin was shot and killed similar circumstances. Tonight, it sounded like a funeral dirge, transforming the Palace into a cathedral of sound and tragedy, and providing the most sobering moment of the night. As the song stretched on for almost nine minutes, through repeated chants of the "41 shots" motive, and a scorching, over-the-top guitar solo from Lofgren, it resonated in a way that few songs ever do, and was transformed into a highlight. Bruce didn't need to say Trayvon's name for everyone to know what he was singing about, but that's always been one of his gifts: he's always been able to take a song that was written for something else, and apply it to new situations in performance. It happened ten years ago, when "My City Of Ruins" morphed into a hymn to the events of September 11th in the wake of the attacks, or at the end of the reunion tour, where he re-wrote bits of "Blood Brothers" and had his band clasp hands and close their eyes as he sang them. I was humbled to see it happen to yet another song tonight.

"The Rising" never truly resonated with me until I saw Bruce play it live here in 2009, so I was eager to hear it again, and it didn't disappoint. A Johnny Cash-esque, mostly acoustic performance of Wrecking Ball closer "We Are Alive" was every bit as moving, but both were nothing compared to "Land of Hope and Dreams," which served as main set closer tonight, and burst with more energy and emotion than any band has a right to have after playing for over two hours. "Hope and Dreams," which was also originally penned on the reunion tour, finally made its way onto a studio record with Wrecking Ball, and how pleased I am that it did, as its undoubtedly my favorite song of the year so far. In studio form, it contains the only Clarence sax solo on the record, one last flawless piece of a man who spent his life conjuring up some of the greatest moments in the history of recorded music. In its live setting, the song is a sweeping, epic behemoth, a flawless set closer, and an affirmation of the beauty of life, music, and everything in between. It was already my favorite song of the year, but that it managed not only to stand up to Springsteen's best material, but to land as a highlight amidst a set of highlights, was nothing short of staggering, and made me appreciate just how good Wrecking Ball is as a record.

But then, it was singalong time: a trademark harmonica yelp heralded the arrival of "Thunder Road," arguably the greatest song of all time and one of the best I've ever seen performed live. Chills shot down my spine as Springsteen wound through the lyrical beauty of the song's intro, and returned when he let the crowd yell "Show a little faith, there's magic in the night, you ain't a beauty, but hey, you're alright" back at him. "Rocky Ground" had no business being anywhere near an encore set, as much as I like the song on record and as well performed as it was. Back-up singer Michelle Moore got a prominent feature, both on the song's vocal refrain and during the climactic rap section, but the audience reaction was lukewarm, and the song threatened to kill the feverish momentum that had been carefully building since "Incident." Luckily, a performance of "Out in the Street," a raucous bar-band rock song from The River (the only track off that album played tonight), helped bring it back, and by the time the opening swell of "Born to Run" had filled the arena, everything was forgiven. The house lights came up, and I put my arm around my brother and we both screamed along with every word. As the song neared its euphoric bridge section, I took a look around at the arena, gazing behind me at the hundreds of faces scattered on the floor, and the thousands more I saw rising around me in the seats, and I felt like a part of something huge, momentous, and important. With a massive grin on my face, I turned back to the stage and belted out the song's climactic lines: "someday girl, I don't know when, we're gonna get to that place where we really want to go and we'll walk in the sun," and I knew these were moments that I was going to remember and cherish for the rest of my life. "But until then, tramps like us, baby we were born to run." Amen.

The show could have stopped there and I would have been more than satisfied, but it didn't. Bruce asked us all to "put on our dancing shoes" as the synth-intro of "Dancing in the Dark" washed over us. He pulled a pair of young girls out of the audience to dance onstage, mirroring the song's music video, which gave Courteney Cox her big break 25 years ago. Those who had waited for singles all night (if those audience members existed) had to be satisfied by the one-two punch of "Born to Run" and "Dancing," the two biggest singles from their respective albums, and two songs that transformed the Palace floor into a dance-hall-party. But even as the song dissolved (following one last perfect sax solo from Jake Clemons), Bruce screamed "we're not done yet!" and I knew full well what was coming next: "Tenth Avenue Freeze-Out," the song that has served as the closer all tour long, and for good reason. Halfway through, Springsteen made his way out to the central walkway (ending up some twenty feet from where I stood), and shouting "THIS IS THE IMPORTANT PART!" before delivering the most iconic lines of the song: "well they made that change up town, and the Big Man joined the band." The song is, essentially, the story of how the E Street Band formed and of how Bruce and Clarence came together, and on record, that line is followed by a blast from Clemons' sax. Not tonight though. Tonight, the band dropped out, allowing Springsteen to sing that line a cappella, and when he was done, they didn't come back in. Springsteen raised his microphone into the air and photographs of Clarence rolled on the venues' media screens as the audience screamed and clapped for the better part of two minutes. Eventually, Springsteen gave the brass section a cue, and they launched back into the song (with Clarence's sax motive), but it was the two minutes of pure tribute that every audience took with them, and it was a tremendous way to close the set (while carrying it past the three hour mark). "Thank you, Detroit!" Bruce yelled, as the song crashed away and subsided. "Thanks for a great night! We love you!"



The moment Bruce Springsteen and the E Street Band left the stage on Thursday night, my head was filled with satisfaction and euphoria, vows to revisit songs that came alive tonight, questions of when I would get to see them again, and a distinctly singular statement: that this was the greatest musical performance I had ever witnessed. I think that last bit is something that every great live performer inspires, and I have certainly felt shades of it on numerous occasions: several Butch Walker shows, the U2 show I saw last summer, and the last time I saw Bruce, to name a few. Comparing concerts is always a ridiculously difficult task because once it's over, it's gone forever. You can download a bootleg, and there may even be a DVD release of it, but there is no substitute for actually being there, nothing that can ever reconstruct that experience. But when Springsteen left the stage at the Palace last Thursday, when those three brilliant hours were just a mere memory, I couldn't recall a concert that had so completely engulfed me, moved me, or reminded me of just how huge an impact my favorite artists can have on my life. Over the past six months, I've gone through some tough situations with my University in regards to my music major, and that's caused me to lose a little bit of faith in the art form that has defined my life for the better part of a decade. But this show was an affirmation, a reminder of why music is so important to me, and Springsteen helped heal those scars on Thursday night. Maybe there were people in the audience like me that night, people who were searching for healing or faith or something equally intangible, and maybe these songs and the atmosphere and energy in the audience helped heal them too. Certainly, each and every one of us was gifted with a catharsis regarding Clarence Clemons, an opportunity to participate in these incredible tributes to him, and a chance to say goodbye in a way that felt completely right. All of those things seemed like miracles to me as I drove back home that night.

The next morning, I got a text from my brother: "What the fuck happened to me?!?" Bruce's prophecy had come true. I myself was exhausted, running on 5 hours of sleep, sore all over, and with a voice that sounded like a hoarse rhinoceros (three days from having to sing in a choral concert, no less), but what I'd gotten in return was greater than anyone who wasn't in that audience could possibly imagine. As I re-adjusted to my everyday life, memories of that concert infected every moment of conscious thought: they were there as I performed that Sunday concert (my voice did come back, amazingly), with a re-energized adoration for music in my heart; they were there as I wrote thirty pages worth of term papers, looking past them to an expansive summer full of possibilities; and they are still here with me right now, as I type these words, listening to the bootleg from the show and trying to sink back into these songs, right back to where I was standing on the floor of the Palace of Auburn Hills that night. In this modern world, this very week in fact, we are worried about a lot of things: about tax day and gas prices and just how the hell we're going to make it through exam week without burning out, but really, beyond things like love, family, and friends, the things that make our day to day life worth living, is there anything more important than a rock 'n' roll concert? Because after seeing Bruce Springsteen play a three hour show, it sure doesn't seem like it.

To borrow a quote from a poster that appeared during the E Street Band Working on a Dream Tour Finale in Buffalo, NY: "It's only rock and roll, but it feels like love."

Setlist

We Take Care Of Our Own
Wrecking Ball
Badlands
Death to My Hometown
My City of Ruins
The E Street Shuffle
Candy's Room
Jack of All Trades
Trapped (Jimmy Cliff cover)
Youngstown (Tour Premiere)
She's the One
Waitin' on a Sunny Day
The Promised Land
Apollo Medley
Incident on 57th Street (Tour Premiere)
American Skin (41 Shots)
Because the Night
The Rising
We Are Alive
Land of Hope and Dreams

Encore:

Thunder Road
Rocky Ground
Out In the Street
Born to Run
Dancing in the Dark
Tenth Avenue Freeze-Out

Tyler Hilton - Forget the Storm

Tyler Hilton - Forget the Storm

Hooptie Tune Records, 2012

Four stars

Of all the artists I follow, Tyler Hilton probably comes with the weirdest claims to fame. In addition to a minor taste success with his single "When it Comes" back in 2004 or so, the California native singer/songwriter has made a name for himself in popular culture based on his recurring guest role in the teen soap-opera One Tree Hill (which apparently just wrapped up a marathon nine-season run last week), for a brief cameo as Elvis in last decade's Johnny Cash biopic, Walk the Line, and for his appearance in the music video for Taylor Swift's "Teardrops on My Guitar." While those might not sound like the most promising credentials on paper, Hilton is a strong songwriter with a knack for infectious hooks and heartfelt lyrics, and his latest, entitled "Forget the Storm" (a title referring to his ongoing struggles with the major label system), is one of the best albums I've heard all year.

Hilton broke onto the scene in 2004, with the release of his sophomore album The Tracks Of..., a solid collection of mostly-acoustic pop songs that fit somewhere between Howie Day and John Mayer. It's an album I've always enjoyed, but not one I've ever loved, and as a result, not one I've revisited a lot over the years. Over the course of the last decade though, Hilton, thanks mostly to his role on One Tree Hill, tended to pop up and disappear every once in awhile, and I found myself increasingly interested in hearing another record from him. Quality singles saw the light of day every few years (including the gorgeous "You'll Ask For Me," a flawless piece of road-trip balladry that gets a nice, if somewhat unnecessary makeover here), but a full album follow up to The Tracks Of... never saw the light of day, and sometime around 2008, I was beginning to wonder if Hilton had hung up his guitar. Thankfully, he hadn't: 2009 and 2010 saw the release of a pair of EPs, and now, eight years down the line from the first time I heard him, Hilton finally drops his third full length.

Hilton doing his best Elvis impersonation for 2005's Walk the Line.

While Hilton's trademarks are still here (his slightly raspy vocals, a penchant for earnest lyrics, and a talent for writing sweepingly melodic hooks), Forget the Storm displays both a growth of personal maturity and songwriting prowess. Where "The Tracks Of..." was a hit-or-miss collection that fluctuated between pop gems and youthful clichés, Forget the Storm finds more sanctuary in classic singer/songwriter records and blues and soul singles, circa 1970. The result is a dynamic set of radio friendly songs that could be equally well suited for raucous live shows or pensive television soundtracks, and it's truly a joy to explore. It doesn't hurt that Hilton kicks off "Forget the Storm" with "Kicking my Heels," a ridiculously catchy, well sung track that ranks immediately as his best song to date. The chorus demands a sing-along, Hilton's soulful delivery, a commendation, and the rousing electric guitar solo that gives the song its climax, a sold-out club to resound through. It's one of a handful of songs on the record where Hilton, clearly a natural-born balladeer and pop artist, manages to sound edgy without trying too hard. The fate is similar for songs like the bluesy lead-off single "Loaded Gun," which gives Hilton a chance to show off his frontman charisma, and his band, another fine display, or the southern-rock tinged "Ain't No Fooling Me," both placed at perfect points amongst the album's more top-40 driven efforts.

But when Hilton does play to his pop sensibilities, the result is only a tad less compelling. Take "Prince of Nothing Charming," a harmless piece of radio fluff that will function well as a single, but works even better in context, or "Jenny," another rather innocuous chorus-driven number that is good enough to not come across as filler material. The unapologetic pop sheen of many of Hilton's songs may turn some listeners off, as will the potentially maudlin textures of songs like "Can't Stop Now" or "Leave Him," but Hilton's delivery very often makes up for any clichés he chooses to indulge in. "Leave Him," a gorgeous bit of Elton John-meets-Jon McLaughlin piano balladry, is actually a perfect example of this, since Hilton's vocal delivery turns what could have been a derivative love song into a highlight. Similarly, the pop-country tinged "I Belong" is an exquisitely well written pop song that will very likely make its way onto my summer soundtrack, despite using lines and ideas that could have sounded tired in lesser hands. We've all heard it before: young love, sweeping declarations, big chorus, etc. But "I Belong" is the kind of pop song that takes you right back to the moments of your life where you felt that way: moments where you felt lighter than air, completely alive, and (quite possibly) immortal, and that's something that will always keep me coming back.

We all look to music for different things: for inspiration, for refuge, for musicianship, for lyrics that will make us think, or for a million other reasons that I don't have room to list, and all of those are very admirable qualities to strive for. But sometimes, all you need is a great pop song, a big chorus, and a committed performer to, in the blink of an eye, make you feel great, and Hilton has those in spades with Forget the Storm. It will be too mainstream for some, but for a guy like me, with a romantic mentality and a weakness for a killer hook, this record is just about perfect. Calling back immediately to my favorite pop singer/songwriter albums of last year (Matt Nathanson's Modern Love and Mat Kearney's Young Love), Forget the Storm is a optimistic life-soundtrack waiting to happen, and with summer just around the corner, that's exactly what I need right now. Welcome back, Tyler. Here's hoping you stick around this time.

Lovedrug - Wild Blood

Lovedrug - Wild Blood

Street Talk Records, 2012

Four Stars

Right from the opening guitar notes of the anthemic title track, Lovedrug's Wild Blood is a record that caught my attention. The band, a Canton, Ohio outfit that just celebrated their tenth anniversary last year, has put out three other albums and about a dozen EPs, but beyond an atmospheric cover of Third Eye Blind's "God of Wine" that I stumbled upon last summer, Wild Blood is my introduction to them; what a killer introduction it is. The band's sound is defined by big, often almost grungy guitars, as well as by the distinctive voice of frontman Michael Shephard, equally adept at delivering softly haunting verse lines and huge, rousing choruses. Wild Blood generally tilts toward the latter, channeling classic rock and arena rock influences into a record full of the hopes, dreams, and endless opportunities of youth, resulting in one of the biggest sounding records I've heard so far this year. It's also one of the best, without a bum track in the bunch, and with a few gems that will almost certainly remain in fairly constant rotation for the remainder of the year.

Several of the songs on Wild Blood, (the title track, "Premonition," "Ladders," and "Your Country," especially) sound like they were meant to be played on the highway on a sweltering summer day: this is windows-rolled-down, sun-in-your-eyes, sing-along rock 'n' roll. "Sure shot, you were always my sure shot," Shephard belts out on "Pink Champagne", surrounded by a rain of guitars and a driving drum beat that transforms the chorus into one of the album's finest. Elsewhere, "Girl" provides the album with its slowest and most pensive moment, a gorgeous acoustic love song whose chorus ("I wanna set myself on fire tonight/I spent thirty years not knowing you/I can't afford to waste more time running around the world/When all I know is you're my girl") lodged itself in my brain after a single listen. "Great Divide" is another quieter moment, accented by an entrancing electric guitar line and Shepherd's engaging vocals.

Nearly half of the tracks on Wild Blood have been reworked from songs that have already appeared on the band's EPs, and while this makes the album a perfect starting point for those new to the band (such as myself), it could be a source of frustration for die hard fans who come into this release looking for brand new material. That said, most of the songs that have been re-recorded ("Pink Champagne," "Ladders," "Premonition") are very welcome additions to the album, and fit perfectly amongst the more recent material. The only exception, for me, was "Dinosaur," which is hardly a bad song, but one that feels out of place, is fairly easily the weakest the record has to offer, and one that, sitting in the track 2 position, disrupts the mood and flow so perfectly established by the title track. On the other hand, "We Were Owls," the fifth (and arguably, the best) of the old songs makes up for any missteps, easily becoming one of the album's biggest triumphs. The band sounds like they are channeling the likes of Manchester Orchestra here, with Shephard sounding eerily like Andy Hull, that band's frontman, on yet another excellent chorus.

Any complaints about this record will be silenced by the end though, as Lovedrug saves their best for last in the form of the sweepingly climactic "Anodyne." Even to the ears of someone who had no experience with the band's music, the song is perfect. For as long as I can remember, I've always partially judged albums on the strength of their closers, and it's not a rare occurence for the final moment to be my favorite on any given record. "Anodyne" flawlessly fits into the tradition, becoming an immediate contender for the song of the year title, as well as one that will almost certainly serve as the soundtrack for countless moments in my life over the next few months. Distorted guitars compliment Shephard's emotional vocals, building to a bridge that is nothing short of sublime. "Black is the rain when it's washing away/All of our sinners and saint's delight," Shephard sings, roaring through the lines as the album's remaining seconds dwindle and dissolve around him. "Bathe if you want, there is always some more/If you need, if you want..." It's a chilling moment right from the first listen, and it does exactly what it's supposed to do: it makes the listener want to flip the record over or hit replay so that they can just experience the entire thing over again. That's a surefire sign of a great album, and Wild Blood is one of the best that 2012 has had to offer thus far: clearly it's about time I took a trip through the Lovedrug back catalog.