Music: Meet Gavin Rosedale’s post-Bush band, emphasis on the word band. Rosedale reportedly didn’t want to make a standard, celebrity-on-a-fling solo album, so he opted for a collaborative, communal vibe that for the most part has produced a good debut. Standout tracks—all bolstered by the Brit’s angst growl—include “Come On Over” and “Ambulances.” The guitars are crunchy, the attitude is Euro-cool, and the production is crystal.
Drumming: Relative newcomer Charlie Walker will not win shredder awards, but he is exactly what Rosedale (umm, the band) needs him to be—solid and supportive. For most of the disc, he keeps a hefty 2 and 4 on the snare, throws down the occasional off-beat bass drum pattern, and rides his crash to cymbal oblivion. But check out the opening of “Boom Box” for an impressive groove that gets a little Gadd.
Verdict: Though not exactly revolutionary, Rosedale’s new project reminds you why he’s much more than Mr. Stefani.
Music: Europeans have understandably been fawning over this Finnish fivesome for about a decade. Vampirism, heartagrams, lanky boys in lipstick and mascara—what’s not to love? Gender-bending trappings aside, the band is a creative bunch who can incorporate a John Carpenter–esque Halloween theme into the toe-tapping “Vampire Heart” as well as come up with can’t-miss song titles like “Rip Out the Wings of a Butterfly.” Listener beware: At some point, you’ll catch yourself drumming along and wondering what you ever saw in AC/DC anyway.
Drumming: HIM’s one-named drummer, Gas, graduated at the head of Backbeat 101 but never bothered to enroll in any another classes. Such lickless playing is like postmodern art or a foot fetish: You either get it…or you don’t.
Verdict: All the cute goth-gone-vampire girls are going to be humming HIM tunes this year. Join in for a measure or two, and maybe one of them will bite your neck.
Music: Hailing from Ohio (but don’t let that fool you), Lovedrug has all the indie sound and cred of those Gardenstate groups that dominated 2005 but with amps that go to 11 and tempos that every now and then make it past 60 bpms. Songs range from the right-out rocking “Rocknroll” to the lighter-waving sing-along “Paper Scars” to the introspective “Spiders.” The pleasantly high-pitched vocals of Michael Shepard will keep you coming back for more.
Drumming: Matthew Putman’s drums are prominent in the disc’s mix, which makes us happy, because his playing is worth hearing. Primarily a pocket man, Putman creates nuanced, textured beats that perfectly support the band’s sound. Give a listen to his tasty hi-hat patterns on “In Red” and “Blackout.” And be sure to get your fix with the hammering, syncopated “Pandorama.”
Verdict: Don’t just pretend. Inject a little Lovedrug, and feel that you really are alive.
The Sun’s Sam Brown isn’t ungrateful, of course, but recognition as a stickman just doesn’t mean as much to him anymore: “There was a time—maybe ten years ago—when I would have been pissing down my leg about being in a drum magazine. I was just so into being a drummer: It was like my whole being. I still really enjoy playing, but now I’m definitely way more into songwriting than I’m into drumming.”
Put down the pitchforks. Although Brown doesn’t immediately come off as our typical drum fanatic, his credentials are impeccable. At 33, he’s closing in on two decades behind the kit, having mastered his first beat on a desk during English class in the eighth grade. After the usual run-through of garage and cover bands, he began catching ears in earnest with Fever Smile, a country-tinged grunge group that played the Columbus music scene from ’92 to ’94. Soon after, he went power punk with Gaunt from ’95 to ’98 and became a cult favorite with the New Bomb Turks in ’99. Along the way, his playing has continually evolved by incorporating elements of John Bonham’s power, Keith Moon’s energy, Dennis Chambers’ licks and tricks, Jimmy Chamberlin’s dexterity, and Robert Ellis’ dynamics and creativity. The guy knows drums.
But he also knows music. By the time he landed The Sun gig in 2001 (he was in the band, by the way, for only a week or so before the labels were impressed enough to start throwing around contracts), Brown had long been a song-oriented, groove-based player. “I was never one of those lonely drummers in the basement that just played fills over and over again,” he explains. “I’ve always played with people, I’ve always played songs, and I’ve always had to keep good time that people could play to.” His drumming with The Sun has lately become even more economical and supportive: “It’s more basic than it used to be: I pick my battles … When I first learned a lot of the stuff that I had been trying to play, I overplayed, hoping there was some drummer in the audience that I could wow. The older I got, the more I realized that Charlie Watts is a genius.”
If fitting in with the music—and making it feel good—is genius, then Brown will be getting a Mensa membership for his work with The Sun. Fronted by the unique and powerful vocals of chic-geek Chris Burney and driven by Brown’s perfectly tailored beats, the band began getting serious buzz with the teaser EPs Love And Death in 2003 and Did Your Mother Tell You? in 2004. A full-length debut, Blame It On The Youth, finally appeared last year to much fan approval. The disc includes a few songs from the previous releases, and though undeniably polished and primped, it maintains all the urgent energy and attitude of a garage band recording. And best of luck to the retail clerks who have to figure out where to file the disc (alternative is just too easy a catch-all for the band’s eclectic sound). Brown describes the album as “all over the place, there’s a lot of different kinds of songs on it, so we’re not a rock band that just plays rock for an hour.” Expect instead a richer, a more textured and diverse bunch of tunes—whether the faintly punk “Pavement Jive” or the techno-sexy “Romantic Death.” Get a little closer, and you’ll warm up quickly to Brown’s drumming, particularly the playful floor tom/snare pattern on “Must Be You.” Just be careful before getting too close: The Sun is hot.
Brown helped crank up the heat with his writing. He began tracking songs a year and a half ago in a makeshift studio, not for any particular reason at first, just to enjoy playing guitar and singing. “They weren’t even really meant to be Sun songs,” Brown says of those early demos. “I just kind of wrote them because I was having fun and I finally figured out how to do it.” Five of the tunes on Blame started life in Brown’s studio, including “Justice” and “Valentine,” the latter of which features one of the album’s busier drum parts—a two-handed sixteenth pattern between the hi-hat and snare drum—and an infectious 80s feel that hearkens back to Brown’s early predilection for John Hughes soundtracks.
The Sun’s genre-defying music may leave some wondering what the band is all about, but there’s absolutely no question that the boys are an adventurous, forward-looking bunch. Embracing current technology and the listening habits of music fans, the band released Blame It On The Youth in a DVD-only format. The disc doesn’t play in conventional home or car CD players, but each song is included as a high-quality audio file that can easily be burned to a blank CD or transferred to an MP3 player. Equally revolutionary (and we hope other groups are taking notes), the disc includes videos for every song. Mostly shot on the cheap by artist friends and willing professionals, the clips uniformly match the creativity and cleverness of the band’s music. One especially daring effort—the video for “Romantic Death,” which plays on the French petit mort (look it up)—earned Blame a coveted Parental Advisory sticker.
Distraught mothers aside, The Sun has managed to warm over the masses, even a usually frigid recording industry. The band’s big-time label, Warner Brothers, displaying none of the usual skittishness expected from a major player, fully supported the band as well as the unconventional album format. “They’ve really held up on their end of the development philosophy,” Brown says. “We’ve been with them for three years, and Blame It On The Youth is just now coming out. There’s a lot of good faith there. We couldn’t ask for a better situation as far as a major label deal goes.”
With all the attention the band has been getting (from the music press, of course, but the stodgy ears of USA Today and The Washington Post have also perked up) and with his sights firmly set on penning more tunes for the next record, Brown isn’t about to be forgotten behind his kit: “My role used to just be drummer. Chris was our main songwriter, pretty much our only songwriter. The whole dynamic of the band has changed in the last year because I wrote five of the songs on the record, so now I’m doing all the interviews.”
Every month(ish), we recommend the most seriously awesome albums and tracks we had on repeat. We also read a book this time. And even tried to play jazz with brushes!
Music: Franz Ferdinand might have come together for the primary purpose of making girls dance, but the boys from Glascow got more than booties shaking when they released their self-titled debut album last year. Cookie-cutter bands everywhere quaked as the Scots effortlessly (even uninterestedly) conquered women and airwaves all across Europe and the States. A new era of music hip had begun, and fans loved Ferdinand for it. The boys’ tight pants, though, probably helped a bit.
Ferdinand returns with a disc that doesn’t fall to the sophomore curse. All the qualities that made the first album so refreshingly art-school-punk-cool—unique, prominent guitar parts, clever lyrics, and unusual melodies—are here, but the band stretches out a bit, assimilating more genres into their own style. Disco gets a new lease on life in “I’m Your Life,” and the standard, plaintive rock ballad becomes something you’ll actually want to hear in “Walk Away.” The Franz faithful should first check out “The Fallen”—which features one of the signature guitar licks that made “Take You Out” from the first album so infectious—and limber up the booty muscles for “Do You Want To.” Be prepared though: All the tunes feel a little more pop-radio friendly this time around. Or maybe pop-radio has now become a little more Franz friendly.
Great tunes aside, attitude is the most intriguing thing about Franz Ferdinand. The guys nearly named the new album the same as their first, changing only the color of the cover (can you imagine the ensuing confusion from purchasers and sellers alike—disorder, destruction, a new world order?), but they opted at the last minute for You Could Have It So Much Better. Is the title an ironic nod to their success? A sarcastic comment on the state of radio? Hmmm. The band steps back with a jaunty, haughty indifference that is, of course, very British but also just plain, well, smart. Buy their CD or not: They’ll still have a go playing pubs and wooing women and making better music than you could sell your soul for.
Drumming: Paul Thomson, billed as the “best drummer in Glasgow,” isn’t your Gavin- Harrison-shredder-type, but he lays down good, solid, song-oriented drumming. You’re not going to find any licks to woodshed for weeks on end, but you’ll spend plenty of time trying to play so good in time.
The Straight Poop: Maybe we could indeed have it so much better than Ferdinand’s new effort. But you’re not likely to hear a hipper album this coming year. Sit back, watch the girls dance, and accept your assimilation. If you need me, I’ll be in the bathroom, squeezing a rolled up a sock into my tight pants.
Music: This 4-piece group was officially together for all of two weeks before getting signed. Listen to a song—any song—and you’ll hear why: big hooks, thick guitar-scapes, rich piano noodlings, introspective lyrics. Yes, these are in a sense pop tunes (pop in that they are going to be extremely popular) but by no means bubblegum: You won’t be ashamed if someone sees them on your iPod. Just about every track could be released as a single, but if you’re new to the band and are in a particularly melancholy mood, give “Boston” a listen.
Drumming: Justin South does own a ride cymbal, but it’s left abandoned and unloved on most of the record. He prefers instead the undefined wash of a big, ringy crash, and that’s cool with us: What’s in a ping anyway? The drumming here is all meat and potatoes—but it’s filet mignon and butter-soaked baked potatoes. Dig in.
The Straight Poop: On the opening track, “Mayfield,” lead singer Dan Layus plaintively wonders, “Are we gonna’ make it?” Smile, boys. There’s a whole country full of college girls who know you already have.
Music: It’s been some time since we’ve had a bona fide drum god in our reviews. Light a candle, then, because Dennis Chambers is back and shredding with Niacin. The trio includes Billy Sheenan—who puts the word guitar in bass guitarist—and is completed by John Novello and his ridiculously hip Hammond B-3. The tunes are fast, loud, and so skillful that you’ll wonder how you’ve made it this far through life without them. The first cut is the aptly titled “Barbarian @ The Gate,” which knocks down your defenses (if you even had or wanted any) with a rapid flurry of tutti sixteenth-notes. Put on “No Shame” for a progressive funk fest that will clean out your system.
Drumming: The disc clocks in at 60 minutes: That gives Chambers enough time to bust out a couple hundred thousand notes. With his foot.
The Straight Poop: If great drum music is sex, then Organik is sex and a sandwich.
I had to chip away the dust from this gem of a book. It had long lain—forgotten or spurned—on our review shelves because we are an admittedly heavy-handed, tree-trunk-wielding bunch.
So we truly do understand what you’re thinking: “….Brushes?”
Now, don’t click away just yet, because we’re not going to give you the hard sell. It’s certainly possible to get away with being more of a brush bluffer than a brush player these days, but for those gigs when blast beats—or even some limp-wristed, tepid tapping with bundled rods—absolutely will not do, here’s how to shred on the softer side of drumming.
Clayton Cameron (a.k.a. Brush Master, King of the Brushes, Sir Brush-a-lot, and so on) guides you through all the delicate flutters and sensitive swirls. The book’s chapters move incrementally from the basics of holding brushes (there are eight different grips) to playing advanced and specialty strokes. Each brush movement is well diagrammed, and there are numerous examples that will test your skills. Once you’ve mastered the fundamentals, Chapter 7 offers up six solos—including the very challenging and syncopated “Just Duets”—for you to dazzle disbelievers with. And so that you know you are in good company, the final chapter breaks down the stylistic intricacies of brush (and drum) masters such as Papa Jo Jones, Max Roach, Art Blakey, and Elvin Jones.
For your listening and learning pleasure, the included CD features Cameron demonstrating 99 examples from the book, a few of which are extended songs and solos that will have you burning through brushes like you do with your trusty 2Bs. Comprehensive and learner-friendly, Brushworks is an altogether excellent way to discover drumming’s lost art.
And here’s the really cool part. Further confound the guitarists in your life by talking about a whole new set of brush-specific rudiments: the sweepalet, the sliddletap, the sliddlesweeptap, the parafriddle, the fleuruff, the flexamaque, and—my hands-down favorite—the enticingly scandalous parasliddlediddle.
Music: It’s been four long years, but Jay Kay and his band of acid-jazz Brits are finally back. Guaranteed to blow out sound systems and dancing shoes everywhere, Dynamite delivers everything from the disco-flavored title track to the Sade-sounding “Talluah” to the inevitably funkified “Hot Tequila Brown.”
Drumming: Drummer Derrick McKenzie and percussionist Sola Akingbola have been playing together for a decade, and you can hear it in their tight, complementary performance. On a disc loaded down every which way with deep grooves, “Starchild” is a surprise standout, showing it’s possible to funk with a four-on-the-floor bass drum and a simple 2 and 4 on the snare. And if you ever feel like blowing off steam, grab a cowbell and bang along with the rockingly fun “Black Devil Car.”
The Straight Poop: Dust off your buffalo hat, and obey what Master Kay has to say: “Baby, you’ve got to rock the floor tonight.”
Music: These Australian surf punks can hit a few more notes than the Sex Pistols did, and they’re almost as much fun. Fronted by the dyspeptic vocals of Vaughan Dead and Bang Bang Bunny Fang, the band sweats out tunes that are generally under three minutes long, usually peppered with profanity, and always chock full of attitude. Primp the mohawks and polish the cheek rings for “She Wore Rat Skin Boots” and “Blood on The Streets.”
Drumming: A ruffian called Cut-Throat Cowboy handles drum duties, and he might have picked up the sticks yesterday. Or maybe the day before. But that’s okay. Cowboy doesn’t have to ride fancy—or even steady—to guide this irreverent group. Forget for a moment groove, chops, and meter. Sit back and get a dose of loose, loud, and crazy.
The Straight Poop: The Goons remind you how to use the business end of your middle finger. Point it proudly.
If you think that jungle beats have something to do with the Amazon, pick up Tony Verderosa’s comprehensive gem to techno drumming. A reference work rather than a straight instruction manual, the book comprises three reviewable sections—styles, interviews, and gear. Each of techno’s “rudimentary” rhythms—Trance, Think, Apache, Amen, and so on—is notated here, and you can hear each performed on an included one-hour CD.
Once you’re plugged into the basics, advance your skills by sneaking a peek behind the processors of e-luminaries such as Roy “Futureman” Wooten and JoJo Mayer. The gear analysis quickly gets you up and grooving, and a handy glossary is provided so that you can talk the talk.
Bonus goodies on the second CD include a free version of Acid XPress (for making and mixing your own loops) and performance pieces featuring Vederosa and his fleet-of-hand playing/sampling. Watch his sticks, wonder at the sounds—welcome to the 21st century.
Unless, that is, you’re talking about Mitch Marine. Current stick man for Dwight Yoakam (yes, country-superstar Yoakam), Marine once played a solo naked on stage with Smash Mouth. He toured with the alt-popsters from 1999 to 2000, when the song “All Star” was all over the airwaves and the band’s popularity was at its peak. During one capacity-crowd show, lead singer Steve Harwell began throwing Marine’s clothes into the audience.
“I play barefoot,” Marine recounts, “so he grabbed my cowboy boots from the stage and threw them. He took my hat off and threw that out to them, too.” The shirt eventually went as well. And not one to be outdone, Marine himself tore off and tossed his own pants. After raising a few devil horns to the roaring crowd, he ripped into a solo. That balls-out, rock-and-roll attitude is something special because, hey, even Chad Smith wore a sock.
Enormous performance cajones aside, Marine is not only an accomplished player but—dare we deny that old joke about drummers—a thoughtful, song-oriented musician. “There was a time,” Marine explains, “when I honed in on the drum part, but when I listen to music now, I really get into the song. When I’m doing my job, people are dancing, and the singer can let go and just sing. That’s more important to me than other drummers giving me a high-five.”
The funny thing is that he should have been used to getting high-fives. He’s spent three decades behind the kit, starting when he was 11 years old. At 21, Marine hooked up with Brave Combo, a 4-piece band that played world dance music—an eclectic blend of polka, salsa, mambo, waltz, country, rock, and all their variants. Though he played in a number of bands during high school and even logged in time as a music major at North Texas State (where he rubbed elbows with Matt Chamberlin and Gregg Bissonette), Marine counts the decade he drummed for Brave Combo as “formative years” that brought him more than formidable chops. His ears also got a work out when he began making records.
“Going into the studio is like putting your playing underneath a microscope. You have to let go of your ego.” On one tricky Latin tune, Marine tried to emulate the parts of four percussionists by playing a different pattern with each limb. While playing the song, he felt like it grooved, and other people seemed to dig it. “But then I heard it on the recording,” he says, “and it really killed me. ‘My God, it sounds like that?’ It wasn’t what I wanted to hear on a record. I had to sit down and rethink what I was doing. I ended up playing a much simpler part.” Simpler and with space for other instruments, space for the song simply to breathe—that sounds sort of like crazy musician talk.
Around the age of 34, having played a lot of different styles with a lot of different folks (including a stint as bruiser for string-slinger Andy Timmons), Marine fell into a creative rut. He put the drums aside and picked up a bass. “I wasn’t in a learning phase anymore with the drums. I felt like I was practicing the same stuff I had been practicing for a long time,” he explains. “I just really wanted to work really hard at an instrument.”
From 1994 to 1996, he got his chance by playing bass in a couple of country bands. It was an exercise in—and a return to—simplicity. “There wasn’t a chance of me playing a fancy fill. I didn’t know any. I was all meat and potatos.”
The sugar-free diet put his future role as drummer into perspective. “Playing bass probably did more for my drumming than just about anything. It really solidified my playing. I got to understand what it’s like to work with a drummer and what you want out of a drummer from the other side.” Musician Marine’s advice from the other side: “Don’t lose the groove, dude.”
With his sticks dusted off to join alt-rockers Tripping Daisy in 1997, and with the Smash Mouth gig behind him at the turn of the millennium, Marine moved to L.A. three and a half years ago. He dove into its burgeoning, energetic country/roots rock scene. At some of the many bar gigs he played, his future employer—cowboy hat, twang, and swagger included—began showing up, just watching and checking players out. Apparently looking to revamp his sound, Yoakam would eventually pair down his large, 7-piece band to a 4-piece that could get a little more “hillbilly.”
Marine first played with Yoakam at the House of Blues for a benefit concert. The impromptu band didn’t rehearse, but—yet again—Marine’s bass playing carried the day. “When I was first learning to play, I transcribed a lot of Dwight’s tunes. So I just knew them really well.” Marine was offered the throne on Yoakam’s ’03 tour. “It was a nice opportunity,” Marine says, “to play all the great songs but put a little of my own personality in it. Dwight has a really strong voice and a gigantic presence, so he doesn’t need a large band blaring behind him anyway. From what I could tell, his fans really liked it.”
The fans are also liking—and coming out again for—the new album, Blame the Vain. It’s a revitalized Yoakam, with much of the earthy, bad-boy strut that made country fans first take notice 20 years ago. Yoakam brought in the new material to soundchecks on the previous tour, and Marine worked up the songs. “We were really on the same wave length. My instinct was where his instinct was,” explains Marine. The industry-savvy drummer knew, however, that was no guarantee he would play on the new album. Producers, particularly producers for country music, like to replace road players with their favorite session stars. Yoakam, though, ended up pulling double duty and produced the new record himself. “He got to choose,” Marine says, “and he chose me.”
And how could he not have? “Dwight describes me as a musical drummer—more of a musician than a drummer,” Marine laughs. “And I feel great about that.”
Ah, acceptance. What was the punch line to that drummer joke again?
Music: Here is something novel. Tristan Prettyman actually plays guitar, writes her own tunes, and—sorry Britney—sings. And she’s really good to boot. Twentythree serves up nuanced acoustic folk-pop that is irresistibly sprinkled with whimsy, honesty, and melancholy. Think Ani DiFranco meets Jason Mraz meets that breathy-hot-girl-poet-in-high-school-who-was-way-too-smart-to-talk-to-you.
Drumming: No syncopated, 11/16, prog-jogging riffs here—just deep-in-the-pocket grooves delivered by Matt Johnson (on most of the CD) or Nir Z (on two tracks). Percussionist Leon Mobley nicely complements both drummers, and no matter which pair steps up to play, the combined rhythms snuggly fit each song. Check out “Love, Love, Love” and “Always Feel This Way” for tune-conscious drumming done the way it should be.
The Straight Poop: Soon enough, Prettyman is going to dominate the airwaves. When your troglodyte guitarist friends finally crawl from their musical caves to give her a listen, just sit back, scoff, and say you heard her way back when.
Music: Composed for the avant-garde French film Outre Mer, the tracks on this disc apparently mirror the main character’s journey through joy, sorrow, isolation, devotion, and romantic love. Well now, that’s a little too highbrow for us: all we hear is the best and nastiest New Orleans jazz/funk that has ever crawled from the bayou. If the Swamp Thing wanted to get his groove on, Outre Mer would be on the turntable.
Drumming: You wish you were this good. Drummer Stanton Moore and vibraphonist/percussionist Mike Dillon get downright filthy with deep tom grooves, playful vibes, and a fat cowbell. Every track—especially “Outre Mer,” “Bear No Hair,” and “Merfati”—demands a head-bobbing, arm-jerking, leg-flailing response. But it was “Antoine”—with its slithering half-time feel and ringing snare—that had us getting naked and grabbing hold of the inner swamp creature.
The Straight Poop: Stanton Moore’s drumming, ya’ll. Get a nightly taste. Serve it over gumbo.
Music: A fucking ukulele? Yep, native Hawaiian Jake Shimabukuro shreds on the tiny, two-octave “gee-tar” you thought was just a toy. Combining nimble fingers, cleverly integrated effects pedals, and a whole lot of creative chutzpah, Shimabukuro’s playing on this CD ranges from latin-tinged fusion jams (we like those) to softer, island-inspired songs (for the weepy set). But rest assured: this is not a collection of your great-grandfather’s Don Ho–inspired instrumentals.
Drumming: Noel Okimoto, who has played with jazzers Stan Getz and Wynton Marsalis, runs the gamut here. He tears it up on “Shake It Up,” the disc’s opener, and he stomps all over the pieces on “3rd Stream.” Bouncy cross sticking and rim-clicks guide “Me & Shirley T” and “Toastmanland.” And the softer “Touch” allows Okimoto to lay back with delicate, fluttering brush work.
The Straight Poop: Go buy two copies—one for listening to, one for drooling over. Hawaiian hipsters unite!
Music: On first listen, KJ Sawka is simply good drum ’n’ bass. With the addition of Christa Wells’ ethereal, soothing vocals (the perfect complement to the songs’ frenetic pace and jarring rhythms), the music soon becomes very good indeed. But only when the secret is out do you realize you have heard something outstanding: the band’s driving, computer-generated beats are in fact played by Kevin Sawka himself, a real drummer wailing on real drums in real time.
Drumming: If drum machines ever take over the world, this is the guy who will infiltrate their ranks and live among them. Wresting from his acoustic kit the tight, staccato sounds endemic to electronic music, Sawka is somehow capable of maintaining intricate, repetitive patterns at rapid tempos. By all rights, his hands should bust playing the frantic “Future Juju Soundsystem” and “Close Your Eyes.” Is Sawka man, machine, or cyborg? Who cares. Just plug him in.
The Straight Poop: Creative and inspired and wild and freaky and….
Music: The Americans are coming! Finally, we have a homegrown varietal as tasty as Travis, Coldplay, and Keane. New Jersey’s soon-to-be-darlings have done good on a freshman effort full of infectious, danceable melodies that are a little too clever, a little too dark to be labeled pop. Check out “Not Done With You Yet,” “Perfect Day,” and “Do The Choo Choo.” Just try to stay in your chair.
Drumming: Caleb Weathersby joins the ranks of contemporary players who effortlessly mingle their live drumming with programmed sounds and loops. Backed by a phalanx of electronics, he in turn provides a dynamic foundation for the rest of the band. Listen as he matches the aggressive guitars on “Take What’s Mine” by riding on crashes and laying into his kit. Despite the disc’s inevitable tender moments, there is plenty of unbridled drum abuse for you bruisers.
The Straight Poop: Come on, and feel it. Don’t be nervous: that’s your dancing feet coming to life.
