Even if the songs could be differentiated between, the lyrics would still be a jumble of words and sounds delivered by Wade's distinctive but incoherent voice.
"Stanley Climbfall" is characteristically mellow with a mysterious meaning behind the lyrics. It could be about God or it could be about a girl -- it's a tossup. The lyrics offer no assistance in finding a deeper meaning behind the song, as "Four losers always make the winner's day/Stand, climb and fall/Carry the weight/Can't carry it all" is of no help.
The album is a depressing disappointment. The band's talent for songwriting is hidden underneath the overwhelming music and unintelligible vocals. The similarities between No Name Face and Stanley Climbfall are so blatant that it's almost laughable.
Plodding on for 14 tracks with nothing to say is contradictory to the emotional weight that permeated No Name Face. Gone are the emotional lyrics with skillful guitar and drums.
The record reflects a pensive band using outdated music to cover up inferior lyrics. Like the song title "Just Another Name," Stanley Climbfall seems like just another album.
In fact, many of the track titles could be made into clever puns of how much this effort falls short of Lifehouse's talent and potential. "How Long" is this repetitiveness going to continue in this "Empty Space" where a decent album could have been?
"Am I Ever Gonna Find Out" why Lifehouse put a new cover on its old album?
By Kristen Williams
Rhett Miller
The Instigator
3 Stars
One can't help but be curious how the members of the Old 97's reacted to The Instigator.
The album is the solo project of Old 97's frontman Rhett Miller, and such works have a tendency to evoke ugly emotions, especially if they're good.
Yet it's doubtful that Miller's project is the source of much discomfort for his bandmates.
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The Instigator is not the star-making outfit it could have been. Aside from the pretentious pin-up cover, the album does not attempt to elevate Miller's music or charisma to the level of MTV or commercial radio.
And the members of the Old 97's need not worry about their lead vocalist and songwriter leaving the band for artistic differences. The Instigator does not indicate any stylistic shift for Miller.
Without the country influences of the band, the tunes are more on the pop side, but Miller's songwriting is still as straightforward and folksy as ever.
But the Old 97's, and the group's fans, will likely view The Instigator with both a feeling of bewilderment and a tinge of regret.
This is an Old 97's record -- minus the Old 97's.
On this album, Miller delivers a batch of songs that word for word are as strong as any record he's penned with his group. "Our Love" and "I Want to Live" are instant pop zingers.
And Miller knows how to tailor his most heartfelt lyrics to his thin but yearning voice, giving "Come Around" and "Terrible Vision" genuine emotion.
But what is both baffling and disappointing in the record is that all of its tracks would be improved with the Old 97's backing up Miller.
The arrangements are solid and don't get in the way of the material, but the walking bass lines, harmonized vocals and fiery guitar work of the Old 97's would have served these songs well.
Hiring Jon Brion as producer was a bold choice by Miller. Brion is critically hailed for his work with uncompromising artists such as Aimee Mann, Fiona Apple and Rufus Wainwright.
But while the sprawling and intricate musicianship of those artists is perfect for Brion's eclectic musical talent, Miller's simplistic pieces don't leave much room for Brion to get creative.
Instead, the songs get stock backup treatment on guitar, bass and drums that can't live up to the high standard set by Miller's old bandmates.
One would expect a singer/songwriter of Miller's quality to try harder to use this record as an opportunity to break new ground as an artist, especially with Brion at the helm.
Despite a lack of effort to establish himself as a solo artist, Miller's album does indicate that his abilities as a singer/songwriter are considerable.
But for all of Miller's star qualities, The Instigator is proof that his band's shadow only makes him glow brighter.
By Brook Corwin
Isis
Oceanic
2 Stars
Upon first listening to Isis' album Oceanic, listeners might be charmed by the heavy, reflective guitar progressions that ebb and flow from the speakers -- but only briefly.
They might soon be asking themselves if the neighbor's dogs are fighting again.
Perhaps best described as guttural, cacophonous screaming, the-voice-as-instrument approach of Isis sinks the music like a lead weight. Decipherable lyrics are nowhere to be found in the aquatic themed album.
Instrumentally, Oceanic is solid and well-structured. Heavily distorted power chords meld into precisely executed solos. Doubtless these musicians are talented, but unfortunately, their ability remains misguided.
"Carry," one of the more palatable songs on Oceanic, has the power to make the listener begin to rethink the album.
But four minutes into the track, the abrasive and unbearable vocals appear, dashing all hopes of improvement.
"Maritime" and "Weight," are highlights of the album but tend to lure the listener into a false sense of security. Fortunately, these songs made it onto the album without any vocal assistance.
But the safety does not last for long -- the next track tears listeners from their pleasant thoughts and throws them right back into reality -- face-first.
The musical style of Isis is slightly reminiscent of Nine Inch Nails' double-disk set "The Fragile." Both are predominantly instrumental and heavy, fitting into the same aggressive genre.
The tempo throughout the album is fairly slow, as Isis moves lazily from one track to another. As a whole, Oceanic seems carefully planned and unrushed.
It would have tremendous potential had the band only cut one element from production -- vocals.
The band shoots itself in the foot by not remaining solely instrumental -- ruining what could have been a successful project. Isis might want to rethink the direction of its sound and and style.
Isis' label, Hydra Head Records, has the following words across its Web page: "Don't like it? Don't buy it!"
With that in mind, listeners might want to save some money and leave this album to the dogs.
By Natalie Harry
Dalek
From Filthy Tongue of Gods and Griots
4 Stars
There's something unexpectedly musical about Dalek.
As a New Jersey rap duo, Dalek might vocally match its genre, but the group's hip-hop alliances stop there. Instead of repetitive background music, electronica overtakes the album, making it both a pleasure and an immense pain to the ears.
Dalek is not afraid of instruments. Thick, flowing ambiance backs "Speak Volumes" until, in the midst of the song, the musical presence dwindles to smooth and subdued orchestrals. Somehow, the soothing quietude of the music only serves to up the ante of Dalek's rap, drawing attention to the hard, blunt lyrics.
Much of the album rolls along with eclectic combinations of beautiful and hideous sound. At times, it becomes difficult to discern whether the music is a heavenly host or simply sharp nails on a chalkboard. Dalek's words complement the music, blending with its otherworldly feel while retaining the intelligent and aggressive style the band first demonstrated on 1998's Negro, Necro, Nekros.
All of this might make for a revolutionary sound from this underground band -- if Tricky's hadn't done it before.
But the sound nonetheless captivates, and Dalek's lyrics are fresh enough to compensate for any lack of musical originality. The group's words couldn't be in more contrast with trip-hop -- Dalek and partner Oktopus speak in the tongues of artists like Dead Prez and The Roots.
Only "Heads" and "Black Smoke Rises," plunked right in the album's middle, make From Filthy Tongue of Gods and Griots a blatantly sadomasochistic listening experience. The former track, utterly out of place, sounds like something from Broadway's "Stomp" and completely disrupts the listener's equilibrium.
Then comes "Black Smoke Rises," which mashes beeps, blips and screeches behind a spoken chant and what must be a sample of Darth Vader's masked breathing. And the 12-minute track never improves.
But the album's other nine raps are clever, surprising and redeeming, making Dalek's second album an engrossing experience. By expanding its intensely musical sound and escaping the confines of the genre, Dalek has created an album that sucks you in and spits you out, even if it's not sing-along fun.
By Michelle Jarboe
