Joe Satriani: Surfing with Alien
I dislike drawn-out electric guitar solos as much as anyone, so I expected that Surfing with the Alien—basically a 36-minute solo—would be an exercise in mind-numbing tedium. But that Joe Satriani comes flying at you. He charges at a blistering pace. A scorching pace. And not a note out of place. He somehow manages to play rapidly through “Always with Me, Always with You” and make it sound like a slow, lyrical ballad. Throughout, the other instruments remain deep in the shadows. Surfing with Alien is all about what an electric guitar can do in the right hands.
Rating: * * * * *
Dead Weather: Horehound
The Kills and the White Stripes seemed to have a lot in common, so a combination of Jack White and Alison Mosshart made sense in a Flintstones/Jetsons cartoon crossover type of way. No surprise then that Dead Weather sounds like a Kills/White Stripes combo album. You get the garage drum kit and monster blues guitar that come with those bands. As a bonus, you get Dean Fertita of the Queens of the Stone Age and Jack Lawrence of Mr. White’s other other band, The Raconteurs. The end result is experimental hard rock with the feel of a wild jam session.
Rating: * * * * *
Temple of the Dog: Temple of the Dog
Chris Cornell formed Temple of the Dog as a tribute to Andrew Wood. He slowed down the late-80s hair-metal sound that Soundgarden was flirting with and brought in several members of what would become Pearl Jam. Temple of the Dog acts as kind of a meeting ground between the old and the emerging styles of hard rock. The shift is apparent in the contrast between Eddie Vedder and Mr. Cornell as they share vocal duties. Mr. Vedder’s growl points toward the coming grunge tidal wave while Mr. Cornell’s yowl reflects what rock and roll had been for the past decade.
Rating: * * * *
Audioslave: Audioslave
From the opening helicopter sounds made by Tom Morello’s guitar, you know you’re getting a tall, smooth drink of awesome. Considering the hit-and-miss nature of the “supergroup,” even a combination of Rage Against the Machine and Soundgarden had room to go awry. In fact, Audioslave’s second and third albums demonstrate this. But the debut rocks. Everything works. The band members combine to produce an entity that can stand on its own. While the best of the best are “Gasoline,” “Set It Off,” and “Light My Way,” I could substitute any of the remaining 9 songs and be just as happy.
Rating: * * * * *
Chickenfoot: Chickenfoot
Sammy Hagar sounds right at home fronting this supergroup of hard rocking party animals. Joe Satriani provides the exuberantly macho guitars. Chad Smith abandons his Chili Pepper innovations on drums, and Michael Anthony is just glad to have a job after being sacked by Van Halen in favor of Eddie’s son Wolfgang. But the pieces fit together nicely. These guys are just having fun, smashing out loud, generic rock songs about girls and partying. While the album will garner few accolades, Chickenfoot is sure to be prized by guys in sleeveless shirts as they drive their Camaros to Burger King.
Rating: * *
Sammy Hagar: Cosmic Universal Fashion
Do you like to party? How about drink? Certainly you like to rock. Well coincidently, so does Sammy Hagar. You two will get along swimmingly. He’ll take you to a NASCAR event (where you can “roll, roll, roll”). He’ll listen to you complain about your dad. He might even teach you to do the splits while leaping (or was that David Lee Roth?). And then 61-year-old Hagar will lecture you on the value of dreams. Worst moments: his dismal “Fight for Your Right to Party” cover and “Peephole,” a bizarre grunge song about child abuse, from what I could tell.
Rating: *
Daughtry: Leave This Town
Daughtry comes out rocking as if to say, “You ain’t never seen nothin’ like this on Idol.” They’re right to some degree. The album has an edge that doesn’t appear on the insipid show. The eponymous Mr. Daughtry wrote some good rock tunes (though his lyrics consist of four or five couplets repeated at varying levels of intensity). The band plays like studio musicians glad for a paycheck. After the guitar anthems, a few loud/soft/loud pieces, and a masculine ballad or two, I couldn’t help but wonder how much of the music was written according to the label’s marketing formula.
Rating: * *
