Ozzy Osbourne
Black Rain
**1/2
Remember when Ozzy Osbourne was cool? Not an ironically cool source of amusement, but actually, rock-out-and-sing-along, scare-your-parents cool? The last time this was true was probably around 1991, when Osbourne’s album No More Tears was all over MTV’s Headbangers Ball with videos for songs like “Mama, I’m Coming Home” and the title track. So it’s probably no coincidence that Osbourne is touting his new album, Black Rain, as the true follow-up to Tears, hoping fans will forget his mediocre intervening albums and remember him as a heavy metal titan rather than a doddering, sitcom-style dad.
Well, mission sort of accomplished. There’s no trace of self-mockery on Black Rain, and it’s an improvement over 2001’s dismal Down to Earth, but beyond the opening two songs, there’s nothing here that approaches Tears-era grandeur, either. Guitarist Zakk Wylde, who played on Earth but didn’t contribute to the songwriting, shares writing credits on eight of the album’s 10 tracks, and he brings a welcome heavy metal punch back to Osbourne’s music. Lead single “I Don’t Wanna Stop” almost sounds like it could have come from Wylde’s Black Label Society solo project, and there is some quality shredding elsewhere on the album as well.
But Osbourne can’t resist the cheeseball ballads (“Lay Your World On Me,” “Here for You”) or the clumsy social commentary (he really hates “The Almighty Dollar”), and the riffs aren’t strong enough to hold him up. Even if he’ll never again be the rock god he was in 1991, there’s something comforting and even a little inspiring about listening to him try his damnedest to get there. –Josh Bell
The Used
Lies For the Liars
*1/2
Just five years ago, gangly Warped Tour stalwarts The Used exploded out of Orem, Utah, with a self-titled screed against complacency, hypocrisy and disloyalty. They haven’t looked back since, and while moving on (both figuratively and literally, to LA) may have relieved certain emotional burdens, inspirationally it’s proven a musical damper.
Under the heavy hand of screamo Svengali John Feldmann, singer Bert McCracken, guitarist Quinn Allman, bassist Jeph Howard and new drummer Dan Whitesides (original drummer Brandon Steineckert, fired last fall, has since joined Rancid) have traded palpable urgency for a heavier mainstream edge and generic emotion. They’re still dark, their technical proficiency has increased impressively, and McCracken’s animalistic purrs, yelps and roars have lost little of their high-pitched singularity. But all the nonstop rock bombast, broken up with a few requisite power ballads, plays out more like a jerking fun house ride than a tour through the Underworld. Throw in horns, strings, chimes, choral interludes, sirens and all manner of sonic creepy-crawlies, and the 11 tracks come out slicker than McCracken’s rarely washed mane, only minus some authentic and much-needed grime. –Julie Seabaugh
Travis
The Boy With No Name
***
Now, this is just a guess, but we bet that Travis frontman Fran Healy really dislikes his local meteorologist (and probably the last 20 minutes of at least one John Cusack movie). Eight years after wondering why it always rains on him, Healy is still complaining about cloud patterns. “Welcome in, welcome in/Shame about the weather,” Healy sings on “My Eyes.”
It’s a moving ballad that’s exactly the kind of tune Healy’s British mope-rock band has made its career on. Healy broods and sings about love and tries to remain strong even though he knows that we know he could lose it at any moment. But Healy’s always been pretty brave about being so earnest and vulnerable. (On “Big Chair,” Healy actually sings “Well, you know that I heart everything about you”—and the lyrics for this song have an actual heart symbol just for clarity.) This is a man who’s clearly not afraid to cry—or tell you he’s about to cry.
But Travis’ songs often soar higher than you’d expect, too. “Under the Moonlight” (with background vocals by KT Tunstall) is a boisterous, charming number, something like what Elefant’s Diego Garcia might write if he ever tires of dating models and wants to find true love. Rain, moonlight, whatever. This album shines, too. –Andy Wang
Battles
Mirrored
**
I escaped college without taking a single math class, but that’s never prevented me from enjoying my share of “math rock.” Shellac, Slint and Polvo are just a few of the tempo-futzing madcaps who’ve haunted my stereo, without once forcing me to bust out a calculator or call the girl who helped me finish my calculus homework in high school.
Still, the first full-length album from New York semi-supergroup Battles (does the ex-drummer from Helmet really qualify as super?) actually hurts my brain. Not in an abrasive, experimental-noise sorta way. Not in a growling, death-metal sorta way. In a way-too-much-is-happening-way-too-fast sorta way. Think proggy mid-’70s Yes on drugs. Well, more drugs. Okay, forget the drugs—think proggy mid-’70s Yes with 15 minutes of studio time to record an hour-long follow-up to Tales From Topographic Oceans. Does your brain hurt yet?
The cool bits of Mirrored—the vocals at the 1:07 mark of the hard-grooving “Tonto,” the 90-second climax of tribal workout “Atlas,” the scratchy guitars over the final two minutes of instrumental “Tij”—manage to wiggle through the pandemonium, but mostly, the sudden twists and turns feel far less euphoric than look-what-we-can-do flashy. Not to mention, just look at all the numbers in that last sentence ... see what you made me do, Battles! –Spencer Patterson