SOUND BITES

Apologies to any international viewers but, as a Canadian and seeing as how we're approaching our national holiday, I can't help but get just a bit patriotic. However, unlike last year when I posted a massive playlist that no one could have been sussed to watch, this year I've decided to boil it down to a concise ten-deep playlist that only takes 39 minutes to enjoy. Rather than showcase all the bands we already knew, however, this year's playlist as squarely focused on some of our nation's lesser known rock history contributors. Most of these songs at least made a dent here during their original releases but have by and large been lost among a sea of sexier, easier to recall nostalgias, forgotten by time and resigned to a fate of retrofitted obscurity. But not for this guy; I still remember these songs as fondly as I did back then (and, if I can toot my own horn a little, I still own all but three of the albums this playlist is plucked from). No doubt there w

Helmet's story is really rather unfortunate; criminally undervalued during their initial run, praised time and time again as major influences after they went away and largely ignored upon their return, they never really achieved their due in regards of critical acclaim or mainstream acceptance. Betty is as close as they got, thanks mostly to the attention grabbing effort that was 1992's Meantime . That album's MTV-supported highlight, the driving and riff-happy Unsung , put them on the radar for many (including this guy); many of those who checked out Meantime were beaten down by its relentlessness and charmed by its at the time unfathomable marriage of metallic riffage and off-kilter jazz rhythms. More than anything, though, it was about the brutal, primal nature of the music. It didn't veer off tangent or operate on multiple levels; it was all tactical aggression, a blunt force rock album that left an impression whether you were looking for it or not. The negative

By freeing themselves from their self-imposed concepts and opening up to a whole world of sonic possibilities, Mastodon sounded energized and eager to explore on 2011's The Hunter . The results were sometimes unexpected, and longtime fans were quick to dismiss the album's more "radio friendly" moments, but I found it consistently engaging and far more rewarding than most gave it credit for. Once More 'Round the Sun picks up where The Hunter left off, but only insomuch as it also eschews a larger narrative in favour of a well-rounded, diverse album. It's lazy to simply call it a continuation, though; it's more a refinement of the exploratory spirit they conveyed on that previous album. There isn't anything that screams out as a bid for airplay such as, say, Curl of the Burl , nor a shocking sonic left turn as Creature Lives . That's not to say OMRTS isn't accessible or experimental, it's just that the songs on the album seem somewhat foc

Over the course of their career, Every Time I Die have managed to (at least to an extent) have it both ways; they've enjoyed a more or less consistent fan base while exercising the freedom to explore new sounds and moods with their music. Maybe this is because, for the most part, even their most experimental songs have the same DNA at their core (no pun intended). As far out as they travel, home has always been the cozy confines of spastic, Converge-like metalcore. It should come as no surprise, then, that From Parts Unknown is the most they've sounded like themselves in a while considering the co-production of Converge's Kurt Ballou. Indeed, From Parts Unknown brings the menace early and often. A fleeting, sinister dozen seconds open The Great Secret before the song explodes with "blow your fucking brains out" being the first words uttered by lead singer/screamer Keith Buckley amongst slashing guitars and jackhammer drums. It's a quick outburst that'

For years, as a Canadian, it's been difficult to sing the praises of Kasabian; despite scoring major commercial and critical successes on their side of the pond, the North American market has remained stubbornly and bafflingly apathetic. With the release of 48:13 , the British psych-electro rockers have seemingly thrown in the towel on their overseas endeavours, opting (at time of this review, at least) to not release the album in North America. It's inconvenient for me to have to use the UK version of Amazon to keep my Kasabian CD collection up to date, but certainly no more inconvenient than signing distribution deals and logging those hard promotional appearance miles in attempts to break into a market that doesn't seem to want you. So yes, Kasabian has postponed any plans for U.S. domination on 48:13 , instead bolstering their ranks on the home front. They play the biggest gig of their lives at the end of the month, headlining the final night of the venerable Glastonb

Linkin Park has had an interesting career. After hitting a commercial home run on their first at bat with the seething and melodic nu-metal of 2000's Hybrid Theory , they quickly learned that they were expected to play the role of screaming/rapping bros for all eternity. Attempts at stretching out their sound were often met with apathy or outright disdain; their previous album, the intriguing and divisive Living Things , pretty much turned them pop. That is, aside from the blatant exception of Victimized , a thick and metallic screamer that sounded like it descended from an alien planet compared to the rest of the album. No one could have predicted that Victimized would be the song that pointed the way to Linkin Park's future, but here we are; The Hunting Party , the band's sixth and loudest album, finds them aiming to be the most abrasive and heavy version of the band they can muster. And yet, through all the noisy distractions and crunching guitars, The Hunting Party r

When I think about '90s bands who fell hard and far from grace, Stone Temple Pilots is one of the first bands that comes to mind. Through poor artistic decisions and great amounts of narcotics, they managed to snuff their own careers out to the point where the last album they made before originally disbanding, 2001's Shangri-La Dee Da , barely cracked the top ten. Just seven years earlier, Purple found Stone Temple Pilots achieving a sweet spot not many bands ever get to see. Silencing critics who wrote Core off as a derivative Pearl Jam record with slightly louder guitars even as it sold in excess of 8 million copies, Purple showed significant artistic growth and a knack for hooks that propelled the album to the top and almost* maintained the torrid multi-platinum pace of Core , going platinum six times over and establishing Stone Temple Pilots as one of the world's most popular bands. *"Almost" in the U.S. at least. Here in Canada, Purple actually so

Big Wreck's third album, and first following a decade-plus hiatus, was a welcome surprise. Though a bit timid overall, Albatross was an enjoyable listen and a worthwhile addition to the band's discography. It would have been far too easy for Big Wreck to take the pat on the back, smile and wave one more time and quietly retreat; if Ghosts tells us anything, it's that this band has no intention of such boring, predictable things. Ghosts is home to a host of unexpected moves, and it doesn't waste time turning heads. A Place To Call Home winds itself up slowly over its introductory two minutes, coming on like a particularly moody Alice In Chains track before locking into a fuzzed out groove and riding it on a wave of blood for the other five and a half; it's a far sight more menacing than what they've had to offer in the past, and it's a curious way to start an album to say the least. The tempo picks up for I Digress , a slinky and heavy track that brightens

Get Behind Me Satan is arguably The White Stripes' most interesting and divisive album; after years of a screeching plastic guitar, drums and vocals being basically the only instruments allowed on record as the Stripes built their indie empire, Jack White blew it all up in 2005. All manner of added instrumentation was brought in, from pianos to horn sections to violins. It was thrilling to hear the music being pushed into unfamiliar (and sometimes uncomfortable) places, but one also had the sense that something had explicitly and irrevocably changed; we'd never have it the same way again. Sure enough, after one more (admittedly, amazing) album, The White Stripes called it a day, and Jack went on to his various side projects, following every musical whim with The Dead Weather before releasing the formidable solo debut Blunderbuss a couple years back. The reason I mention Get Behind Me Satan is because I get a similar feeling listening to Lazaretto , White's second solo a

When Bob Mould released Silver Age in 2012, it took fans by surprise; after all, it had been a long time since Mould rocked out with such purpose. Silver Age wasn't just a pleasant batch of songs for someone his age, it was a legitimately great rock album for a man of any age. That Beauty & Ruin largely follows the same template is welcome news, of course, but I was skeptical of how well the album would play absent the element of surprise. As it turns out, Beauty & Ruin puts its biggest surprise right out front; Low Season rides in on a wave of dissonant fuzz before blooming into a dark, moody ballad with a Beatlesque-as-filtered-through-Oasis melody and substantial emotional weight. It's a sullen, mournful song that would have been a momentum killer anywhere else on the album. Here, it gets the darkness out of the way in order to move on. The song ends, the veil lifts, and we're off and running. The remaining eleven tracks play out in much the same way a