Vhs or beta bring on the comets rar

In the late s, the scourge of all God-fearing long-hairs was the specter of their favorite rock bands going disco-- which, regardless of whether it resulted in a swaggering Stones classic or a turgid Rod Stewart atrocity, was a seen as horrific compromise of the band's integrity.

VHS or Beta, meanwhile, seem interested in charting the opposite path. The band came out of Louisville five years back with an EP that practically hemorrhaged gleeful disco-house exuberance; even the title, Le Funk , seemed calculated to push the buttons of any Daft Punk nerd with latent rock inclinations.

But each successive record has pushed them further towards a more commercially viable and more familiar status-quo identity. Asking a rock band with a good rhythm section to play dance music's a lot more natural than taking a dance act and nudging them towards college-via-arena rock, and most of Bring on the Comet s hews pretty closely to the predictable outcome: pile on the synths and the bass and you get an endearing if unadventurous type of pop, but the further out front the guitars are, the more rote the song actually sounds.

Too bad it diverts all its energy to a tepid indie-pop jangle instead of cultivating any actual bass in the backbeat. The title track has similar problems, draining all the low end out and gambling everything it has on a guitar that soars just about high enough to brush against the stratospheric heights of, say, post-Roger Waters Pink Floyd.

The album also happens to be tied together by all kinds of ostentatious spot-the-influence moments most retro-leaning hey-remember-thes bands are smart enough to dial down a bit. There's not much to do besides deconstruct the blueprint of a track when all you're really left with are clearly-labeled moments marked "U2 riff" or "Cure melody" or "Depeche mode vocal affectation.

Or at least the Brandon Flowers version. Same difference, I guess. Becoming more concise and memorable songwriters is a good thing, but now the result is too much like straight-up '80s pop sprinkled with dance-punk sensibilities. The songs are so polished and dipped in sheen that they beg for a raw moment where the smooth knob is turned to the left. Glistening keyboard arpeggios melt behind the Simon LeBon -like vocal crooning while kick thump and delayed guitar riffs are stacked upon track after track until all the tracks blend together in bland mediocrity.

This isn't to say that the songs are monotonous. There are interesting chord changes prevalent, especially in moments like the chorus of "Can't Believe a Single Word" marinated in Rick Springfield guitar chunks or the surprising swing to the XTC hook of "Love in my Pocket," and it wouldn't be accurate to call Bring on the Comets predictable, but the stylish gloss of it all just sounds, well, samey. The songs aren't remarkable and they aren't bad, they're just there.

The good news is that the band seems to be moving towards a bright white light, away from the Killers style dance-punk, evolving, and getting closer to finding their own style. They're not quite there yet, but they're definitely on the hunt, rummaging around for something better.

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