’70s-era monster rock seems to be on the brink of a resurgence.
But for all you music snobs out there, don’t fret. This unwelcomed comeback might just be a good thing. After all, the last time this brand of riff-heavy steroidal Kool-Aid hit the airwaves, Nirvana eventually swooped-in and ruined the frat party. One can only hope that a similar coup is quietly swelling underground.
To a surprisingly sold-out crowd at the , from L.A. (via Pittsburgh) hit the stage as the opening act with an irksome swagger all-too-reminiscent of Boston or Journey. For the most part, they sounded less like a creative force and more like the New Year’s Eve entertainment at a Holiday Inn. At times schmaltzy, and at others simply unnerving, 28 North broke all the rules afforded to a modern rock band. Too many lead solos, too much self-fawning bravado and not enough originality. It was tough to choke it down.
, on the other hand, sounded more dexterous and less eager to be defined by any particular era other than their own. That unfortunately did not stop them from getting sucked into the vortex of the alternative blueprint. Falsetto vocals, ruffled collars, and hollow-body tones all made cameos. “12 Fingers,” their best and boldest cut of the evening, was a driving blend of Sameer Gadhia’s lush vocals and swirling guitar work. “Guns Out” matched that texture with Cold War Kids-inspired rhythms and Gadhia’s use of a vintage condenser mic for added affect. Radio-friendly hits “Cough Syrup” and “My Body” were also solid — with the latter channeling an STP post-grunge opus. The only downside to those songs might have been their abject popularity. Airplay might sell tickets, but it doesn’t necessarily warrant respect.
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Kris K. Coe is a freelance writer, Denver-native, and regular contributor to Reverb.
