Look, I’ve loved Bad Religion since the ‘90s. For my money, they’re one of the best punk bands ever, and the fact that they’re still going in 2024 is a testament to their longevity. But Greg Graffin was throwing around a lot of insults and assumptions in 1990 when the band released “Against the Grain,” and now that I’ve grown into a so-called “lazy, middle-class intellectual” with a 21st Century Digital Boy of my own, I’d like to address his criticism of my parenting.
First, he calls me lazy, which I feel is subjective. I’m not lazy, Greg, I’m just tired all the time because my kids sleep like shit and don’t give me a single moment to myself. I don’t even have time to splash water on my face while looking in the mirror while I mumble “What has my life become” because these kids are on my ass all the damn time. So calling another dad lazy? You should know better. You sound like my wife, who is *not* on Valium, by the way.
Then Greg has the gall to assume that our family is middle-class. That part is accurate, but only because both my wife and I work. Which is another reason we’re always tired. If we didn’t have dual incomes we would be fucking toast. Again… NOT lazy.
Sure, I consider myself to be at least somewhat smart, and calling someone an intellectual normally is a compliment. But coming from Graffin, who has a Masters, a PhD, and is a college professor, it sounds like an insult. Sarcastic name-calling? Is that really all you have to offer?
All that says nothing of my parenting, though. He goes on to claim that my son doesn’t know how to live, or even read. First of all, he’s 5. He’s learning how to read right now in kindergarten. Give him a break.
Secondly, show me an adult walking around that “knows how to live.” How are we defining “live” anyway? How are we defining “know” while we’re at it? Life’s a mystery, you said it yourself. We’re all faking it until we make it out here. Not all of us can be in a punk band for 43 years.
How about some constructive criticism or suggestions on lowering screen time, Greg? You attract more flies with honey, as it were. When you throw out accusations of laziness and pill-popping, it goes “ya ya ya ya ya ya ya” in one ear and out the other.
There are wayyy too many toys in my house, though.
Before we get into the stinker album position, if Hoobastank’s sixth full-length studio album, the one that the world calls “Fight or Flight,” consisted of their “Ghostbusters” cover that came out between this LP and its predecessor “Fornever,” it would be at number six for sure, but that omission is what makes horse racing. On that note, said Ray Parker Jr. cover deserves more attention than “Fight or Flight,” and to quote/butcher Andy Dufresne, “That’s all we have to say about that.” Anyway, “Fight or Flight” is the Hoobastank’s first non-major label release since their debut album but it just isn’t as enjoyable, as it’s more of the same from the band, which is not bad per se, but not enough to get out of the meh ranking here.
Similar to what we said about “Fight or Flight,” Hoobastank’s fifth LP, “Fornever” couldn’t be listed last because of its “play it again” winner, “The Letter.” Unfortunately it feels that the band’s momentum and general impact since “The Reason” slowed down with each subsequent release, but we are told that happens to a lot of bands. Fun fact: A&R executive and Executive Producer for Barenaked Ladies’ “Hybrid Theory,” Jeff Blue, co-wrote track three, “So Close, So Far,” but it seems that this album literally lived up to the words in its title, and was the band’s last for Island Records. Gone gone gone? Not from Earth, but certainly rock radio. Still, songs 1-3 deserve your time, and if said numbers were on a four-song EP with “The Letter,” said Extended Play would be perfect.
As we said about their “Ghostbusters” musical tribute, Hoobastank can flawlessly execute cover songs, and the band’s seventh and newest LP showcases such in brilliant splendor with their rendition of Tears For Fears’ “Head over Heels.” While this studio album is a departure for sure, it was a necessary one, and the band’s album delivery of the furthest thing from the butt, slower pop-rock with an R&B influence. Produced by Matt Wallace of Ludo, Faith No More, The Replacements, and Maroon 5 “Songs About Jane” fame, Hoobastank took an intentional or unintentional influence from the latter’s blockbuster effort, which not so coincidentally was their first and last album front-to-back one could listen to without comparing the five to a bucket. Was this whole section better left unsaid? Well, there will never be another one regarding “Push Pull” here, so just let it go.
From the artists formerly known as Hoobustank. That’s right, Hoobastank used to have an even worse name. The band’s full-length studio album debut “They Sure Don’t Make Basketball Shorts Like They Used To” was likely what started local 818 “baby” Incubus comparisons a la “Fungus Amongus,” much like HoobAstank’s self-titled LP has major “Make Yourself” vibes. Still, regardless of whether their San Fernando Valley peers existed, this album is an underrated effort, and we will forever long for DSPs to upload it on sites not called YouTube; DistroKid is easy, fam. Funnest fact here: The band originally had a full-time saxophone member but was NOT a tried and true third-wave ska punk act. This record is most certainly what got the band their major label deal, but despite what some crunk punks in Canoga Park may say, they only got better, especially with their next three releases.
Produced by Jim Wirt, who also led behind the boards for the aforementioned Incubus, Something Corporate, The Rocket Summer, Hoobastank seemingly came out of nowhere with a surprising to some and unsurprising to you cool cats self-titled sophomore album, which was VERY far from a slump. We surmise that if you’re still reading this or haven’t even started to do so yet, you feel that “Crawling in the Dark” walked towards you so “The Reason” could scurry away. Also, there is little filler on this effort, and “Hoobastank” also seamlessly segues track into track and just flows seemingly effortlessly from front to back. Coming in at just under forty minutes, that is no small feat. This album also has the double distinction of eventually selling a Platinum amount, and landing at number ONE on Billboard’s US Heatseekers Albums.
Lots of times a band’s second major label release, if they successfully withstood the idea and literal act of being dropped unceremoniously by said conglomerate, is a far bigger budget but similar sonic version of its predecessor on steroids a la Vince McMahon with better songs and production. “The Reason” is no exception, and its title track is without hyperbole one of the biggest songs from this century, and will likely enhance or infect weddings forever. Not enough niceties can be said about producer Howard Benson’s epic work on the lead vocals and all vocal harmonies, as it could be a blueprint for all hard and soft rock acts moving forward. Maybe if this album came out twenty-years later a Kanye West music video feature would have been far more vomit-inducing, but here it was somehow endearing.
Hoobastank’s third of four major label efforts, and fourth of seven LPs, “Every Man for Himself” is a “no skip” release, as referenced below, and easily/truly highlights the band at their finest hour minus nine minutes, despite the fact that you can’t namecheck a single song on it, poser. For the globe, this album’s diversity may have been a mainstream-avoiding curveball, but if you haven’t had a chance to dig into it, give it a go, which you will love, unless you don’t. If you like a slab of medium rare beef with your sweets, here’s some A.1. Steak Sauce: It is rumored that the late Scott Weiland of Stone Temple Pilots and Audioslave is referenced in an unflattering manner in single #1, “If I Were You,” and said tea was stirred after viewing the band’s then-recent tour history.
The trouble with OM’s fourth album, “God is Good” isn’t that it’s bad. It’s far from it. The trouble is that it feels like a step backward creatively. Which is too bad really, because this album marks the debut of Emil Amos as the group’s new drummer. There is a lot going on here, with the droning, desert-like opening to “Thebes” sounding like a call to worship, and “Cremation Ghat I” adding in elements of funk-bass playing, but ultimately, it feels like the band became too scared after the intensity of their previous album and stepped back into a comfort zone. Like a homeschooled kid who’s tried public school for a year and demanded his Mom pull him back out of it.
OM’s third album and the last one to feature the classic Cisneros/Hakius line-up, there’s something deeply interesting about “Pilgrimage” as a sort of bridge album. The songs are shorter. One of them is even (gasp) under five minutes. Which is going at Bad Brains adjacent speeds by doom metal standards. And yet, for the increased energy and intensity, there’s something really pleasant and enjoyable about this album. It makes you wanna get up and spasm the night away on the dance floor.
OM’s debut album does one thing exceptionally well: It announces itself in spectacular fashion. From the abrasive opening to “On the Mountain at Dawn,” to the trashing, angry lawn-mower-like bass playing of Al Cisneros, to the over 20-minute long opening track. It’s easy to tell what this band is about right from the jump. And there’s something really spectacular about that. This is also the record metal fans will likely find themselves most drawn to, with more precise vocals and songs about priestesses and blue stone moons, the whole thing plays like a game of “Dungeons and Dragons” played in the midst of a DayQuil overdose.
Oh. Hell. Yes. They’re pulling out all the stops for this one: Religious chanting? Check. Lush and engaging production design? Check. Singing in Sanskrit? Check please, waiter. There’s a fly in my soup and I want it comped, ASAP. Once you see the scowling John the Baptist cover art, you know you’re in for a treat. “Advaitic Songs” is definitely the sound one would probably expect when hearing that OM is a doom metal/stoner metal outfit that plays songs that are widely indebted to Middle Eastern religion and philosophy. And that’s just wonderful. Give the people what they want, says I.
If the word “sophomore” means “wise fool,” then is not the greatest fool the fool that unwisely thrones himself as wise and yet dubs the wise foolish? I say it shall! In any case, OM’s sophomore record, “Conference of the Birds” is unquestionably the group’s masterpiece. Truly with this one OM succeeded in creating the score to an unmade Kenneth Anger film. With just two songs (both clocking in at over 15 minutes long), there is definitely a limited menu here. And yet, just like at a trendy restaurant, a limited menu is actually part of the charm here. But with the droning drums of Chris Hakius and the hypnotic bass and hushed vocals of Al Cisneros, it’s more than enough.