IT’S RAWK DAY! And presumably it is also 2003…
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[3.40]
W.B. Swygart: A non-thought turned into a non-song that spends three minutes doing nothing but leaving me yearning for the wit and verve of Chester Bennington.
[2]
Josh Langhoff: Singing the title conceit as they might sing “Skullcrusher,” the Grace want you to know this painkilling business hurts them even worse than it’ll hurt you. The title conceit, by the way, is the same as Little Big Town’s infinitely superior — and when I say “infinitely,” I mean “as far removed from this as the Rocky Mountains are from my pile of toenail clippings” — “Novocaine.” Speaking of which: you know what can help ease pain, guys? Any hint of the possibility of sex.
[2]
Alfred Soto: It’s hard to be a painkiller when those chorus chords bring the pain.
[4]
Jer Fairall: Quite the opposite, in fact.
[2]
Megan Harrington: In an effort to make sure I didn’t unfairly dismiss “Painkiller,” I am listening to all their previous singles as I write. Three Days Grace were an above-average MOR modern rock band once upon a time, but this is lazy even by three-chord standards.
[3]
Scott Mildenhall: Three Days Grace are a successful and long-lasting band in their own right, but this brings to mind a Meteora-era Linkin Park with considerably less lyrical and melodic flair. Each dig and jab of “I could be your pain — KILLER!” is moderately exhilarating, but nothing to match “TAAAAKE. EEEVVVERRRRYTHING FROMTHEINSIDE”, or “I WON’T BE IGNOOOORED” or any part of “Numb”. Add that, some scratching and some rapping and you’re away.
[6]
Brad Shoup: Like, it’s crazy obvious, but at least it’s anti-drugs, right? Three Days Grace are making me misty for ’03: processed guitars, straight out the tubes; constant melodic grimace, bass as a complete afterthought. These guys always had the knack for pop.
[5]
Katherine St Asaph: It’s not that this metaphor can’t work — see “5 AM” — it’s that it’d be better a little less unwashed.
[4]
Jonathan Bradley: Squirts of guitar bubble through the verses, so thin they could be funnelled through tubing. “The shoulder you cry on, the dose that you die on” is doomy doggerel of the good kind; “I could be your painkiller” is the same, but better. There’s this really cool part about two thirds of the way through where the drummer pounds the snare and then some more guitars come in; it pops out of a fairly flat mix, sure, but loud rock songs need a fill before the band repeats the chorus a few times to signal an outro, and it’s fun hearing a band treat songwriting the way television writers treat punchlines on a shitty sitcom.
[5]
Micha Cavaseno: Here’s the thing about the mallrock/Lowest Common Denominator field of nu-metal: production is usually key. Three Days Grace were never my go-to band in the days of my adolescent angst and precociousness; that spot was reserved for your Marilyns or your Slipknots, guys who were the auteurs. No matter how laughable those songs become, those producers such as Ross Robinson or Atticus Ross could craft the most generic butt-rock into exotic soundscapes. And you could tell back then the singles MATTERED. I’m listening to “I Hate Everything About You” right now, and when you ignore how trash the songwriting is and just pay attention to it as a collage of sounds, it’s pretty wild. It’s pretty sad to see how little it matters now, how paint-by-numbers and workman-like this record sounds. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to travel back in time and remember that I really put my mother through me singing Adema songs in the shower. Fate better give that woman a winning lottery ticket as retribution.
[1]