A little Sunday evening aggro…
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[4.20]
Iain Mew: Man, it’s been over a decade since “Shinobi vs Dragon Ninja.” Ever since then, every single that Lostprophets have released has failed the fundamental test of whether it has anything remotely as awesome as the riff in “Shinobi vs Dragon Ninja”. This one eventually comes closer than most with some excellent riffing of its own, but it takes more than three minutes (i.e. longer than the entire length of “Shinobi vs Dragon Ninja”) to get to that point.
[5]
Edward Okulicz: The first couple of minutes of this have absolutely no idea what they want to be. Tough guy pose? Crowd-devouring sing-a-long? Profound commentary on something? It’s not really working on any particular level other than being loud and buzzy. The last minute, where the guitars roar unencumbered by the remainder’s unpropulsive rhythms, is a high point. Alas, it’s 30 worthwhile seconds padded by so much more dross.
[2]
Katherine St Asaph: When Fred Durst got signed to Cash Money, our office got into this half-hour debate about whether nu-metal could ever be cool again. They argued no; I argued yes. I’m a piss-poor arguer sometimes, though, so the Skrillex SPIN covers and Weezy psychoanalysis and wayward brothers I deployed convinced no one. They could’ve just played me this. I’d have caved by the first growls of the crowd.
[3]
Brad Shoup: I know just enough not to call these Lostprophets the last men in the ghost town, but not enough to wonder who else is carrying 311’s catchphrase! banner. (Besides 311, I guess.) Efficient phased guitar strokes and urgent non-harmonies in the chorus: if you ever wished Refused had gone half-hair metal, God bless you.
[5]
Anthony Easton: Living in a small town at 14, and angry more than I should have been — or at least unable to process the exhaustion and frustration as anything but anger — I found music that sounded a lot like this a worthwhile bower. I think we might have had slightly better musicians, but that might be the arrogance of someone no longer young not paying careful attention to the burnishing of nostalgia. In a decade, someone will remember being a 15-year-old twerp from Kansas and thinking this was worth something.
[6]