Word: popped
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Since 2001, Chris Carrabba and his not-so-merry band of pop-punk troubadours have been quietly establishing Dashboard Confessional as one of the decade’s most consistent alternative rock bands. Saddled with the much-overused “emo” stigma, Carrabba’s music—combining the heartfelt, earnest lyrics of U2 and late R.E.M. with the gift for swelling, melodic pop hooks of ’90s bands such as the Goo Goo Dolls and Gin Blossoms—surpasses the restrictions of any disparaging genre classification...
...right / Oh Jesus, I’ve fallen.” The song’s religious overtones do not quite fit with the remainder of the adolescent-themed album, but thrown listeners will feel right at home as the record then effortlessly transitions into a somewhat predictable pop-punk nugget, “Until Morning.” Armed with chugging guitars and swelling vocals, Carrabba asks his lover to stay by his side, proclaiming, “If this is heaven, or if it’s just a warning / Say you will stay with me, even...
...Taylor Swift, a true singer-songwriter whose undeniable hooks, felt lyrics and incandescent enthusiasm have propelled her to a level of national stardom far above Underwood. It is no coincidence, then, that in the same week that Swift has a Springsteen-esque seven singles simultaneously in the Top 50 (pop, not country), Carrie Underwood released an album that from outset to coda is a unified attempt to move from the mainstream of Nashville to the mainstream of global pop. Unfortunately, “Play On” is a stilted, forced effort that will fail to satisfy either her country...
...Cowboy Casanova,” despite its title, is a distinct break from Underwood’s earlier work. It affects a Lambert-lite stomp and swagger, but Underwood is no rockstar. She sings in perfect pitch, but there is no feeling; in a market where the pop audience demands sincerity, or at least heart, Underwood can provide neither. Worst of all, the song lacks recognizable hooks or an engaging melody. It’s all bluster, no substance...
...pattern that “Cowboy Casanova” establishes becomes depressingly familiar as the album goes on. This is surely one of the least melodic albums ever released by a conventional candidate for pop superstardom. With the sole exception of “Quitter”—a light, playful track firmly in the traditions of Nashville—the entire record consists of overwrought, impeccably produced, tuneless and indeed lifeless numbers as utterly forgettable as the “coronation songs” that “American Idol” winners sing in each year?...