- Music
- 28 Jun 04
The term one-dimensional could have been created specifically for the duo of Alex Band and Aaron Kamin, who trade in the kind of sub-Nickelback rawk beloved of our counterparts across the Atlantic and in certain parts of Germany but generally derided in all places where intelligence isn’t rated by the capacity to absorb alcohol, and mullets are frowned upon.
Some bands make albums that are impossible to fully appreciate on first listen. Sometimes you have to live with a record for months on end to properly understand its nuances and unique charms. The Calling are not one of those bands and Two is certainly not one of those albums. Indeed, the term one-dimensional could have been created specifically for the duo of Alex Band and Aaron Kamin, who trade in the kind of sub-Nickelback rawk beloved of our counterparts across the Atlantic and in certain parts of Germany but generally derided in all places where intelligence isn’t rated by the capacity to absorb alcohol, and mullets are frowned upon.
Songs like ‘One By One’, ‘Somebody Out There’ and ‘Anything’ are like Staind-lite, which is every bit as nauseous as it sounds, with Alex Band’s resonant baritone crawling all over the rock-guitar-by-numbers arrangements. ‘Things Will Go My Way’ is the requisite torch song, all studied angst and bottled emotion: I can already see the video, with lots of meaningful stares into middle-distance and soft-focus posturing on cliff-tops.
They occasionally prove themselves capable of understanding what makes a decent pop melody. ‘If Only’ out-emotes The Goo Goo Dolls, while ‘Our Lives’ starts like The Calling’s best U2 impression – Alex even does a passable Bono – but the song is let down by the kind of risible lyrics you’d expect to hear from Ronan Keating. Indeed, most of the 11 songs on Two come across like boy-band tunes, spruced up with a coat of faux-rock gloss: ‘Surrender’ and ‘Dreaming In Red’ sound like Westlife with guitars, but the excruciating balladry of ‘Believing’ is by far the worst offender.
Bands like The Calling make me want to find those illusory weapons of mass destruction and go on an A&R manhunt for the kind of fuckers who are signing such artists these days. This staid and brain-searingly bland brand of corporate rock is pushed down people’s throats until it sells by the shed-load while other acts with a thousand times the talent struggle to make an impact on the wider public consciousness. Bah, and indeed, humbug.