|Soil - 'Picture Perfect' (AFM)|
|Written by Gaz E|
|Wednesday, 28 October 2009 22:25|
Kudos to Soil for even being around in 2009 releasing albums. When their breakout hit 'Halo' found itself in heavy - literally - rotation on the World's music television channels at the turn of the century, they were one of a glut of bands for whom the future looked bright. In 2009 brightness surrounds few of those musical combos. Some have morphed into wholly different beasts in order to survive - Motley Crue inspired tattooed sleaze rockers Papa Roach, anyone? - and Soil find themselves scratching at the surface of survival with a contemporary sound fused to their riff-laden legacy.
The trouble is, the sound that they appear to have settled on is the radio-friendly, stadium rock filling, Zzzzzz-blowing bullshit that is peddled by enemies of music Nickelback and their flock of sound-a-likes. Soil mix it up with glimpses of their past - think the popularity of Godsmack - but for every riff that sounds like a rocket launching, there is a song that is blander than astronaut food. For every 'Like It Is' - an ass-kicker that hints at the long forgotten The Union Underground - you get a 'Surrounded', a run of the mill jaunt through Hearditallbeforesville. If there were such a place, of course.
The album cover should have been the giveaway - who okayed this? The artwork might as well have a hole pre-drilled into it as it positively reeks of the term 'bargain bin', or the modern equivalent, the 99c CD. Soil should be above all this. They should have gone meaner, leaner, heavier - not this commercially tainted route.
I can't imagine Soil garnering any new fans with 'Picture Perfect'. No, scrub that - with a hefty push behind one of the commercial success-centric songs, they could find themselves selling out shows full of soulless, faceless ticket buyers. But money is money is money, eh? You are as likely to find someone throwing the horns to a track from this album as you are seeing it being listened to by a soccer mom as she throws her Gucci bag into the back of her Volvo before driving off to get fucked by her tennis coach.
The music industry is Jim Jones and albums like this are grape Flavor Aid. There are many thirsty people out there, but few who appreciate that credibility beats cash every time......