BLACKFIELD – II

Inane lyrics over passionless strumming guitar, percussion that is so simplistic it may as well be canned but is impossibly emanating from an actual band member striking drums, and arbitrary strings which do nothing to elevate or drown out a truly lackluster vocalist. Track one, “Once,” has a contagious hook and harmony. The same guilty pleasure truth runs throughout the album. I’ll give Blackfield that. But it’s the kind of flavor you hate yourself for enjoying in the same way southerners eat steak gristle on the sly hoping no one notices. It is devoid of substance, just dripping with its own fat. That is somehow its charm at our weakest moments. There’s a little piano in track six, “Epidemic,” but it’s otherwise indistinguishable from any of the other offerings here.

Blackfield II isn’t offensive because it’s bad, but rather because it’s profoundly bland. It’s music for the very young and people who either don’t care or don’t know any better. There’s not a single track that would stand out over the PA at your local supermarket or department store. The only way I was able to even form an opinion was playing it as loud as possible over headphones. Even then there wasn’t much to notice or appreciate. The A&R people behind this one couldn’t have seen much outside of some attractive guys who could relieve junior high school kids and yuppies of their allowance money. Kudos if the only point of pressing a CD was to generate income. As far as actual music goes there’s not much to even hate about what you’ll find on this release. And that’s the most contemptible thing about it.

(Atlantic Records, 1290 Avenue of the Americas, 28th Floor, New York, NY 10104)