code-bleu's Full Review: Blame Everyone [Edited] by Grand Theft Audio
As much as I often enjoy music’s quieter, more sublime moments - Tracey Thorn’s beautiful vocals on Massive Attack’s “Protection,” say, or Maroon 5’s gentle ballad “She Will Be Loved” off their album Songs About Jane - I will always be a sucker for a loud rock n’ roll song with a wicked groove and a killer chorus. “You Shook Me All Night Long,” “Addicted To Love,” “Jumpin’ Jack Flash,” “Bad To The Bone,” “What I Like About You,” “The Rock Show,” the list is endless. The kind of song that goes straight to the primitive part of your brain and gets you shimmying around the room and singing along before the more highly-developed parts of your grey matter even realize what’s happening. It’s like junk food for my ears. Sometimes I’m left feeling about as smart as Pavlov’s dogs, but like them, my response is largely beyond my control. Me hear catchy song, me shake groove thing, yeah, yeah.
Grand Theft Audio, a quartet from London, released their debut disc Blame Everyone in 2000 and drew comparisons with The Sex Pistols, AC/DC, and The Prodigy for their explosive brand of dance-rock. Though it remains to be seen whether they’ll have the lasting impact of those bands, GTA have at least one decent record under their belts, one which should be a big hit at fraternity parties and pro wrestling smackdowns. If you’re looking for rock music with a social conscience and stylistic diversity, you best move further down the aisle, emo boy. If you want something to set the tone for a night of unabashed revelry as you and your buddies drive over to that new strip club downtown, then you just struck gold, dog.
“Death To The Infidels,” the opening cut, contains the formula that nearly every song on this album follows - huge slabs of guitar, thumping beats, and lots of spirited hollering. (It might also be considered something of a kiss-off to GTA’s old days, as The Infidels was their old handle.) Bassist/keyboardist Ralph Jezzard knows a thing or two about crafting easily-digestible tunes, having produced and co-wrote EMF’s smash 1990 hit “Unbelievable.” He and bandmates Jay Butler, Chris McCormack, and Ritch Battersby apply that knowledge to “We Luv U” and “Rock The House,” cramming them with fist-pumping rhythms and stadium-sized chants in the same vein as classics like “We Will Rock You” and “Wild Thing.” The effect is akin to getting a buzz off a bottle of Nightrain: you know it’s a cheap high, but that doesn’t make it any less fun or addictive.
GTA leave nothing to chance, filtering punk-style screams through the layers of distortion so popular amongst electronica acts while fire engine wails and echo effects fight for prominence. “Stoopid A$$” even bites the swaggering machismo that’s one of the hallmarks of hip-hop and uses it to full blockheaded effect, demanding “Do you think you can beat me?” as a brief sample of N.W.A.’s “Dopeman” repeats in the background. “Drugs And Girls,” “Wake Up,” “Avarice,” and “Dead Man Leaving” all tear it up in similar fashion.
Two songs stand out from the rest, though for vastly different reasons. “As Good As It Gets” contrasts the laconic monotone of the verses with an uplifting chorus of female singers and ultimately transcends the neanderthal-simple hooks of the rest of the tunes. (Part of the music sounds like it was lifted from the “Jurassic Park” score, but, whatever.) “Grey, Black, & White” is the group’s biggest departure, with a slower, clunky tempo and a boring, go-nowhere sound. I guess GTA wanted to show they could do more than just party hardy, but stronger evidence will need to be presented on future releases; this one is just filler.
The Japanese release of Blame Everyone includes two bonus tracks - “Under The Landfill” and “Refusing The Last Line.” The first is another metallic screecher; I have not yet heard the second, but smart money says it’s more of the same.
Fans of hedonistic rockers like Andrew W.K. or KISS may want to give this CD a try, as well as anyone who’d like to hear what Utah Saints or Jesus Jones might have sounded like with heavier guitars and a snotty attitude. It’s as loud as a jackhammer, has about as much artistic merit as a Madonna movie, and is no more original than the newest season of The Real World. As long as monster truck rallies and sporting events exist, however, this disc should have no problem finding an audience. Me go eat super-size extra-value meal and bang head now.
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