SIXX:A.M.
Modern Vintage
Eleven Seven Music (2014)
Rating: 6.5/10
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I have to admit it, I was dreading reviewing the latest Sixx:A.M. album. Why? Simply because as a unit they have produced such dull and dreary albums since their inception in 2007, and it’s something I find so difficult to criticise because the band contains two of my favourite musicians in Nikki Sixx (bass; Mötley Crüe) and DJ Ashba (guitar; Guns N’ Roses).
With Nikki Sixx performing his last rites with Mötley Crüe it would seem that Sixx:A.M. is to be his main focal point in a new quest for world domination. This is something that shouldn’t be too much trouble at all, because these guys have managed to marry the commercial and almost middle of the road corporate rock sound with occasional flashes of the brilliance which littered the previous bands of these gifted musicians.
However, while Sixx also, and so briefly, plied a gnarlier trade with the excellent Brides Of Destruction and guitarist Ashba sprouted from the fiery ruins of Beautiful Creatures, Sixx:A.M. is a far removed beast and one which continues to grate on my bones in spite of their popularity.
Sixx:A.M. is a beast that is just sorely lacking and time and time again I have to speak of James Michael’s woeful vocal displays; his voice typically accessible and harmless to a T, but it’s a mournful croon that applies a glossy finish to an album that just does not adhere to the 70s influences it speaks of.
The band’s third album kicks off with ‘Stars’ and a classy slap of Ashba riffage – it’s the sort of lick which coated those obscure yet sonic Beautiful Creatures albums and made them so beefy, and yet by the time Michael wafts in on the night breeze the sound has become a glossy, tame sheen. There is just something so depressing about the Sixx:A.M. manner. I just can’t put my finger on it, but the contemporary design and Michael’s lack of oomph just gets me every time – each track seems to soar with promise and yet runs out of legs by halfway in spite of some excellent guitar work from Ashba.
‘Gotta Get It Right’’ comes bouncing in like some Brides Of Destruction leftover; one could almost imagine London LeGrand screaming that introductory squeal. Then we’re back to the basics though, Michael’s quivering warble just lost within a pop-edged rhythm which will no doubt send this harmonious lump of sugary pomp straight to the top of the charts, but the reality is it’s just so sonically dull.
Of course, one must remember that it’s all about taste and opinion, and for me Sixx:A.M. just do not live up to the expectation, because for every half-decent track there are too many which just depress and pretty much sum up the modern climate of rock songs. In fact, there doesn’t seem too great a distance between Sixx:A.M. and the likes of the equally dreary The Killers or Foo Fighters. That’s not to say these bands sound the same, but they belong in that some cold void where tracks such as ‘Relief’ provide a meek soundtrack to this sullen dimension.
However, this time round Sixx:A.M. does attempt some type of experimentation; ‘Get Ya Some’ is a half-decent semi-Gothic carnival of delights, while ‘Let’s Go’ has a slamming Marilyn Manson-type industrial stomp to it complete with gang chants, but again it’s let down by James Michael’s ineffective warble.
‘Drive’ is a piano-led number that sounds downright painful when compared to the original 1984 classic performed by The Cars. Again, the band, particularly Michael, seems to wallow in self-pity; the gloomy expressions all too frequent for my liking in a world that is in desperate need of cheering up.
‘Give Me A Love’ offers up extra punch, but why does Ashba’s guitar sound so restricted? Thankfully, the chorus offers up a nice kick although the track does seem to be somewhat of a filler. Fortunately, the marching glam stomp of ‘Hyperventilate’ does bring some respite from the gloomy gloss, but again it just feels as if I’ve heard all this before; any time Michael attempts to up the ante in his voice the band becomes somewhat tormented yet unconvincing.
‘High On The Music’ is another of those grating sub-standard pop-rock numbers that may as well feature Jay Z, such is its commercial plod. In fact, it’s as if the band is so comfortable with being in that middle of the road rut that any decent ideas or flickers of imagination appear watered down time and time again. How can one get “high on the music” and “sing along likes its yesterday” when the sound is one so contemporarily turgid?
It takes the band more than half-an-hour to finally inject some strut with the funky groove of ‘Miracle’, and lo and behold James Michael seems to find an extra level in his vocal performance; his voice wonderfully complements the cool swagger, but it also gets me thinking that Michael is clearly better suited to a lighter, poppier sway rather than anything remotely metallic. While ‘Miracle’ is a shining beacon within a grey haze of metallic dullness, it’s also completely out of place on this opus.
We then come to the swanky jig that is album closer ‘Before It’s Over’, a bar-room tinker that exists as a joyous, yet again out of place melody more suited to one of those summer rain kaleidoscopes offered by Brit Goth rockers The Cure.
I’m unsure as to what the metalheads will make of this album, but I doubt Sixx and co. will care. However, what Modern Vintage does is prove that Sixx:A.M. could evolve into a far less metallic beast and appeal to one and all, but then there’s that fear of losing the rock crowd. Of course, there is always the option of Nikki Sixx forming another, more experimental band where tracks such as ‘Miracle’ and ‘Before It’s Over’ may be better suited. But while they continue to churn out the rather droll aspects of contemporary rock, then I’ll be sticking to the edgier racket of Buckcherry, The Last Vegas and the likes.
If you ask me – and many won’t – Sixx:A.M. kills for a vocalist of Josh Todd’s (Buckcherry) design, and all the while that is missing it seems as if Sixx:A.M. will continue as a half-baked cocktail that lacks bite from beginning to end, making it a rather acquired taste.
Neil Arnold
