Rocky Na$h is the provocatively-posed frontwoman on the cover of this eponymous album, and if you’ve ever thought a band had some weird group dynamics, then this lot probably top it. Rocky is married to drummer and band-leader Preston Nash, formerly of Dope and Society 1; guitarist Chad Heimbach is her ex-husband. Go figure - it must make for some interesting band practice banter, if nothing else.
What it doesn’t seem to make for is the sort of tension that produces exciting songwriting. Rocky Na$h are essentially a jock-pop-rock band, albeit one with a lot more virtuosity shared out among its members than usual. Radio-friendly hooks are combined with modern rock and metal tropes with an eye for mainstream appeal, and it’s no surprise to hear that Rocky Na$h have written songs for big-league hockey teams and a forthcoming movie soundtrack. Water finds its own level.
Rocky Na$h can’t seem to decide how they want to sound, though. The really heavy guitars are way back in the mix, processed to the point of sounding synthetic, but they have much more life than the percussion, which relies so heavily on retriggered samples that the snare rolls and tom fills sound like they’re being done by a drum machine - albeit one programmed by someone who knows what they’re doing.
Rocky’s vocals don’t quite meet the promise of her image, either, and if it wasn’t for the multiple overdubs they’d sound thin as well as monotonous. The sassy spoken parts are fairly convincing, but no amount of confidence in delivery can cover the fact that she’s only got one trick up her sleeve, and when you’ve heard one song of her sub-par Joan Jett sneer, you really have heard them all.
Rocky Na$h know how to put a tune together, but they don’t seem to know how to make them really snap. The hooks are obvious, and the formats well-worn: the dreadfully-titled “Na$hional Anthem” is your typical go-nowhere get-the-drinks-in singalong that probably works great in mid-capacity venues at the end of the night, while album closer “Me Now” is post-grunge by the numbers, complete with quiet-loud-quiet dynamics and a slow-paced drone riff from the guitars to match the dreary lyrical content. Competent, but nothing to write home about.
The same can’t be said for “I Can’t”, a dreadful out-of-place sub-Ramones slab of lumpen metal-punk with the lads taking a turn on lead vocal duties, the delivery of which is almost as half-formed as the song itself. Earlier on, “Blame Me” turned its back on quotidian hard-drinkin’ tough chick clichés, with Rocky taking the character of a woman in a physically abusive relationship, showing that maybe Rocky Na$h have a serious side… which is almost completely erased by “Bobblehead” and “Hockey Hangover”, which do little to assuage the notion that sports fans lose all sense of quality when something gets re-branded with the logo of their favourite team.
Kudos to Rocky Na$h for trying to push the boundaries back a bit, but the perennial energy and appeal of hard rock is in its raw sound. This album drowns in overproduction; all the power the tunes might have possessed is drained by fizzy guitars, gutless drums and flat vocals. Rocky Na$h might keep the hockey-heads happy in the half-time beer queue, but unless you make a habit of music shopping while blind drunk at major sporting events, you’ll want to leave this one on the shelf.
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Posted in Music reviews |
Tags: metal, post-grunge, punk, rock, Rocky Na$h
