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Parabelle – Air album review

Certain things are not for everyone. If you sneeze every time you’re around cats, your eyes growing bloodshot and puffy, then you should not spend time with cats. The same can be said for Penicillin. I have a tremendous allergy to the drug, causing my lips to become huge, bulbous flesh pockets. My eyes become swollen and my throat ceases. It’s awful. So I make sure I never come in contact with penicillin.

I find certain types of music exist in the same pain bubble. Now, of course music is subjective – meaning not every artist, band or producer is writing songs to appeal to every living creature on earth. Part of being creative, an individual if you will, is taking chances to find your own joy in the process and the creation of art. I understand why people like Chris Gaines. I empathize with fans of Insane Clown Posse. I get it. Variety is the spice of life.

The new release from Parabelle is not for me. It is the inane, dead music of the early 2000’s. Sludging through simple riffs, hidden under the guise of being emotional, they appeal to the fans of bands like Hoobastank and Staind, the kinds of music fans who have been hibernating, rightfully so, waiting for death.

Rock is dead. Especially uninspired, boring rock.

I can respect the band for doing what they want. I appreciate artistry for what it is – expression. Where Parabelle loses me completely is in the complete lack of creativity. The entire album, from front to back blends together into one big, flat bore. To me, it sounds like a drum circle at an AA meeting if there ever is such a thing. It’s whiny. Their non-committal approach is offensive. Are these the songs that didn’t make it on to a Hoobastank album or something? They’re giving me a ‘Reason’ to never listen to them again.

I mean, I guess if you have dreadlocks and live in some rural part of North Carolina, smoke shitty weed and have no sex-drive you might listen to this album. Or if you’re trying to get kicked out of your apartment in an incredibly passive aggressive way, you might play this album all through the night with your speakers turned toward your roommate’s door. He’ll hate you.

There’s also the possibility that you saw the movie Winter’s Bone, and instead of appreciating it for the well balanced story and acting, you actually related to the lifestyle portrayed in the film: You might listen to this album.

Again, this is only one man’s opinion. I’m sure there are people out there walking their ill-behaved pitbull, their gauged ears flopping disgustingly in the wind, tribal tattoos showing on their biceps, happily bobbing their heads to Air by Parabelle.

By Anthony Statham

Screenwriter and fiction writer by nature, love music too much not to share my opinions and ideas.

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