I thought it sort of strange that Mystery Jets, a largely unheard talent from Eel Pie Island, England would be settling in Austin, Texas for their next album.  They’re not quite ‘country’ nor are they ‘indie suburban,’ and I wasn’t sure how Austin had anything to do with British rock.  The album, titled "Radlands,"was released in the states on April 30 and after a good twenty plays or so, according to my iTunes, I don’t think I’ve yet found the relevance. What I have found though, is a more mellowed Mystery four than the usual upbeat, popish personalities. Radlands opens with its title track, and the charming “I heard there’s a place where we go to die/It’s a terribly overrated horse shit shaped hole in the sky.” The guitar is merely an underline of Harrison’s vocals that, eventually venture into a more heavy guitar rocking ballad with a motivational, “So may the bridges we burn light the way out of the darkness of where we have been.” After the song ends, the listener is convinced the album will be that of an insightful journey of love, loss, and the lands of Austin.      If "Radlands" doesn’t really hook you though, the next one will have you at its opening bass line, leading boldly into the first lines of Harrison’s tale. Because every good country album tells a tale. Kidding. “You Had Me At Hello,” which sounds at first like a cheesy reproduction of a Jerry McGuire line or a bad Bon Jovi cover, actually turns into the story of a subtle, but sultry encounter between the narrator and the “girl at the window pane.” and you really can’t help but wonder how they’ve made is sound so damn good. If you have time to kill, replay “Someone Purer,” the third track of the album. Harrison is not just singing about how cool ‘rock n roll’ is and how badly he wants it. There’s a larger, more compelling message here. In the next one, I feel like I’m sitting on the front porch of the rented house on the Texan backgrounds, as the wind blows through the trees and the dust on the walkway settles with the sun. The next few tracks seem almost out of place on the album, as a combo of disco attempt, a 70s-80s throwback reflective of love and music, and a psychedelic confession of life and afterlife.     “Take Me Where the Roses Grow” is an offset to the testosterone that predominates the album, with the addition of female vocalist,    ,as a love-song duet,     “Sister Everret” is more or less a continuation of what has been...purity, simplicity, nature, reflection, confession, life, afterlife,     “Lost in Austin,” does not close the album, but it is one of my favorite wrap-up songs, again of reflection. Harrison questions what is and what could be. He may be lost in Austin, but he’s more lost within himself, within his mind and the possibility of “what [he] got lost in Austin for.” It’s a track in which, out of the twenty or odd times I’ve listened, I always get lost and I never want to be found.     The album ends with the song, “Luminescence,” a beautiful acoustic reflection on the love and loss in life. It’s so raw, you can nearly hear the Austin evening air linger around the echos of guitar chords and harmonies. The track ends with a simple “The older I get, the closer I get to forgetting your name, but I won’t/No I won’t.”     Overall, it’s clear that the four from Eel Pie have ventured away from their conventional concepts of “Young Love” and “Dreaming of Another World,” and moved on to a more mature introspective production with a predominating religious theme. I think "Radlands" best showcases the transition from high school “Young Love” and “Dreaming of Another World,” to the more mature reflection on Bible class and deliverance from sin, as the religious theme predominates. It is in fact one of Harrison’s finest and purest vocal compositions to date.

It’s taking everything in me not to make my way to the bowling alley right now and see if you’re there. I can’t stop searching the places in which I think that you’d be. I even look for the car you don’t drive anymore. And the sound of your voice where I know better not to listen. I’m doing my best to accept the fact that we are no longer a part of each others’ lives, but my heart nor my head does not seem to understand that very well. Trust me when I tell you, some days are better than others. Some days are nearly perfect. Some days I come really close to not thinking of you at all. And then I set my 5AM alarm at night, and remember. I snuggle into bed and stare down the throw you bought me for Christmas. Friends is usually on and I plug my phone in to charge. I usually get a text message or two before I shut my eyes, but they are never from you. I know they won’t be, but the thing in my chest hopes they will. I put my head to the pillows and sigh. There used to be a time I would cry about it, but I don’t anymore. You would think that means it’s getting easier. I suppose it might be. But it doesn’t stop me from including you in my prayers before I drift off to the dreams my subconscious ignites. In fact, it doesn’t keep me from thinking of you in the last seconds of the day or in the very first. I wonder when it will let me dispose of the idea of having you for life, in holy matrimony, til death do us part. Maybe tomorrow, I say. And I bury myself to sleep. Maybe tomorrow, but it won’t be today. Because tonight, I’m crying.

The band walked off, unfortunately for my ears, but most fortunately for my safety, for the final time of the night. The smoke cleared, the lights returned, and the haziness of the venue fell upon the wall-to-wall muddle of smiling faces. And on my dash to the door, an effort to beat the post-traumatic traffic, I couldn’t help thinking it was concerts like those I wanted to jar like fireflies and save forever. The Kooks are well worth the money, the car on car delay, and even the fatalities because at the end of the night, they “[made us] happy, they [made us] feel alive.”

-February 2012-         All the red this month is reminiscent of Great Britain in all its regal, red telephone booth glory, don’t you think? Or am I alone in this one? OK, truth is, February 14 marked the one year anniversary of my first trip overseas. I, unfortunately, was unable to take even one of those classic ‘call boxes’ back home with me. Something about getting it through customs, I don’t know. But the music scene was brilliant, and if there’s anything I did take home with me, it was that. The music is "quality," and better, there isn’t any postage to pay.        Most would agree, the best ‘royal mail,’ came in the form of The Beatles, The Clash, and other rockers like those of seventies legends Led Zeppelin and Queen, decades ago. Of course, most would argue ‘the British Invasion’ was more recognizable then than it is now, but it actually maintains a large presence here in America, today.       “This could be para, para, para paradise.” Ring a bell? Right, it’s one of the newest singles by Coldplay and if you weren’t aware, the band is straight from the heart of London. Farther across the pond, in Wales, metal band “Bullet of My Valentine” found their way to the American music scene and the shelves at Hot Topic. Among other musicians are bands and artists, Muse, Radiohead, Mumford and Sons, Feist, and Adele. Collectively, it’s fair to say these names are well known.       In retrospect, the British Invasions of today and yesterday, are in fact, too well known. So well known, so commercialized, that the origins are hardly a concern. The Beatles, The Stones, The Kinks were all well known, and are just as much considered “overrated” today.      Sure, bands know that once they’ve made it in America, “they’ve made it anywhere.” That may be true, but more so true, is the fact that they become slaves to the radio. Why aren’t you aware the four from Coldplay studied at Oxford and UCL in London? Simple: because, ringing in your ears, is the constant sound of “para para para-where?” Granted, not all bands from the British Invasion have become “has-beens” since their time.     Take for example, Queen, Zeppelin, Pink Floyd. Those that sort of, sailed across the pond after the bowl-cut Brits invaded. The transition was slower, but more effective because bands like that maintained an unfading individuality. Perhaps the greatest detriment to the British Invasion today, is just that. There isn’t chance for a ‘British’ invasion because listeners are oblivious to wherabouts. Most will hear the same tunes from Coldplay and Adele on the radio, and dismiss the invasion as “dull,” “repetitive,” and “nonexistent.” If you find yourself doing the same, do some research; the lookout artists are sailing in the shadows.        The Kooks, for example, are a Sussex success in indie /alternative rock. Chances are, you’ve at least heard “Naive” or “Shine On” on a commercial or two. You just didn’t identify the who or the where. But this spring, the band will be taking the stage with Foster the People here in the states. Although, they are establishing presence in America, they remain connected to their homeland, an even balance that won’t leave them overplayed.       The band, Foals, originate in Oxford, penning dance-punk, math rock, alternative hits. Their success has not yet reached beyond the barriers of British music, but their music is not to be missed. “Cassius” and “Miami” are the finest tracks of their recordings, upbeat, willing to get you off your feet.        Mystery Jets are the perfect package of international production. Labeled under, “pyschadelic rock,” “post-punk revival” and “indie pop,” these five bring a versatile spin to the humdrum of today’s music. They too, know the importance of international balance. Originally from Twickenham, London, last year, the band rented a house in Austin, Texas and started recording their newest album to be released in April of this year. Just enough to leave a mark. Be on the lookout when it lines the digital shelves, and in the meantime enjoy the catchy, classic eighties vibes of their older albums.       What they all have in common? Their nonconformity. Their British roots. The things that make them standouts in the crowd. In simple, their individuality. Don’t let the decade fool you. The British Invasion is very much alive, and very much commercialized in the same way it was in the past. But its quieter components are the lasting few.      When London’s calling, don’t be ignorant to individuality, because the greatest gifts to music come in tiny packages, but they’ll always make it through customs.

     The GPS is a pretty useful invention. If you’ve used one, you would probably agree. With the press of a few buttons, it can take you to places you’ve, never before, been. The problem with a GPS though? It can tell you where you’re going, but not exactly where you are. Like, home for instance. Have you ever tried entering “home” into a GPS, only to read: invalid destination? Of course it might read: turn left and veer right, your destination will be on the right, if given a number. It’d show you a house, but only you would know its name. Perhaps in the telephone book, it’s listed as “42 Maple Ave” or in an MLS Real Estate search, “#LRS970031211”  The thing is, numbers nor structures can account for the space in which you put your Christmas tree every year or the wooden coat rack in the sun porch on which you hang your jacket. Those are things most people are very in touch with, when it comes to being in the comfort of home. Then why, are they not in touch with the loss of a home? Homeless. The word has become much like the numbers, swiftly swept beneath the doormats of dwellers, day in and day out. But the issue is in their backyards, on their porches, and walking past their mailboxes. In order to understand the extent of the term, one must remember where they are, much like two female writers, Ann Quindlen and Barbara Ascher who know where they are, know where they’re going, and remember where they’ve been.     Ann Quindlen, writes a poignant piece on a woman in a bus terminal. She has a name, a story too.  In fact, so did her house. She called it “home.” Quindlen insists, when addressing the issue of homelessness today, it is “not simply [the] shelter from the elements, or three square meals a day, or a mailing address to which the welfare people can send the check, [but]  precisely those kinds of feelings that have wound up in cross-stitch and French knots on samplers over the years.” She understands that within the home, lies the heart which can be identified, not by structure or definition, but by the feelings that come with it. Quindlen takes the time to hear the woman’s story and she relates to her own home. Her point is simple. It centers around the understanding of the “issue.” She writes, “It has been customary to take people's pain and lessen our own participation in it by turning it into an issue, not a collection of human beings. We turn an adjective into a noun: the poor, not poor people; the homeless, not Ann or the man who lives in the box or the woman who sleeps on the subway grate.” People must learn to see and feel for these problems as they do their homes. Every house has special qualities about it that makes it a home, like the “the hot-water heater, the plastic rack [to] drain dishes in, [and] the roof…which occasionally leaks” that Quindlen mentions in her essay. Every individual has qualities about him or her that define them. “Homeless” is not something that does because people are not defined by what they have or do not have, in this case. If society could view and embrace the problem of homelessness in this way, the room for compassion would certainly be made and perhaps “painted blue.”       In her essay, “On Compassion,” Barbara Ascher stresses the same truths. She states, “I don't believe that one is born compassionate. Compassion is not a character trait like a sunny disposition. It must be learned, and it is learned by having adversity at our windows, coming through the gates of our yards, the walls of our towns, adversity that becomes so familiar that we begin to identify and empathize with it.” She makes the point that society must look among the issue that lies beyond the structures, and they must embrace it. They must not only hide the issue and pack it up for the winter like the Christmas tree ornaments at the holiday‘s end, as “the mayor of New York City [does]…moving the homeless off the streets' and into Bellevue Hospital.” Ascher claims this is done because, “We do not wish to be reminded of the tentative state of our own well-being and sanity,” but she questions the extent of it being “humane.” The word “tentative” signifies the same purpose. ‘The homeless,’ are individuals just as ‘we’ are. They once had a state of well being and sanity too. Society fails to come to terms with the fact that that could be them, in “buttonless” clothes, as life rolls away when lights turn green. If more of society could understand the issue as a circumstance of individuals, as an adjective and not a noun, like Quindlen states, than perhaps compassion would be attainable.      Both Quindlen and Ascher have made sense of the roots of homelessness. The people without homes are also without stability and security, without the place in which their heart lived. They can identify with them on an individual level, as they do with their potential tentative homes and stability.  A GPS can’t take them to every home in America. It may show them the houses, but the thought of the home must come from within. Because of this, both women write to prove that if society took more time to identify with the individuals victim to homelessness rather than “issue” itself, compassion would follow and on the road lit by compassion, would be more opportunity to permanent reform. Now can your GPS do that?

In 2008, FOPA lost bassist Alfisi with a decision to further his musical career elsewhere. By summer of that year, the band was playing shows with new bassist, Mike Martone, whose intimidating height was nothing compared to the unexpected, sarcastic sense of humor he brought to the table. At venues like Nagatuck’s American Legion where the band played alongside friends, To Write A Riot, Dropshift, and Gone By Daylight and El en Gee of New London where they performed with Fearless Record’s Sparks the Rescue, Forget Paris left their mark on stages all over Connecticut. It wasn’t long before their popularity had reached surrounding states such as Vermont, New Hampshire, Rhode Island, New York, and New Jersey. By 2009, Forget Paris seemed as settled as they could possibly be, with new music and tour dates in the works, but March brought bad news to longtime supporters. FOPA was saying goodbye to original drummer, Forte, who wowed crowds with his effortless performance behind the kit and his improv solos during shows. With a missing piece, fans wondered how the band would carry on, but the remaining three saw no reason not to move forward. After Forte’s departure, FOPA struggled for a suiting fit through replacements, Scott Hahn and Dave Alley who, though talented, were not the permanent pieces the band was looking for. It wasn’t until a year later, in April, that Forte returned to the band. With the release of their full length album “My Light, My Armor,” in July and a string of tour dates lined up for summer, fans felt the four were finally back as a family. However, by the end of August, band members Adam Ferrari, Nick Forte, and Mike Martone announced they were calling it quits in a poignant letter that they posted for fans on Facebook. The band’s chance of survival looked dismal, but Cohen, faced with a search for a new set of musicians, took on the challenge without hesitation. “I was really on the verge of giving up too. The cool thing was, all those guys who left the band still supported me and because of them, I kept going and now we're doing better than ever!” he admitted. Now, halfway into 2011, Forget Paris have welcomed their three completing additions-guitarist Randy Newbury, drummer Jason Rodgerson, and bassist, John Larson-and have since enjoyed the experience of touring and recording, with more success in future prospects than they would have ever imagined. With a new line up in place by the beginning of this year, the band set out on a path destined for success. Longtime fans stood by them, but they questioned replacements and wondered if things would be the same. After a few shows, the band did not disappoint.  “It was odd not seeing the original members together, but I left the show all that more impressed,” says supporter, Dan Bevacqua. “The fact that they were still able to put on the kind of show they did and adapt to the music and each other as a band, was remarkable.” “Forget Paris is definitely a family of past and present members and fans,” explained bassist, John Larson. His assimilation into FOPA has been a smooth one and he, like his fellow bandmates expresses positivity for the future of the band. “So far we're still small fish, with little tastes of the big time but we're working on being bigger and better every day and every show.” Last month, on April 29, Forget Paris had the honor of earning their spot at the Bamboozle Festival in East Rutherford, New Jersey. Playing alongside bands like 30 Seconds to Mars, Taking Back Sunday, and A Day to Remember, singer Bruno Mars, and rapper Lil’ Wayne, FOPA expressed incredible enthusiasm. “As cheesy as it may sound, to us it was a dream come true!” said Cohen. “It's such a motivation to really work hard for our dream; seeing and meeting bands that are doing what we're trying to do too just fills us with so much hope!” It’s true, Forget Paris is thrilled with achieving what they have aspired and set out to do, but through their success, they never seem to forget what has brought them there.  “We told everyone we know and everyone they knew to support us for this competition and they all came through,” says drummer, Jason Rodgerson. “I love FOPA fans because they are amazing to us and we couldn’t take all the credit for playing Bamboozle because in the end the fans are really who brought us on that stage.” Forget Paris fans like Allie Colwell of Rhode Island, who has supported the band since the beginning and has actively helped as a Street Team member, offers a certain admiration for what Forget Paris is collectively. “They don't give up; they don't wake up in the morning and say ‘Well this isn't going anywhere, we should just give up.’”  “They all know what they want out of the band and they work hard for it; they've worked very hard to be where they are at right now.”  While, right now, they’re doting on their success at Bamboozle, Forget Paris have much more to look forward to at the end of this month. “We're also playing at the Comcast Theatre for BOMBfest this year featuring Weezer and Snoop,” Cohen said. Rodgerson offers his opinion on moving up in the music industry on this level. “I feel like FOPA has a real shot at becoming a main stage national act and I know that the dreams of the band members are all in agreement about that.”  It seems it’s been a tumultuous ride for Forget Paris: highs, lows, losses, and gains. The trek to success seems a never-ending battle, but victory may not be too far away. “Well, I guess I'd describe us as a brick wall,” said Choen. “It's taken us a long time to get where we are, but each new achievement is like a new brick in the wall; no one thing is going to put us over the top, but when you look at all we've done and all we're doing, the wall is bigger than you realize.. and a lot stronger too.”  With or without obstacles, Forget Paris have proved that diligence, dedication, and determination go a long way in the music industry. Through their lows, FOPA shows that they are unstoppable against their passion, creation, and performance.  “In our new record we have a song called 'Make it Work" which deals with all the times we've felt trapped or held back and it all comes down to one philosophy, "Never give up on what you love”” Cohen concluded. Indeed, with well over 5,000 fans and counting, the persistence and brilliance of four young men, and the love they have for music, Forget Paris never really does fail to “make it work.”   

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Rating: 5 out of 5 Stars