Chickenfoot: Chickenfoot

I realize, nearly halfway through 2009, that I haven’t reviewed any albums released this year. This was a semi-conscious decision, because I plan on devoting a whole week on the best albums released this year that I have so far, but I had also hoped to at least get some of the better ones out of the way. Apparently, with my busy social schedule, this was not to be. So it’s now that I finally get around to reviewing Sound Round’s first album to be released in 2009, and Chickenfoot holds that honor.

Chickenfoot, for those of you not in the know, is one-half Van Halen, circa 1986 (Sammy Hagar and ostracized bassist and all-round nice guy Michael Anthony), one-quarter Red Hot Chili Peppers (Chad Smith on drums), and one-quarter guitar virtuoso Joe Satriani. Now, having only been familiar with Hagar and Anthony, and only vaguely aware of Smith and Satriani, I went into this album with practically no expectations; reviews I read more or less slammed it, though some acquiesced and called it a good-time rock album, which is something that the industry has been lacking. The thing is, though: is Chickenfoot the band who will return some humor to rock’n'roll?

The answer is a resounding no. The album is shockingly generic, sounding like something that any blues-inspired bar band could knock out in a weekend or so; every song is interchangeable, with nothing to distinguish it from the other. Even the titles offer little in the way of piquing interest: ‘Oh Yeah!’, ‘Sexy Little Thing’, ‘Runnin’ Out’, and ‘Get It Up’ are among the less memorable titles. Only opening duo ‘Avenida Revolution’ and ‘Soap On A Rope’ (yes, that’s right: a band of guys in their 40s and 50s wrote a song called ‘Soap On A Rope’) inspire any kind of a reaction: the first is one of confusion, while the second is a small chuckle.

Obviously, I’m not the target audience for this kind of album. While I enjoy Van Halen, I prefer the histrionics of the David Lee Roth era, when they were merely a dumb rock band, and before they spiraled into self-parody; I only know Red Hot Chili Peppers through the radio and what I’ve seen on music television; and Satriani, as far as I know, studied under the watchful eye of Frank Zappa. So it was more out of masochistic intrigue that I listened to this album, and while I may have been tapping my foot at the time and marveling at some of the performances, as a whole, I was unimpressed.

Having spent 50 glorious minutes the other day listening to Regina Spektor’s new album, which is about the equivalent of a fine glass of pinot noir, listening to Chickenfoot is like guzzling a shot of tequila then shotgunning a can of Schlitz – and then having it repeat on you. The album isn’t bad, per se; it’s merely mediocre. The rhythm section is certainly the most notable thing about it, with Anthony and Smith bouncing off one another like any good, cohesive section should, but Hagar’s lyrics are tripe, and Satriani’s guitar work is merely average. Inevitably, it’s going to sound like a Van Halen knock-off (far more plausible than Hagar’s ill-advised comment about how Chickenfoot is going to be bigger and better than Led Zeppelin; honestly, Sammy, there’s being excited about your work and hyping it up, and then there’s overkill), but, on the whole, the album just plods.

That is, however, until the final track, the absurdly-named ‘Future Is The Past’, an epic 7-minute tour de force that starts off as a gentle acoustic rocker, and it’s here that the elements finally mix: Anthony’s bass is inventive, and his harmony vocals are prominent, while Hagar’s voice is powerful. (In fact, despite the terrible lyrics, Hagar’s voice is still in fine shape throughout the album.) The song serves as a perfect closer, with Satriani finally unleashing in the second half and duelling against Hagar’s voice as the main focal point.

Like I said, this isn’t an album that Hagar and co. sat down with the intention of pleasing me. I love dumb rock’n'roll, and there are particular moments on this album that I enjoy (especially the rhythm section), but there’s no variety to the material: it’s all hard rock, with the unspoken message that the songs were written to prove that these guys can still rock. They can, but why do they need to prove that? Couldn’t they have just written a fun rock album, instead of this boring, samey-sounding, hour-long, uninspired snooze-fest? Maybe their sophomore album will be something else, but for now, this one’s being filed away under a one-time cursory listen.

At the very least, I’m thrilled that Michael Anthony now has regular work again.

Essential listening: Future Is The Past, but only because I wanted this to not say “none”