The U.K. band, whose ascent began around 2018 with their initial singles like "Showgirl" and "Starstruck," are an amalgamation of standard indie rock and modern electronica. With dashes of psychedelic funk and dreamy fuzz, Sorry exist in a space of their own, straddling the lines between underground punk of the past and experimental pop of the future. Whichever genre they fit in—if any—they're an exciting group to watch.
Sorry just announced their debut album slated for release in March, and "More" is their latest offering off the new project. Built off simple, to-the-point lyricism—"don't give me too much, too much, too much / Just give me enough," vocalist Asha Lorenz repeats tauntingly—it exudes a ramshackle attitude that's become synonymous with Sorry and the grungy London club scene that bred them.
"More" has the bones of a pop song, though its forward-facing guitars reflect punky origins, and the entire track bears a woozy sense of distortion. It proves how malleable Sorry are and presents a forecast of how indie rock could evolve in the not-too-distant future.
Disguised as our friend, Stapp offers a nostalgic trip to the Creed days of yore, but upon closer inspection, the release is hollow and impossible to take seriously.
Gerard Way had long black hair and wore amber red ties and caked-on foundation and mascara. The Used were writing lyrics like, "I broke a needle off in my skin / Pick the scabs and pick the bleeding." Teenagers would passionately make out to Hoobastank's "The Reason." It was the aughts. Everything was sensationalized, all of it was cathartic, and none of it made any logical sense in retrospect.
All the while, Creed's "Arm's Wide Open" was being sung all across the country, with only a fraction of listeners picking up on the heavy-handed religious undertones that now seem painfully obvious. It's no doubt that the song was a bop; the post-grunge wave was filled with bops. But the post-grunge fanbase grew up quickly, and the movement dissipated as quickly as it came. When the veil of puberty was lifted, listening back on those songs brought with it a potent mix of nostalgia and shame. It's hard to believe now, in 2019, that a large portion of the population considered Three Days Grace to be saccharine music rather than the soundtrack for a serial killer. Yet whenever one of these bands is replayed during a drunken galivant with "the boys," we sing along almost satirically, because it's more fun to reflect on the past in jest rather than acknowledge that every artist listed above is actually still making music. Scott Stapp, the former lead singer of Creed, is one of them.
Stapp's latest solo release, The Space Between The Shadows, is a lie. Disguised as our friend, Stapp offers a nostalgic trip to the Creed days of yore, but upon closer inspection, the release is hollow and impossible to take seriously. "It's hard to forgive, even harder to forget," Stapp sings on "Name," "I am a son without a father." In the video for "Purpose for Pain," Stapp's interpretative condemnation of child abuse makes it seem like he's got corpses buried in his backyard. "Fell into the light, thrown from the abyss, screamed so many nights, not going out like this," Stapp sings. "I fought the devil and he won." Meanwhile, "Face of the Sun," Stapp's pump-up track, is just plain cheesy. "Fight until the end, in the name of love," he calls out with great solemnity. The closing track, "The Last Hallelujah," is so engulfed in its own dramatics it almost becomes satirical.
For years Stapp has been assaulted by his demons, and he has somehow emerged from each near-death experience still charismatic and optimistic for the future. His journey to sobriety and beyond is no doubt admirable, but it's hard to take the testament of Scott Stapp. Any vague guise of sentimentality is overshadowed by the album's clear lack of vulnerability. The cover art, most likely meant to convey a Stapp enlightened by his experiences, just paints the singer as a self-obsessed white guy.
But maybe this is part of his journey. Maybe Stapp is just going through the motions he needs in order to find a resolution. "Gone Too Soon" may be hard to take seriously on its own, but when placed in the right context, it's clearly a well-intentioned ode to his fallen rock compatriots. The Space Between The Shadows is cheesy and lame and sounds like our dads made a rock band, but it's comforting to know that at least Stapp isn't a dick, and at least Creed fans of the past and present don't have to worry about their beloved rock singer ending up like Wes Scantlin.
AV Super Sunshine premieres the music video for "Time Bomb."
The song is from AV's forthcoming album, Candyland, and currently holds the number one spot on Starfleet's Music Pool Crossover Chart and Dance Chart, as well as the second spot on Euro Indie's Music Chart, and the same position on Euro Indie's Top 200.
AV wrote "TIME BOMB" after going cold-turkey off the anti-depressant Pristiq. According to AV, "Time Bomb" was "the perfect song hook because I felt like I was about to explode." The song was influenced by "Cherry Bomb," the classic tune by The Runaways.
Originally from Wisconsin, AV has roamed the world searching for musical inspiration and truth. In 2014, he met Philomena, the other half of AV Super Sunshine. The following year, AV dropped his EP, Just Like Kurt, followed by a studio album, Baby Goodbye, which led to the release of Bass Face in 2016.
"Time Bomb" opens with thrumming guitars and a tight rhythm, pulsing with beau coup pop-rock energy and lustrous retro vocal harmonies. Riding condensed droning synths and skintight buff textures, the harmonic flow projects infectious get-up-and-go, raw and addictive.
AV's voice, colored by passionate punk-like timbres, delivers stylish intense tones, along with nuanced imminence, as if he's ready to ignite the fuse and light it up.
The video, directed by Jared Sagal, kicks-off with AV and Philomena gazing at the city below. Suddenly, they turn and run as if pursued by demons from hell. They run through the city, down stairs, dart through a subway car, eventually arriving at their destination – a parking meter about to expire. Feeding it a quarter, they walk off.
Randy Radic is a Left Coast author and writer. Author of numerous true crime books written under the pen-name of John Lee Brook. Former music contributor at Huff Post.