Pop fluff so weak it makes Savage Garden sound like Savage Grace by comparison. It takes all of 10 seconds to realize why Verraros didn’t win his American Idol stint — because his vocals are wafer-cookie brittle and thin. Usually, production gurus can protect artists with fat, booming rhythm tracks and calculated hooks; that doesn’t happen on Rollercoaster. Verraros’ chirp is so incredibly feeble that the backing tracks are actually scaled back. This festering pile of she-goat shit gets worse, too: the monotone “Move” milks both Britney’s “I’m a Slave for You” (vocally) and No Doubt’s “Hella Good” (musically) to absolutely unlistenable levels. Really — who thought it seductive to have this tuneless, kohl-eyed clown moan, “Ollie Ollie oxen free”? The nearest bright spot is the limp Santana clone, “Forbidden Love”; that the track apes modern-day Santana isn’t bad enough, the overprocessed, synthesized guitar would have old Carlos hanging his head in shame, his years of trailblazing work reduced to soulless by-the-numbers cops for pop capital gain. How bad is this album? Locked in a room and chained to a chair, forced to endure “The Macarena” on repeat for hours at an incredible volume would make for a better afternoon.
Gary Blackwell writes about music for Metro Times. Send comments to [email protected].
