George Harrison was eloquently eulogized in Rolling Stone by Elton John, ELO’s Jeff Lynne, Tom Petty, Paul Simon, and Bob Dylan who wrote the world would be a profoundly emptier place without him. Like Harrison, John Entwistle was deemed the quiet one because he did not demand to be heard just like the rest of his cohorts in The Who. Entwistle was the bedrock of the band; his solid, meat-and-potatoes bass-playing anchored the group which was characterized by Keith Moon’s tempestuous and unpredictable drum-kit flurries, Pete Townshend’s windmill guitar antics, and Roger Daltrey’s microphone-twirling stunts.
Entwistle gave a sense of order to the aural delirium that was The Who.
Yes, it was Townshend who got all the accolades for writing sprawlingly magnificent rock operas such as Tommy and Quadrophenia and the hippie anthems like Who are You?, Baba O’ Reilly, Won’t Get Fooled Again, Substitute, etc. It was Pete, Roger and Keith’s onstage anarchy that made them the avatars of punk. (The Clash, the Pistols, Kurt Cobain and co. weren’t the first ones to trash guitars and gear after their set.) But Entwistle’s tasteful, non-egotist approach to playing music was also an integral part of The Who mystique. And when he did grab a few bars in My Generation for a blistering, flangey solo, the result was at par with the low-end musings of more celebrated bassists such as Led Zeppelin’s John Paul Jones, Yes’ Chris Squire and Cream’s Jack Bruce.
To sum it all up, John Entwistle and the Who’s influence on today’s artists (such as Pearl Jam, Stereophonics, Oasis, Phish, which all figured in the The Who tribute album) is immeasurable.
When I heard about Entwistle’s death, I put on a Who vinyl and listened to the melancholy Behind Blue Eyes. And through the thicket of scratches and jumps, I heard Roger Daltrey sing: No one knows what it’s like to be the bad man, to be the sad man behind blue eyes.
The song is over. The Ox has left the cosmic building.
No, Korn didn’t invent nü-metal; the band just made it darker, heavier and infinitely more screwed up. Bear in mind a musical genre is the result of an aural evolution, an amalgam of influences and inspirations and not some overnight idea pulled out from the big, fat void. Rap slash metal was birthed by landmark collaborations between Aerosmith and Run DMC, Anthrax and Public Enemy; you also have the alliances in the Judgment Night soundtrack –– Slayer hooked up with Ice T, House of Pain with Helmet, Boo-Ya T.R.I.B.E. with Faith No More, etc. Along with the Rage Against the Machine (one of the all-time, all-genre greats), Korn has been a huge influence.
These days, rap metal acts are a dime a dozen: Limp Bizkit (the band that authored The Idiot’s Guide to Rap Metal) to Linkin Park (boyband with loud guitars and a turntable) to POD (an imitation of an imitation). Here in our sad republic, not only do you have Slapshock, Greyhoundz and Kheese, er, Cheese, you also have a thousand anonymous children of the Korn. Bands who deemed Eddie Vedder as god (years ago when Club "pay-to-play" Dredd was still alive, and Alive was on every band’s setlist) now consider Jonathan Davis or Fred Durst deity. That is, until a new genre becomes the trend and a new guy is crowned king. It’s jologs edition of The Golden Bough.
But for now, Davis (vocals), Fieldy (bass), David Silveria (drums), James "Munky" Shaffer and Brian "Head" Welch (guitars) hold court. And what do they do with such power? They release an album of loud, brooding, morose metal that’s terribly unlistenable to the average person. But for alienated teens going through their own twisted versions of personal hell, Korn’s "Untouchables" is the best piece of music to drown the cruel world out.
By now, everyone has already seen the futuristic, David Fincheresque video for the single Here to Stay with its repetitive Stormtrooper riff. It’s old school Korn with a twist: a cool, vibes-like bridge before Davis thunders "Break it down!" For those who want old Korn-bred songs, they could fast-forward to Bottled Up Inside and Embrace, which re-echoe the agression of songs in "Issues" and "Follow the Leader."
Listening to Fieldy slap the bass guitar in Blame makes you wonder what key is he and the 7-string guitarists (Munky and Head) are on this time. And listening to Hollow Life makes you wonder whether you’re listening to Korn, Type O Negative or Tears for Fears on acid. Which is not bad at all. The song is moody and atmospheric, morphing into signature Jon Davis scatting before the track’s end. There is also the unforgettable lines: You fall in space/We can’t look down/Death may come/Peace I have found.
The other standout cuts include the accessible No One’s There and One More Time with its hooks and eerie guitars. The other tracks are throwaways –– too processed, too heavily produced. And that’s the aural Achilles heel of the album: too much technology went into the making of "Untouchables" (24-bit sampling rate was utilized –– twice the highest rate normally used for recording) but too little heart. There’s also too much effects on the vocals: it seems Davis is singing through a lead pipe or a modem.
But it’s a Korn disc. Too good to pass up. Unless you’re a person like me who’s waiting for the Chris Cornell and Rage Against the Machine collaboration.
The verdict: you can’t just pop in this CD any time of the day; the mood has to be right. Maybe when you stare out the window and see the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse hurtling down from the blood-red sky, that would be the best time to listen to "Untouchables."
Rating: 3