Tony Danza Tap Dance Extravaganza - Self-Titled

That’s what I get for deciding to review a band just because their name sounds funny. I laughed. I pondered. At some points I threw my head back and forth really hard. Then I stopped for sake of my impending headache. And in the end, I didn’t quiet know what to make of it all. Maybe I’m trying to turn this album into something it’s not. The first time I listened to the Murfreesboro, TN, five-some’s debut, I ran it through the usual criteria: Band’s sonic chemistry; the quality of lyrics and their delivery; general contour and structure of the songs and album; that sort of pretentious- sounding junk. I now know that said exercise was perfectly futile. This album has nothing to do with structure, melody, or any other such conventions. It’s really just, well, noise. Glorious, blaring, fuel-for-a-ravenous-moshpit noise. And it hits you like a ton of bricks right from the opening millisecond. Layne Meylain and Brad Thomson absolutely molest their guitars, and drummer Mason Crooks thunders right behind them. Often likened to tech metal poster band Dillinger Escape Plan, the band claims to be more “groove oriented.” But there isn’t much grooving to be found, except initially on track “Cliff Burton Surprise” (capped off with a completely pointless, yet sufficiently hilarious G n’ R homage). It’s all very mechanical, with sporadic tempo changes and abrupt movements. Each track takes about fourteen different seemingly random directions before the band stops for a breather. If it weren’t for the three seconds of silence, you could not tell where one song ended and the next began. It’s rumored that singer Jessie Freeland does “warm up exercises” before gigs. Cheesy as that may sound, I don’t blame the guy. Granted the band zips through ten songs in about half an hour, he still belts it out like nobody’s business (not that you can hear him over everyone else). Even lyrically the album is interesting: Cryptic, haiku-esque words like "As rain falls, colors spin around, halos never placed," or "Scars crept up from stairs to ground, no strip club, no handcuffs…" add an unexpectedly introspective dimension to this assault. Oh, and I nominate “Big Pun’s not dead because I just saw him at Krispy Kreme” for Greatest-Song-Title-Ever-in-the-History-of-Song-Titles-that-have-Nothing-to-do-with-the-Lyrics. Speaking of Big Pun, that’s another eccentricity to note. These guys have one weird gangsta rap fetish. There are at least three completely inanely placed samples spread out on the record. I know, this, along with the band name and song titles, is meant to be absurd. But it really just ends up drawing attention away from their skill, becoming a hindrance to their cause. In not so many words, this album is a mess. But a calculated one. I haven’t quite heard it yet, but TDTDE are certainly on to something. They’ve just got to loose the distracting humor. [www.tonydanzatapdanceextravaganza.com]