Bad Religion

“The Empire Strikes First” (Epitaph)

Compare to: NOFX, No Use for a Name, Bad Brains

There’s not much to say about a Bad Religion album that hasn’t been said a thousand times before. At first glance, “The Empire Strikes First,” like almost every release since the band’s 1982 debut, is a fiery blend of politically charged lyrics and true post-punk anthems.

But there’s something missing this time around.

It’s a little hard to pin down, but there’s an unidentifiable charisma — a certain panache, if you will — that’s to be expected from Bad Religion, and “Empire” just doesn’t have it.

What’s strange is that the ingredients are all still there. Lead singer Greg Graffin’s sandpaper-clad vocals still blur the line between uptempo punk beats and pop melodies, guitarist Brett Gurewitz is as innovative and powerful as ever, and the lyrics are still literate, poetic works of art. But there’s just something missing that keeps this album from having the same feel as its predecessors.

Perhaps this similarity to past efforts is exactly the problem with “Empire.” No one’s asking the band to innovate beyond what’s been done in the past — after all, it’s worked for more than two decades. Problems arise, however, when this tried-and-true politi-punk formula has to hold its own in such a turbulent era.

In an election year where a Republican is in the Oval Office, it would be absurd to think the ultra-liberal Graffin and crew wouldn’t be spewing gallons of vitriol through the airwaves, and the album certainly doesn’t fall through in this area. Songs like “Social Suicide” and “Boot Stamping on a Human Face” — complete with lyrics like “Hearts bursting with national pride/ They sang songs and went along for the ride/ And the other side complied” — make it clear who this band will be voting for in November. Sadly, neither the music nor the message feel very powerful.

Even some of the more experimental aspects of the album — such as spoken-word maven Sage Francis’ screeching halt of a guest appearance on “Let Them Eat War” — feels as contrived as President Bush at an Earth Day rally. In a less turbulent era, “Empire” might be a much more relevant album. Unfortunately, half-hearted anti-war sentiment from one of the most vocal and intelligent bands of all time makes one wonder if the soul of punk rock is truly dead.

— Aaron Ladage

Keane

“Hopes and Fears” (Interscope)

Compare to: Coldplay, Radiohead, Rufus Wainwright

And you thought the musical fad of sensitive young men exploiting the lonely, lovelorn heartache they experienced during their last breakup in hopes of persuading hordes of female fans to throw their underwear on stage had become as uninteresting as Justin without Britney.

Enter Keane, a trio of thoroughly modern, tremendously gorgeous Brits, whose debut CD, “Hopes and Fears,” hit the United States awash with fawning comparisons to Radiohead and — gasp! — The Smiths.

From a musical standpoint, Keane may have the potential to rival The Smiths with its simple musical beauty and unassuming charm — someday. The band is well on its way already, having singer Tom Chaplin’s ethereal voice and stripped-down instrumentals as its primary assets. Chaplin’s vocals are really what carries Keane throughout the album atop a bed of lush piano and drums. However, even though Keane’s music sounds melodically amazing, their mostly childish lyrics leave much to be desired.

The CD starts out strong with the single “Somewhere Only We Know,” and the single-worthy “This Is The Last Time.” Both these songs display the emotional maturity you’d expect from older 20-something songsters, and they, along with Keane’s first single, “Everybody’s Changing,” hold the key to Keane’s future if the band decides it actually wants to be successful.

Most of the rest of the album is full of ridiculously uncomplicated lyrics, which is good if the goal is to attract an audience full of middle schoolers who have just started to get a grasp on how poetry is supposed to work.

The silliest example comes from one of the most inane tracks, “Sunshine” — with phrases like “I hold you in my hands/ A little animal/ And only some idiot would let you go,” this should really not be seen anywhere outside of scribbles on the margins of a sixth-grader’s geography class notebook.

It’s easy to overlook Keane’s lyrical shortcomings simply because Chaplin’s voice sparkles nearly as vividly as Radiohead’s Thom Yourke, with less pompousness and a bit more beauty. And a band that can create this amazing of a sound with no guitars deserves to be commended.

— Alicia Ebaugh

My Chemical Romance

“Three Cheers for Sweet Revenge” (Reprise)

Compare to: Thursday, Thrice

When My Chemical Romance released its first album in 2002, “You Brought Me Your Bullets, I Bring You My Love,” the band was relentlessly compared to fellow New Jerseyan and labelmate Thursday. And rightfully so. Lyrically, musically — the band helped make New Jersey more than just “The Garden State,” it was now a way to describe a genre of music.

Lead singer Gerard Way used that first album as an outlet to express what he was dealing with in his personal life, namely depression.

“Three Cheers for Sweet Revenge” deals with the same dark subject matter, with the first track, “Helena,” setting the tone for the rest of the album: “Long ago/ Just like the hearse you die to get in again/ We are/ So far from you.”

Changing its label from Eyeball to Reprise did little to help My Chemical Romance reach another level of musicianship. “You Brought Me Your Bullets” was good, and “Three Cheers” could have been great.

Thursday released a new album this fall, “War All the Time,” and the band has been given props for its attempts at political commentary. My Chemical Romance, ever just a few steps behind, has remained the same. Thursday became intense. My Chemical Romance became depressed … again.

Lyrically, you sense Way’s pain lurking beneath every line. But, after the first two tracks, each song starts to sound the same. “Three Cheers for Sweet Revenge” is a promising title, but past the title there isn’t really a track on this album that sends shivers up your spine and you can quote in your away message on AIM when you are having a crappy day.

Musically, “Three Cheers” sounds much like the bands My Chemical Romance has toured with — with militantly infused harmonies and guitar riffs.

Even though some of these sounds are somewhat repetitive, tracks like “You Know What They Do To Guys Like Us In Prison” break things up a little, and offer just a taste of what Way and My Chemical Romance can really accomplish. Although this album would make a fair contribution to a “rainy day” soundtrack, “Three Cheers for Sweet Revenge” doesn’t fit the ranks of “really depressing” music.

— Kathryn Fiegen

Arecee

“Beating a Dead Horse” (Paste)

Compare to: Mr. Lif, Aesop Rock, Lyrics Born

There are few (meaningful) ways to dis a rapper worse than calling him a “biter” in a negative way. But when the rapper in question is biting someone with as interesting and unique a style as Aesop Rock, and doing it well, it’s not necessarily a dis.

Arecee stands out as being Iowa’s only claim to hip-hop quasi-fame, but since his notable EP, “Direction for Children,” the MC and producer has relocated from Des Moines to Boston. It’s no surprise the scrawny, white rapper has felt the need for some better fellowship. Thankfully, Arecee’s sound hasn’t been tarnished by living in a real city.

On “Take a Few,” Arecee begins with “I’m not A-Rok’s cousin, so why ya buzzin’?” Just a few bars after this blatant denial of comparisons to Aesop Rock, his intentions become less clear.

Although the vocal similarities to Ace Rock are unavoidable, Arecee delivers intelligent rhymes with plenty of flavor and solid beats to boot.

He has admitted publicly that he feels less natural MCing than producing, and it shows at times on the new album. As Arecee rhymes about the cartoonish nature of life and his state of perpetual inebriation, his voice fluctuates into high notes that sound forced and unnatural.

By the end of the record, Arecee spouts off more than a few rubbery lines that will make listeners stop and think. The tragic moments can be overlooked for the sake of the bigger picture.

The same goes for the production, which Arecee does as well.

Dark, sometimes spongy tracks, similar to those on “Direction for Children,” show the hip-hopper is every bit as competent with Pro Tools and a Mac as he is on the mic. Despite a few sound clips inserted at awkward moments, the sounds flow tightly.

If Arecee can still be considered part of Iowa’s hip-hop scene, he is undoubtedly one of its most valuable players.

Currently, his music can be found only at Hastings and a few other record stores. But if his liquor bottles don’t swallow him whole and he manages to set himself apart from Ace while staying true to himself, there’s no telling what Arecee can do.

— Andrew Mabe