Crooked X - Crooked X (Album)
The noisy amalgamation of hard rock, a strong work ethic and fourteen year old boys, Crooked X are the wet dream of any Catholic priest who takes his music seriously.
Since stumbling across the band in an Ultimate-Guitar article, I’ve been eagerly anticipating the debut release from the prodigious Oklahoma quartet. However, despite the fact that this album was certainly going to be an interesting encounter, I also knew that it would be a challenging review. While my job requires that I remain impartial, judging the work on its own merits, just how do I dissociate myself from the fact that this often-bold album was written entirely by four young lads who’ve barely hit puberty? Well all credit to Crooked X, because they make you forget it pretty damn fast.
No doubt the cynic in you is already wildly screaming “Gimmick! Gimmick!”, drawing your upper lip in a sneer of contempt and hurling the figurative rotten fruit, but like with all art, it’s important to approach this release with an open mind and an unbiased disposition. Behind some glaring faults there lies a body of work that can certainly be grudgingly respected, if not lovingly admired.
Crooked X opens with Gone, a track that at times seems a throwback to late 80s / early 90s hard rock, but is for the most part a dreary attempt to make the band look tough and dangerous, a laughable idea considering its members were probably all virgins when they wrote the song – although since their explosion into fame, some things have probably changed…or in the case of portly drummer Boomer Simpson, some things have probably not. My scathing wit aside, the basic fills and formulaic structure of Gone do not make for a good album opener, and there is the only occasional hint of proficiency and originality.
The one saving grace is guitarist / vocalist Forrest French’s vocal performance, singing with an impressive timbre that belies his young age. Adrenaline follows, and at face value is a power-chord thick anthem about bull-riding (insert your own dirty joke), but behind the literal imagery lies a message about making the most of the precious little time we’re given in life. It’s not a groundbreaking theme by any measure, and lyricism such as “gonna ride this rocket ship until I win” is downright embarrassing, but there are certainly worse messages that Crooked X could be conveying to the slovenly hoi polloi that is today’s youth.
The frantic warning klaxons that open Time Is Now are a perfect gauge for my mood as I’m listening to Crooked X, as I’m a quarter of the way through the record and despite French’s impressive bellows all I’ve been treated to thus far is commercial radio rabble, with one decent guitar solo. Concerning theme, Time Is Now is a companion piece to “Adrenaline”, but in terms of musicianship it humiliates the preceding track with an upbeat romp and stomp rhythm and distorted solo that hearkens to the days of Metallica / The Black Album. Just don’t listen to Time Is Now and Metallica’s Sad But True back to back, for you’ll find the similarities are appalling.
Woeful lyrics continue to humiliate me as I’m driving through Melbourne’s crowded central business district with Rock ‘N’ Roll Dream blasting through open windows and sunroof, and I feel it’s only a matter of time before pedestrians start to point and giggle at “Different town every night / On the stage feelin’ right / I’ll never stop, ain’t no fad / I know I got it bad”, but surprisingly I don’t really care anymore, because at this point on the album Crooked X really find their groove. The riff is catchy, the chorus more so, there is great interplay between French and lead guitarist Jesse Cooper, and if you set aside a moment to think about it, you’ll find that truly every boy does “need a rock ‘n’ roll dream”. Rock ‘N’ Roll Dream comes to an appropriately powerful conclusion with a solo reminiscent of Lynyrd Skynyrd’s classic Free Bird, but just when it seems you’ve heard the album’s first truly great track there is a colossal blunder: in a Southern drawl at the very end of the song, French hollers through the silence “That’s how we do it babe!”, and just like that I’ve gone from enthusiastically tapping my steering wheel to contemplating putting my skull through it. Whether it was the dick move of a producer trying to pander to the masses, or simply immaturity on behalf of the youngsters, it’s a mistake I’m sure that won’t be present in future releases, but one that sorely detracts from an otherwise fantastic piece.
Fade is welcome respite from the at-times forced machismo of the first half of the album, with soaring vocals and surprisingly introspective lyrics about the trappings of fame and fortune (a test Crooked X will no doubt have to overcome if they are to fully realise their virtuosic potential), while in stark contrast You Gotta Bleed is dull, country-flavoured tripe that merits a second listen only if you intend to put a restless child to sleep. The hit and miss formula continues with the technically impressive Nail In The Coffin, where influences from Dream Theater’s John Petrucci seep through, and you’ll hear elements ranging from the triumphant soars of Images And Words to the sludgy riffing of Systematic Chaos’ The Dark Eternal Night.
Crooked X again show us who they grew up listening to with Nightmare, a mimicry of Enter Sandman right down to the quiet cymbal strikes at the start of the track, while in Death Of Me French, in the space of one song, goes from emulating Hetfield to drawing upon Osbourne. Lost Control brings the record to an amusing close, where the band continue with their forced badass hard-rock swagger, but tap a lighter progressive vein with a pre-verse passage that puts one in mind of Shadow Gallery – it’s a funny transition that is certainly out of place, and you’d do better to go back to Rock ‘N’ Roll Dream, lock your door, draw the blinds, and dance in your underwear.
This is certainly not a great album. In fact, it’s a sketchy matter whether Crooked X is even a good album. But, it is one that merits a listen at least for the novelty of the experience, if not the pleasure. With humility, dedication and some luck, these four kids could very well be the biggest musicians on the planet in but a few short years. In the mean time, they need to stop trying so damn hard in a world where nobody gives a damn about trying anymore. Put that down that piece of shit gimmick Guitar Hero and go chase your rock ‘n’ roll dream, whatever it may be, and in ten years you might find that you’ve achieved what Crooked X have done at an age where sipping champagne from the grown-up’s table made you feel important and sophisticated.
But you’re talented and have a nice smile. I think you’ll make it in three.
