I almost feel guilty. But Jason Heath, your record earned this…

First of all, let’s get this out of the way: I have a great old friend named Jason Heath who I used to DJ for back in the day at Club Snack Sac at Zen Sushi. I have many fond memories of hoisting entire crates of records up a wooden ladder into the quasi-tree fort sound bay thing they had there in the upper room. He’d book bands like Sex Pistols tribute bands and weird math rock thingies and the Partridge Family Temple, and I’d spin records between his bands. I think I got him laid once. This review is not about that Jason Heath.

It’s about Jason Heath and the Greedy Souls, and ironically Heath is not a greedy soul. He’s actually a stand-up, righteous dude who loves charity and community and by all standards, he probably has a killer playlist on his iPod.

But somehow, through friendships with Hollywood types, perhaps, or because he has his eyes set on fame, he’s come out with an embarrassment of an album, and I cannot in good conscience say anything good about it at all. It would be better if the album was full of mistakes and songs that attempted grand things and spectacularly failed, but instead what we have is warmed-over retreads of 80s rockers. It’s sad. Sad sad sad. And I couldn’t help but say so in no uncertain terms:

… it hurts me, after hearing so many great country and country-infused bands this month, to know Jason Heath is oblivious to the fact that he’s reinvented the same sound John Cougar Mellencamp made on his late 80s hit “Cherry Bomb” except, you know, with less oomph to the lyrics and spread over an entire album. Hey, dude, Jason, when you find yourself in a studio doing things like smoothing out the shrillness of an accordion line and making sure the snare drum isn’t too bombastic, it might be wise to take a step back and make sure you’re not ironing out the peaks and valleys and leaving us with nothing but Kansas. (Do I mean the state, or the band? It doesn’t matter.)

Anyway, the review is here.

orangehairboy

Oklahoman by birth. Angeleno by fate. I've been in half a dozen bands and own 25 cubic feet of old records. Thank God for Ikea shelves.

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