For some reason, Nickleback is one of those bands that everyone loves to take the mick out of. And they’re not the only ones: Winger can also be added to this list (Metallica swiftly ruined Winger’s career by throwing darts at a poster of the frontman in one of their music videos), as can many others who seem forever doomed to be the ‘uncool band’. Basically, if you like them, you’re a dweeb. This is painfully unjustified, however, especially if we consider how many dweebs per square metre would be required for Nickleback to have shifted the 50 million albums they’ve sold on the American continent alone. Get Rollin’ only goes to show that this band is no joke. The opening tracks San Quentin and Skinny Little Missy will get every hard rock lover tapping their feet. Sure, the band has found a recipe that works for them, and they’re not afraid to indulge themselves in a simple bluette that’ll make the girls swoon. However, when the quartet wants to bring out the big guns, there’s nothing funny about it (‘Vegas Bomb’). Even ‘Tidal Wave’, a mid-tempo track, is a pleasure to listen to. Sure, there might be few gimmicks on this album, but people have undoubtedly consumed blander music (remember the MTV years?). Not everything on Get Rollin’ is a masterpiece, but the highlights are good enough not to warrant insulting this radio-friendly band that never takes its audience for fools (have a listen to ‘Horizon’, it’s clearly intended to be a hit, though it never sounds like a desperate attempt). A huge American rock sound (that sometimes tends towards hard rock) with choruses that make you want to yell at the top of your lungs whilst driving a convertible Mustang down Route 66? I’ll take it. You can’t spend your whole life listening to nothing but Chelsea Wolfe: there’s a time for everything. For those moments when you don’t have a care in the world and just want to whistle a catchy tune, Nickleback is there. © Charlélie Arnaud/Qobuz

Forget the album cover, which looks like homemade artwork on a CD handed out by a desperate artist patrolling the boardwalks in Venice Beach. Get Rollin' continues the back-to-basics approach Nickelback started with 2017's Feed the Machine, stripping away anything that doesn't contribute to their heavy-footed wallop. All power chords and thick backbeats, traits that are still evident in the power ballads, Get Rollin' hardly sounds modern but Nickelback have been around the block enough times to not even attempt to hide their advancing age: they not only indulge in wistful nostalgia for "Those Days," they call one of their songs "Skinny Little Missy" as if they were grandpas. Being comfortable in their own skin suits Nickelback, though. They're more likely to wind their way around a sunny, irrepressible hook like they do on "High Time," a good-time weed anthem that's their catchiest pop tune ever, and they also polish "Tidal Wave" with spacy, retro '80s affectations that actually suit Chad Kroeger's surging melody. Now that they're veterans, Nickelback don't try so hard to be heavy, nor do they indulge in their tasteless side: they're craftsmen who know how to deliver the goods, which -- on its own terms -- Get Rollin' certainly does.© Stephen Thomas Erlewine /TiVo

When Ice Cube split from N.W.A after the group's seminal Straight Outta Compton album changed the world forever, expectations were high, too high to ever be met by anyone but the most talented of artists, and at his most inspired. At the time Cube was just that. With AmeriKKKa's Most Wanted the rapper expanded upon Compton, making a more full-bodied album that helped boost the role of the individual in hip-hop. Save the dramatic intro where a mythical Ice Cube is fried in the electric chair, his debut is filled with eye-level views of the inner city that are always vivid, generally frightening, generally personal, and sometimes humorous in the gallows style. Ripping it quickly over a loop from George Clinton's "Atomic Dog," Cube asks the question that would be central to his early career, "Why there more niggas in the pen than in college?," while sticking with the mutual distrust and scare tactics N.W.A used to wipe away any hopes of reconciliation ("They all scared of the Ice Cube/And what I say what I portray and all that/And ain't even seen the gat"). "What I'm kicking to you won't get rotation/Nowhere in the nation" he spits on the classic "Turn Off the Radio," which when coupled with the intoxicating Bomb Squad production and Cube's cocksure delivery that's just below a shout, makes one think he's the only radio the inner city needs. The Bomb Squad's amazing work on the album proves they've been overly associated with Public Enemy, since their ability to adapt to AmeriKKKa's more violent and quick revolution is underappreciated. Their high point is the intense "Endangered Species," a "live by the trigger" song that offers "It's a shame, that niggas die young/But to the light side it don't matter none." This street knowledge venom with ultra fast funk works splendidly throughout the album, with every track hitting home, although the joyless "You Can't Fade Me" has alienated many a listener since kicking a possibly pregnant woman in the stomach is a very hard one to take. Just to be as confusing as the world he lives in, the supposedly misogynistic Cube introduces female protégé Yo-Yo with "It's a Man's World" before exiting with "The Bomb," a perfectly unforgiving and visceral closer. Save a couple Arsenio Hall disses, AmeriKKKa's Most Wanted is a timeless, riveting exercise in anger, honesty, and the sociopolitical possibilities of hip-hop.© David Jeffries /TiVo

As a veteran group, it would be easy to go through the motions at this point, but for their 16th album, True North, Bad Religion are still fully inspired and delivering sturdy, memorable, and solidly crafted material. Released on guitarist Brett Gurewitz's Epitaph Records, after more than 250 songs, the founding member clearly knows what works for the band, and he sticks to the formula of uptempo, muscular anthems with chunky guitar parts and contemplative lyrics. Vocalist Greg Graffin continues to question the government, Christianity, and American society at large, sounding expressive, with a little less grit than usual, but tireless. True North shows flashes of their earlier work, and is a step up from their last album, 2010's The Dissent of Man, in terms of aggression. No straight-ahead pop tracks to be found here. Just 16 rapid-paced songs in under 35 minutes. Even after lineup changes, this latest edition of Bad Religion -- Graffin, Gurewitz, guitarists Brian Baker and Greg Hetson, bassist Jay Bentley, and drummer Brooks Wackerman -- operates like a well-oiled machine and plays its classic anti-establishment brand of So-Cal punk effortlessly. So well, in fact, that many of the songs on board hold up against the best material they've written since adding a third guitarist. There are some rare moments of lyrical levity too: for instance, when Graffin defends his usage of "fuck you" by explaining that it's just a Pavlovian response that he can't help and a way to pay homage to your bad attitude. While not exactly Bad Religion's deepest sentiment, it's a great summation of their long, long career as angry yet intellectual punks.© Jason Lymangrover /TiVo

The great open secret about the Killers is that they only make sense when they operate on a grand scale. Everything they do is outsized; their anthems are created for fathomless stadiums, a character quirk they've grown into over the years as they've gone from scrappy wannabes fighting their way out of Las Vegas to the international superstars they've longed to be. Nearly ten years after Hot Fuss -- a decade that flashed by like a falling rocket -- the Killers aren't quite the new U2 or the Cure, to name two of their inescapable role models, but they're not Echo & the Bunnymen, either, doomed to be playing for an ever-selective audience. They are new millennium superstars, filling stadiums and flying under the radar, maintaining a popularity that justifies -- even demands -- albums as overblown as Battle Born, their fourth full-length and first to bear the stamp of the utter ease of a veteran. Unlike their three previous albums, the Killers don't necessarily have anything to prove on Battle Born: they've carved out their kingdom and now they're happy to reside within it, taking their time to ensure their palaces are overwhelmingly opulent. And Battle Born is indeed a dazzling spectacle, an inversion of the blueprint handed down from 2008's Day & Age, where the band emphasizes songs over sound. Battle Born is constructed on a smaller scale -- there are no interludes, most songs are trimmed of fat, with "From Here On Out" breezing by at under 2:30 -- but the group has internalized the sprawl of Sam's Town so they retain the wide-open spirit of the desert, not to mention the band's persistent obsession with Bruce Springsteen's mini-operas of love won, lost, and gambled. In fact, the Killers are slowly stepping away from any dance-rock trappings they once displayed, all while refusing to abandon synthesizers, which leaves Battle Born as this curious fusion of the aesthetics of 1983 applied to the roots rock of 1989; not quite so futuristic as willfully out of time. All this is reconfirmation of how the Killers exist in their own world, one that's tethered to an alternate classic rock history where Born to Run is ground zero, MTV the British Invasion, The Joshua Tree, and Sgt. Pepper's. Of course, all of this music is now far, far in the past, so it's no surprise the Killers no longer sound like kids. They're veterans at this game, a group who has been trading in these stylized, glamorized fusions for a decade, and that slightly weathered attitude is now part of the band's appeal; they're veterans that know how to use their tools, so even if the raw materials may not be quite as compelling as their earliest singles, the overall craft on Battle Born is more appealing. And if age has changed the Killers attack, it has done not a thing for Brandon Flowers as a lyricist, who remains committed to gobsmacking poetry and allusions, and cracked observations that somehow sound endearing when encased in the well-lubricated machinery of Battle Born.© Stephen Thomas Erlewine /TiVo

Boston's Godsmack confidently brought nu-metal rock into the technological age by seamlessly incorporating noisy hooks into a tight framework of pulsing beats, processed vocals, and a slew of programmed samples, edits, and voiceovers. Singer/producer Sully Erna unloads a barrage of in-your-face verbal assaults, lambasting the often bumpy road of love relationships. These songs are caustic and unapologetic, with ear-splitting guitars and energetic drumming. Both "Moonbaby" and "Timebomb" are fraught with explosive guitar riffs, while "Voodoo" does an about-face and confronts the theme of obsessive love with full-bodied percussion. Godsmack's innovative use of sample mixing may lead to the erroneous conclusion that this reissued release sought to capitalize on sounds made fashionable by the likes of Prodigy and Monster Magnet. But one listen to Sully Erna's achingly brittle vocals is all that's needed to fully convince anyone that Godsmack makes serious hard rock.© Roxanne Blanford /TiVo

Download not available
Eminem placed himself in exile shortly after Encore wound down, a seclusion initially designed as creative down-time but which soon descended into darkness fueled by another failed marriage to his wife Kim and the death of his best friend Proof, culminating in years of drug addiction. Em none too subtly refers to that addiction with the title of Relapse, his first album in five years, but that relapse also refers to Marshall Mathers reviving Slim Shady and returning to rap. Relapse is designed to grab attention, to stand as evidence that Eminem remains a musical force and, of course, a provocateur spinning out violent fantasies and baiting celebrities, occasionally merging the two as when he needles one-time girlfriend Mariah Carey and her new husband Nick Cannon. Strive as he might to make an impact in the world at large -- and succeeding in many respects -- Relapse is the sound of severe isolation, the product of too many years of Eminem playing king in his castle in a dilapidated Detroit, subsisting on pills, nachos, torture porn, and E! Daily News. As he sifted through junk culture, he also tweaked his rhyming, crafting an elongated elastic flow that contrasts startlingly with Dr. Dre's intensified beats, ominous magnifications of his thud-and-stutter signature. Musically, this is white-hot, dense, and dramatic not just in the production but in Eminem's delivery; he stammers and slides, slipping into an accent that resembles Paul Rudd's Rastafarian leprechaun from I Love You Man and then back again. His flow is so good, his wordplay so sharp, it seems churlish to wish that he addressed something other than his long-standing obsessions and demons. True, he spends a fair amount of the album exorcising his addiction -- smartly tying it to his never-abating mother issues on "My Mom" -- but most of Relapse finds Eminem rhyming twitchily about his old standbys: homosexuals, starlets, and violent fantasies, weaving all of them together on "Same Song and Dance" where he abducts and murders Lindsay Lohan, suggesting more than a passing familiarity with I Know Who Killed Me. The many, many references to Kim Kardashian's big ass and minutely detailed sadism can get a wee bit tiring, Relapse isn't really about what Eminem says, it's about how he says it. He's emerged from his exile musically re-energized and the best way to illustrate that is to go through the same old song and dance again, the familiarity of the words drawing focus on his insane, inspired flow and Dre's production. That might not quite make Relapse culturally relevant -- recycled Christopher Reeve jokes aren't exactly fresh -- but it is musically vital, which is all Eminem really needs to be at this point.© Stephen Thomas Erlewine /TiVo

Album number six from the veteran rap-metal Los Angelinos commences with a glitchy nerve-fraying intro that suggests Bring Me the Horizon by way of the American Horror Story theme. Vocalist/bassist Johnny 3 Tears described New Empire, Vol. 1 as "our attempt at reimagining Hollywood Undead, not just a new sound for this release, but a new sound for the band altogether." Produced with factory floor precision by Matt Good (Asking Alexandria, Sleeping with Sirens), the nine-track set doesn't really reinvent the band, but it does lean harder into the heavy metal and electronicore aspects of their sound, resulting in something that feels a little less dated than previous outings; they've also dispensed with their signature hockey masks. Standout cuts like "Already Dead," "Empire," and opening salvo "Time Bomb" feel rooted enough in the group's back catalog to please longtime fans, but they're delivered with the gusto of a fledgling entity looking to shed some skin and blood to make an impression. That vitality is omnipresent throughout the album's brutally efficient 32-minute runtime; a tightly packed sonic assault festooned with djent-y breakdowns, bold electronics, seedy West Coast rap verses, and huge radio-ready choruses. It's not the boldest line of demarcation between the group's past and present -- it's far too soon to be rebranding themselves as Hollywood Reborn -- but New Empire is aptly named, and more importantly, a pretty damn solid record.© James Christopher Monger /TiVo

The follow-up to 1973's Unsung Heroes was the first of the group's Blue Thumb efforts to be distributed by ABC Records. The label switch also coincided with the inclusion of lyrical guitarist Larry Carlton as a full-fledged member. Although much of Southern Comfort puts a gloss on ideas made definitive on earlier efforts, the complaints are minimal and this remains the most appealing, multi-faceted incarnation of the band. The first track, "Stomp and Buck Dance," is an offhanded and skilled approach to the group's patently earthy style. The insistent "The Well's Gone Dry" has the edginess of some of the better tracks on Unsung Heroes, and has Carlton doing great work on the bridge. Not surprisingly, it is Carlton's presence here that adjusts the band chemistry and makes the best of Southern Comfort even more so. The best track here, the poignant "When There's Love Around," has Carlton's guitar attaining the perfect sense of longing that meshes well with Joe Sample's trademark Fender Rhodes tones. The last tracks here are also in a thoughtful ballad vein: "Lilies of the Nile" has great horn work from Wilton Felder and Wayne Henderson, and the last track, "A Ballad for Joe (Louis)," is a heartfelt rumination on the life of the famed boxer, featuring Sample's inherent sense of melody. A good representation of the Crusaders' tasteful and intelligent playing, Southern Comfort is more than recommended to their fans.© Jason Elias /TiVo

Singers and rappers looking for hits don't go to Pharrell Williams for power pop pumped full of steroids, elaborately arranged baroque pop, mosh-inducing guitar assaults, songs about women doing coke in bathrooms, or philosophical ruminations. Williams, along with fellow Neptune Chad Hugo and longtime associate Shay continue to use N.E.R.D. as an outlet for all the stray ideas that leave sales and airplay considerations in the dust. But it's not as if what they have produced as a trio has been inaccessible, and that goes for their third album, Seeing Sounds, as well. In Search Of... went gold, despite being re-recorded into an inferior band-driven version of the synth-and-drum-machine-heavy original (released outside the U.S. in 2001), while the ambitious and occasionally downright bizarre Fly or Die apparently moved roughly 100,000 fewer units. Those numbers aren't bad, but it was apparent that the average Neptunes fan was thrown (or merely not won over) by the stylistic shifts and seemingly out of character lyrical concepts. Seeing Sounds nonetheless goes down the same route as the previous N.E.R.D. album, and there aren't any crossover feature spots, à la the Madden brothers on "Jump," to push it. The only other changes are that Williams gets three quarters of the songwriting credits alone, whereas Fly or Die was Hugo/Williams all the way, and Shay is put to a little more use. Once again, it is evident that they put all of themselves into the material, from the left of center concepts to arrangements with unpredictable shifts. The piano-led "Sooner or Later" switches back and forth from verses akin to David Bowie's "Changes" and a crashing chorus that is nearly bombastic, incorporating a needling guitar solo, while "Love Bomb" is similarly ambitious, using a similar build and release setup while sounding much different. Despite all the weight, those songs still have a way of seeming as easy and carefree as the moments when N.E.R.D. are simply bashing away (sometimes over agitated drum'n'bass), blowing off steam, and talking ridiculous nonsense. Whether taken as a diversion of throwaway fun or a deeper (or peculiar) look into what makes these men tick, the album succeeds.© Andy Kellman /TiVo