The wonderful Buscadero in Italy reviews Boxers... And from what we can tell from Google Translate its a beautiful review... 3 and 1/2 out of 4 stars The English Google Translate version of the review is below (Click the link to read in Italian and if an Italian friend would be so kind to do a proper translation, wed appreciate it!): To be original, sometimes it does not necessarily mean to propose something innovative or unconventional, but also, perhaps more importantly, its to be aware of ones origins. Boxers, or boxers fighters tired, bitter, worn out, exhausted by life and yet still in search of a dream or an ideal that can reverse the defeat as the protagonists of one of the stories of Fists (2006), the Florentine writer Pietro Grossi, as the stories are sparse, hyper-realistic and human. Like his friend John Anderson in the fight against neurodegeneration induced by a relentless form of amyotrophic lateral sclerosis (Ryan dedicated his searing punk-rock underground of An Anthem For The Broken to John), Matthew Ryan is a double homecoming . The return in the first place, the views and departments of the iron and steel industry of Pennsylvania, where he was born, 43 years ago (Chester), and where it came back to life today (in the vicinity of the steel mills of Pittsburgh), and then return to rnr, Electrical, bustle, restlessness and the extraordinary web of fury rockista, song writing and tragic feelings of the first album in a series of experiments, including folktronica and synthetic minimalism, perhaps appreciated by the fans (just listen to songs like and Its such A Drag or Amy, Im Letting Go, the last In The Dusk of Everything [2012], in order to understand how fire was still burning under the ashes, powdered synth poor and yet full of charm, the writing of the artist) but certainly not as effective as it had been in the beginning of the second half of the 90s, it was amazing, exciting, necessary as only a handful of other productions of the period. Produced by Kevin Salem, an expert in the rock more raw, dark and edgy (no doubt someone will remember the visceral postpunk Dumptruck he led during the eighties, or the abrasive sound of his solo albums and the city of the next decade), and these also set to music, using the bottom of the inevitable Brian Bequette, drums Joe Magistro (Black Crowes) and the six strings of red-hot Brian Fallon (Gaslight Anthem), Boxer is an album courageous and passionate as the shock of distortions in title track, the usher, the dry and brutally rigorous in its continuous interlayer burning verses and choruses essential and concise (and almost all almost shouted as if there was no tomorrow), to bring the listener to romance disarming of Johnny Thunders, in the lyric rattling Bruce Springsteen, and dirt subversives and poignance of The Replacements Paul Westerberg. These, then, are the most obvious reference to a Suffer No More sweetness that pop and punk impetuosity, and elsewhere if there happens to come across traces of the hot-rock indebted ambitions in dark nights of the National (happens in Gods not Here Tonight and This Ones for You Frankie), the most valuable aspect of Boxers is just to show the renewed fulfillment of the unmistakable style of Matthew Ryan, instantly recognizable from the first explosive and rough notes of a harmonica in the First Heartbreak, in the first chimes of the melancholic electro-pop-rock of We Are the Libertines, in the first arpeggios and painful skeletons of Until Kingdom Come (a lovely exercise unplugged and built upon quotes of The Pogues and the Beatles), and the early shades the atmospheric and ambient If Youre Not Happy. Then She Threw Me Like A Hand Grenade is somewhere between Tom Petty and the Arcade Fire, its the kind of song that can heal the nostalgia of those who still love the epics found in the best blue-collar rock, while space in the Italian edition of the album are also a demo version for solo guitar, the same piece and a folk-rock chamber, in the wake of last Nick Cave, entitled the Queen Of My Arms, which in addition to being one of the the most beautiful things and engaging the entire Boxers glimpse of Matthew Ryans career prospects at all obvious. Meanwhile, even without speaking of rebirth or cleansing (it would be unfair to the bottom of an artist that really anything can be blamed except for the lack of drive and dedication to their projects), Boxer is the best work of its author since From A Late Night High Rise (2006) and it isnt hard to hear at all. Especially if you still want to move in front of a gallery of characters and songs poised between success and failure, between conflict and neglect, triumph and list all stacked in a long, angry, disenchanted homage to the poem with messy and nervous rock. buscadero/recensione-matthew-ryan-boxers/
Posted on: Wed, 12 Nov 2014 16:32:15 +0000
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