Post Stardom Depression – Ordinary Miracles
The Control Group
By Graham Isaac
Every now and then there’s a band from your hometown that goes above and beyond all your expectations. A band you love not because they’re local, but because they’re truly great. You wish the rest of the world could hear this band, because you’re sure they’d be as impressed as you are, and that lives everywhere would be touched by the transforming power of their music.
Unfortunately, Post Stardom Depression is not this band. In fact, they are the polar opposite.
They make me want to stop championing actual rock music and hole up in a corner with the Bright Eyes and Yanni discographies and never listen to another fuzzy guitar again. I’ve lost all faith in the art form.
When I first heard of Post Stardom Depression, I was slightly intrigued. Seattle writers described them as “grunge holdovers.” Don’t get me wrong, I do love me some grunge, especially if by loving me some grunge I’m still supporting the local keepers of the faith, as it were. This isn’t an argument based on nebulous concepts of “relevancy” – If music is good enough, it will create a space for itself within whatever time frame it exists. When I saw Post Stardom Depression live they started by warming up with low, distorted bass and squealing feedback. I leaned over to my compatriot and predicted “this is going to be good.” I was wrong. It wasn’t. At all.
All the rock and roll goodness came to an abrupt end when the singer took the stage in a skin-tight pink T-shirt and a baseball cap cocked to the side. Then it just turned in to a bad display, with a likeness of Tommy Lee fronting Stone Temple Pilots – but worse. Now I understand why people write off bands with long hair. I had to leave after four songs, as the obnoxious posturing and generic riffing just became unbearable to watch.
Ordinary Miracles is slightly less annoying than their live show, mostly because you don’t have to watch the lead singer mix buttrock cliches and garage rock attitude. You also don’t have to stand next to drunk, 37-year-old bleached blonde fans who wish they’d gotten with the Def Leppard hype back in the day but now have to settle for fucking Post Stardom Depression.
Of course, none of this is going by unnoticed, as these guys are heavy rotation on 107.7 The End, or at least they were for a while. Way to go, guys! Maybe everyone will think your song is as good as the new Trapt single and waste their money on this ugly coaster of a CD. Inexplicably, this album was produced by rock God Jack Endino of Nirvana and Mudhoney fame. This only helps finally prove Slayer’s assertion, that God Hates Us All. – (3/10)