Modern rock is an oxymoron. The word modern implies that the music is up to the minute and current. However, modern rock is locked within the narrow post-Limp Bizkit world of 2001. The loudQUIETloud dynamics of the Pixies are present, without the uninhibited experimentation. The distorted guitars of grunge are there, but without the shimmy of ‘70s rock. The big hooks of hair metal abound, but without the fun or the character. Modern rock brings the “rock” but forgets to roll. Chris Daughtry is the embodiment of this mutant hybrid.
There is nothing wrong with arena rock. Intimate club shows are wonderful, but there is something truly magical about sitting a sold out arena with 15,000 of your friends belting out a chorus. Daughtry is the latest in the arena rock lineage, following in the footsteps of Journey, Styx, Boston, Foreigner and REO Speedwagon. All of those bands were primarily faceless entities, known for their songs rather than their members. The pioneers of arena rock were not flashy, but they played meat and potatoes rock n’ roll with instantly memorable hooks. Daughtry plays basic rock n’ roll, but there is no meat.
The first single “No Surprises,” sums up the entire record. A successful arena rock song depends on the chorus. The verses are irrelevant. The best arena rock bands keep their choruses simple: “Livin’ on a Prayer,” “Don’t Stop Believing,” “More Than a Feeling.” Wordplay is kept to a minimum for maximum participation. “No Surprises” is a simple title, but the chorus is cumbersome and unwieldy. It’s hard to imagine the house lights going up for “There’s nothing here in this heart left to borrow/There’s nothing here in this soul left to say.”
Daughtry knows how to write a hook, but hasn’t figured out how to make them memorable. The songs are indistinguishable from one another. When Daughtry wants to rock, the guitars are cranked up slightly. When you hear an acoustic guitar, you are in power ballad country. Arena rock is all about the cliché, but Daughtry doesn’t know how to use them. For instance, guitar solos are good. Guitar solos that sound like tablature from an issue of Guitar World are not. The hammer-ons in “What I Meant to Say” feel tacked on, as if the solo wasn’t enough of a solo.
Emotion and passion is good. Using the same watered-down Eddie Vedder baritone is not. Daughtry has a decent voice and can hit high notes. High notes may win over American Idol fans, but there isn’t enough grit behind them. Daughtry is supposedly in agony because his girl left him, but his tone never changes. Happy Daughtry and sad Daughtry are one in the same, or they would be if Daughtry wrote a fun song.
As of this writing, Leave This Town is the number one album in the United States. People will always need a band they can rock out to. Humans are wired to respond to power chords, it’s in our DNA. The success of Leave This Town is puzzling, because it lacks the two things that arena rock needs, riffs and choruses. If you listen to Boston’s debut album or Journey’s Escape, the riffs and the melodies linger after the music ends. Daughtry dissipates as soon as the disc stops spinning.