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'Sonic Station'

Phil Kane

phil kane

jack blades rock n roll ride

Sonic Station are another bunch of Swedes showing the Americans, particularly of the west coast variety, how to do their job. Sonic Station the album sets its stall out very much at the lighter end of the melodic spectrum. It's the sort of fluffy, near weightless AOR pop that ruled the roost in the eighties.

What Alexander Kolbrink, the man responsible for this, has also done is thrown a peppering of Kenny G's smooth cocktails-at-seven style jazz into the mix and it all seems to work very well. The album would be the perfect candidate as the soundtrack for Moonlighting reruns or Frazer, The Movie. In fact, this album could also be a potential late night knicker stripper of some potency.

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The production is pristine and the performances are tight, smooth as cream and near flawless. There are no nasty surprises and most definitely no raw edges or rough cuts. 'Sonic Station' will definitely not annoy your neighbours.

So, I suppose you could say it is a boring album of very light inoffensive west coast rock that works well as background music at dinner parties. You would be right too but that's not to say it does not have some charm; 'You Have To Let Me Go' and 'Running Through The Night' are the odd tracks out, having just enough grunt to puncture a brown paper bag. So, on the whole, 'Sonic Station' does not sound a promising proposition, does it? No? Well gentlemen, allow me to paint you a picture.

You are at a gathering and there is a pretty young thing in a little black number with come hither eyes that you have been trying to get to know. Y'all got your best colours on, with their puke stains and alluring aroma of stale fags, beer and piss. Not only do you think you are a bit of a lady's man but you regard yourself a bit of a rough arsed veteran of the bar wars with the looks to prove it and an attitude to match.

You've given the girl your best line in chat and think you've got her nailed. Then this smooth dude appears from out of nowhere looking like he's just arrived from a shoot for a fashion magazine; the sort that drives a flash car, changes his underpants every day, has all his own teeth and never ever drinks out of a can. Who do you think gonna take the day? You?

Ha, sorry to pop your bubble Conan but there ain't a snowball in hell's chance she'll be allowing you to ferret around in her underwear any time soon. So, while you are out back adding another puke stain to your collection, lover boy has whisked the little black number away to his pad and I guarantee he will have 'Sonic Station' on the stereo working its knicker stripping magic.

Therefore pupil, your lesson for today is; In this particular scenario, the saying 'faint heart never won fair maiden' most definitely does not apply. Until you learn to wield the seductive powers of the likes of Steely Dan, Chicago and Mr Mister, I'm afraid a drunken virgin you must remain.

To sum up, if Casanova were alive today, 'Sonic Station' would be his preferred weapon of choice. Otherwise, this album is of very little use.



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