Flame extinguished on Heat's second album

There's a new strain of evil in the independent music scene comprised of bands like Hot Hot Heat who never work to get popular. These bands just don't possess the talent to be good enough on their own, so they automatically sell out.

When these bands sell their souls to The Man, they are guaranteed only one critically-acclaimed album, that while considered “indie,” is instantly played on all of the Top 40 radio stations. The fact that these groups begin immediately on the cusp of independent and mainstream music is incredibly beneficial to them; namely, this is the new hip music that generates equal parts revenue and hype for the majors.

This contract with The Man may be ideal, but the catch is that the album only has one single that gets played to the point that people would rather hear a new duet from Cher and Jacko. After their guarantee of that one album, any attempt of a worthy follow-up release fails miserably. Think The Vines or The Queens of the Stone Age. Although they might have a devoted group of fans, every band in this category will eventually fizzle into the nothingness that is tepid music.

Thankfully, the time has finally come for the downfall of Hot Hot Heat. In less than one week, the band will unveil Elevator, its masterpiece of mediocrity. The lead singer, Steve Bays, even called Elevator an “obnoxious pop album.” This turns out to be an understatement. The album begins with 17 seconds of “arsty” nonsensical noise. These notions of art are soon lost when the second song, “Running out of Time,” explodes and exposes the fact that the band is not going to pull any punches when it comes to making bad music. Not only is the tune regurgitated pop-punk that Good Charlotte could have easily written, but the lyrics prove even worse as Bays cries that he is “Wallowing in a pool of gasoline.” That's sadness right there.

As the album progresses, its purported zenith, “Goodnight Goodnight,” eventually emerges as the third track. The sicky-sweet pop-punk beat is enough to make any one of their preteen fans cry in pain. And it doesn't stop there. The whole album is a mixture of terrible music; the best comparison would be a bad impersonation of Hoobastank—and yes, it can happen—mixed with the revolutionary stylings of Pink. It's a sad world when even the “indie” bands have to conform to the music that bands like A New Found Glory and Simple Plan have been playing for years.

While it would be severely optimistic to say that Hot Hot Heat had a future in the music industry and could possibly pull themselves out from the teetering wreckage of this album, the fact remains that they've simply taken the term “sophomore slump” to a new low.