the fray

The Fray represents everything that is wrong with America today. On principal alone, I would rather get a Foley catheter than listen to the band's new, self-titled album. The record belongs among other aggressively mediocre blights on the pop-culture landscape, like Guy Fiery-that obese, frosted-tipped wannabe frat guy on the Food Network who's pitching for T.G.I. Friday's.

Maybe it seems like this diatribe has little to do with the album I'm reviewing, but it actually is relevant. The Fray is pop music's answer to Guy Fiery for Friday's. They're convinced that being so bland that you don't even notice their playing is an effective strategy for gaining listeners. The saddest part is that they're right.

Upon listening to the album, I was not pleasantly surprised. The cadence, rhythm and lyrics are virtually identical on every track, from the record's opener "Syndicate" to its closer "Fair Fight." They stick close to a formula that never worked before; every verse or bridge is them desperately trying to fill some time between their lackluster choruses. They only challenge the routine with "Never Say Never" and "Ungodly Hour," both of which attempt to slow down their delivery in favor of even more forced emotion. This change of pace is an admirable idea, but ultimately unsuccessful.

In all its melodrama and self-importance, this band should never find an audience beyond pre-teen girls. To put my money where my mouth is, I ought to walk down to the Duke University Medical Center to get that catheter. At least it won't feel as bad as listening to this album again.