"Paradise, Found"


01. F**k Me Stilettos
02. 100 Proof Woman
03. Complete Heat
04. Deville
05. Better than Elvis
06. Rock N Roll Soul
07. One Track Mind
08. You Gotta Stop and Smell the Roses
09. Destroyer
10. Southern Comfort

RATING: 2/10

In a brave experiment gone horribly wrong, FIGHT PARIS' "Paradise, Found" tries in vain to be 33 minutes of sleazy rock 'n metal swagger with profanity-laced beer swillin' and hot chick chasin' lyrics. Instead, it sounds like a sub-par rock record with the wrong production, embarrassingly juvenile lyrics, and an awkward modern hardcore vibe. Typically, the '70s/'80s inspired rock guitar licks almost get your attention before the tune gets flushed right down the shitter with an overly thick rhythm section sound (way too much bass and a drum sound that drags) and Kevin Phillips' forced and slurry quasi-metalcore rasp vocals. Any natural feeling in the guitar work whatsoever and a lessening of the arrangement pensiveness would have made an enormous difference.

The first indication that this train was heading nowhere fast came during the first set of lyrics on the ass-draggin' "F**k me Stilettos": "Damn right that slut's my bitch, she fuckin' sucked my goddamn dick". Gimme a break. Perhaps it's really a social commentary on the frightening degree of misogynistic behavior engaged in by young males. Nah, it's just lame. And it gets lamer. The southern-edged guitar licks on "100 Proof Woman" and stop/start riffing in "Deville" aren't nearly as effective as they could be. Decadence and sleaze are key ingredients in some of the best rock and roll, but it's not as simple as it sounds. I listen to an up-tempo track like "Better than Elvis" (once again killed by a sterile guitar sound and bloated rhythm section) and the shouts of "I wanna fuck all night, I wanna drink til I'm gone" and all I hear are frat boy babble and loud guitars. Musically, it's one of many tracks that almost succeed before getting bogged down and dying. Even the solos that are occasionally busted out (e.g., "Southern Comfort") are forced and uninspired. Then comes a twist. The dissonant guitar screams on "You gotta Stop and Smell the Roses" are the first signs of a song that comes off as bad metalcore with little resemblance to the failed attempts at rip rock on the rest of the disc. Why even bother?

I applaud the effort to sound unlike any other band on the Trustkill roster, or most of metalcore for that matter, but "Paradise, Found" is a goddamn mess. Unconvincing delivery and utter lack of feeling destroy any chance that even the few otherwise mediocre tunes had to cross the finish line. This is a joke.


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