Canadian post-rock export and everyone’s favorite band to hate, Nickelback began the process of rolling out promotional singles in September in anticipation of their new album Get Rollin’ which was released on Friday.
The release marks the ninth full-length LP in what will soon be a three-decade career for the band, with Chad and the boys impressively having cranked out a new record every two to three years since their debut album in 1996. That run was disrupted by the five year gap between 2017’s Feed the Machine and 2022’s Get Rollin’ which, in the face of a global pandemic and near-total shutdown of the music industry, most would likely be willing to forgive.
But the new Nickelback album is not what brings us here on this day – we’re a few hours from release at the time of writing, and based on the sample material this writer will be going nowhere near the thing, thank you.
Lead single “San Quentin” was the typical fare: downtuned buttrock riffs laying the foundation for lyrics propounding the joys of alcohol abuse, operating a vehicle while inebriated, and completely avoiding anything remotely resembling accountability.
But a new tune emerged earlier this week in the form of “High Time,” a ditty whose title incorporates some very on-the-nose wordplay – by way of the expression generally meant to indicate an appropriate time for something – being used as a euphemism for smoking weed – because you know, this is a band of super edgy (middle-aged) dudes.
I’m going to forego any remaining semblance of formality here and just shift to first-person narrative perspective because I struggle to even find the words to articulate what is happening here.
From a purely musical standpoint, this release is far and away one of the most offensive things I have ever heard in my life, and this is without even taking into consideration the clumsily broached subject matter of the song.
The guys come out of the gate armed with 3 chords, a tacky, synthetic drum loop, and little else in this shoddily constructed excuse for artistic expression.
And to be fair to Nickelback, it isn’t as though their work was ever high-brow art, or even anything close. They’ve established a niche audience who dig the bonehead riffs and lyrics that don’t try too hard, and far be it from me to judge a person for what brings them joy in a frightening and complicated world.
The band’s success is also owed in no small part to singer, guitarist, and primary songwriter Chad Kroeger’s remarkable and unassailable knack for penning a catchy melody. The man just never bothered to take his lyric-writing past the bare minimum, and more power to him. That’s his prerogative.
But this latest offering is nothing short of an egregious assault on every musical sensibility there is to be defended.
This thing sounds like Theory of a Deadman demoing a song they plan to pitch to Morgan Wallen which he will indubitably reject.
It sounds like a less believable Florida-Georgia Line; like a radio commercial advertising the worst country station you’ll ever hear in your life.
This song is the musical equivalent of a frozen beef patty that was pretty bland to begin with, and was then microwaved and re-refrigerated several times over for months on end before being served on a used paper plate.
This is like if Kid Rock didn’t actually believe in the already questionable music he was doing and was just phoning it in.
With the fusion of rap, rock, pop, and country elements here, Nickelback exhibit 0% of the nuance and consideration called for to converge such disparate elements with the slightest hint of finesse. It’s like the group poured seven different types of soda into a bathtub and expected fans of each flavor to happily come drink from the trough.
This song could single-handedly end the drug epidemic as it pertains to marijuana, as even devoted users are bound to chuck their lighters into the river and run for the hills after one listen to “High Time” for fear of being associated with this musical crime against humanity.
Whatever your stance on legalization, know that any judge exposed to this release will do everything in his or her power to have the stuff banned from the planet altogether for having learned of its capacity to provoke a horrific enough response from the human brain so as to create an abomination such as the one which we are experiencing presently.
It’s truly bonkers that this thing exists. With the bombardment of criticism of hate leveled at Nickelback over the past decade, I honestly thought people were being too hard on the band, and I even personally came to their defense on a few occasions.
After all, the early stuff was pretty decent, and Kroeger’s melody writing at one point was enough to justify the price of admission. I had an All the Right Reasons CD that I played quite frequently as a teenager, and it’s a part of my past to which I’ll happily admit.
Subsequent releases saw the band going ever glossier with their production, becoming some bizarre fusion of a Max Martin-style pop act and a heavier 3 Doors Down. Even then though, there were worse offenders as far as the eye could see – Imagine Dragons having been the generally accepted heir to the throne of most hated band in the world.
But lo and behold, it was not to be. Nickelback must have caught wind that someone was coming for the title, because they have come through with something that simply should not have happened, effectively staking definitive claim to the distinction of most offensive thing currently rolling in popular music.
This tune wants to be a huge anthem so badly, and the tongue-in-cheek subversiveness is about as edgy as a cartoon bank robber is frightening. It’s just silly, really.
Flagrant, cringe-worthy namechecks of the Eagles and The Beach Boys crop up so as to ensure that any boomers potentially listening are sufficiently coddled in what plays like a somehow-worse “All Summer Long.”
But the sheer laziness and lack of any effort whatsoever in the putting together of this monstrosity is perhaps the most offensive thing about it. Even Nickelback are better than this, and they know it.
At least the derivativeness and absurdity of output from an act like Florida-Georgia Line has the act’s belief in the – admittedly ridiculous – material to push it along.
This song is the musical equivalent to an awkward date with a dead-eyed popular girl whose mom made her accept your proposal to prom even though she’d rather be literally anywhere else.
It’s not as though taking inspiration from other tunes breaks some long-held musical and ethical code either. Musicians cherry pick from one another’s material all the time, and that’s the way it’s always been.
But what we’re forced to reckon with here is a caricature of a caricature of a caricature of something that was pretty low-quality to begin with. An imitation of an imitation of someone doing an imitation of someone else who really did know what they were doing either.
That sure is a catchy melody though, right?
Yes, and that’s because it is time tested in every sense of the word. If you’re considering sticking around just for the pleasant melody, might I suggest you consider one of the literally thousands of better songs which follow nearly the exact same chord progression. In fact, one could consider the song itself a Linktree of sorts to similar but considerably better songs.
Examples of such options would include Bruce Springsteen’s “Glory Days,” Led Zeppelin’s “Rock and Roll,” Kenny Chesney’s “When the Sun Goes Down,” Eric Clapton’s “Lay Down Sally,” Fleetwood Mac’s “Secondhand News,” and so many more.
These guys know what they’ve done, and they know that we know, and they’re fully aware that the worst of us will still show up in droves for what is the musical equivalent of a $35 lukewarm, watered down airplane cocktail.
I did not expect the band Nickelback to come through with something that was truly and genuinely upsetting, but here we are.
Unacceptable; Return to sender; This should not exist; We are better than this; Good day.
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