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‘In a recently released satire entitled “The Hipster Handbook,” the “Metal as Fuck” section states that a hipster must “make fun of electronic music and every band on Thrill Jockey.” In the logical, yet surprisingly overlooked, progression of the “Atheist as Fuck” section, one could assume the book would state that hipsters must “make fun of Christian rock and every band on Tooth & Nail Records.”
Let’s be honest with ourselves here, Christian rock is not spreading the word of God. Do you think, all things assumed, that God is looking down from heaven saying “Thank me for P.O.D. and the likes of Creed”?
Although the Christian rock movement has aligned FSF within its boundaries, the band has made a point to say that they are religious but have drawn firm lines between music and beliefs, similar to the lines drawn between church and state. (“Didn’t you know you were a saint what a shameful fall from grace but I’ll catch you,” “I am redemption,” “Oh my God I’ve been waiting for you all my life,” etc.)
Of course, it’s easy to come down hard on a band such as FSF. The mere mention of former lead singer turned pop/sex icon Chris Carrabba would be reason enough for most. It is a scar that the band wears prominently and somewhat piously. Like a scar, it was also beyond the band’s control. It’s an act of fate (God?) that must be accepted in order to move on.
To those who have not heard anything since “The Moon is Down,” the band’s debut full-length, do not anticipate any big surprise, just consistent growth. Jason Gleason fills the metaphorical shoes of Carrabba quite well, too. Keep in mind; he’s a small boy with small feet. It’s the emotion in his heart, and the empathetic hand-on-chest beating that strays from the hearts of fifteen-year-old girls everywhere that appears as oversized and crowding on Carrabba.
Outside of any outstanding premeditated resentment, there are only a few things to complain about within the album. The most major complaint of both the new album and the new-ish addition of Gleason would be the lyrics. Each line clings on to the next in hope of not falling into clich? hell. Despite the promise of “Against My Better Judgment,” they fell and continue to fall with every succeeding track.
At least the lyrics are well put together in a catchy, yet unsurprising traditional fashion alongside a sleek poly-cotton blend of musical fabric.
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