So tastefully appointed, so artfully/craftily arranged, so very adult-sounding, that I expect most will have cleared the room by the end of this sentence.
With guitar string-buzzy vocals like a tongue out-of-focus, McCarron edges hair metal with falsetto, restrained ballast yells, a ballad, and elemental guitars.
15 minutes and a receding hairline later, the rhinestone-studded, black leather jacketed, neck-cracking, contorted, chain-smoking Bad Boy from Brooklyn is back.
Where songs on Building were crammed with emotion, this new batch seem tired and stricken with ADD. Mid to slow tempos, accompanied by over-saturated guitars.