Boy, computers are great. Technology affords me the luxury of watching Tigers baseball, sending e-mail and updating MySpace instant- and simul-taneously.

Now, that’s multitasking. Of course, that has nothing to do with Blanco Diablo.

Unlike the ’06 Tigers, they stink. Thanks to this great age of technology, though, none of the time I spent listening to Paper Poison Revolution was wasted (Tigs lost, by the way).

The PR that came with this disc promised “blues-drenched soul” from the Charlotte, N.C., three-piece. I didn’t know a third-rate Black Crowes cover band could be considered “soul-drenched”. Well, if I had stopped appreciating music in ninth grade and I had never heard real soul, I guess I might think “Jealous Again” was the pinnacle of songcraft, too, but I digress.

I won’t get into the ridiculous descriptions that lead singer/guitarist Jamie Ray gives of his favorite songs from the 10-track set (“Don’t get downwind of the Crow or you’ll get a speeding ticket listening to this damn song …). Yikes, someone needs a reality check.

“As the Crow Flies” is a good example of introspective songwriting gone really, really wrong. “Pills will fill your soul / Pollution fills your mind / Your family and friends divided / Taken for a ride,” Ray sings. What? Sounds personal. Good luck with that.

“Pour me something strong / Don’t wanna (sic) to know what’s going on / I gotta get right before I do / Something wrong,” from “I Feel Fine” furthers my urge to wince from Blanco Diablo’s 8^th grade poetry contest lyrics karaoke’d over predictable metal guitar riffs that went out of style 20 years ago.

Of course, I don’t think BD is being retro on purpose. Based on his notes, I really think Ray sees “She feels like home / She never feels along / It’s raining in my head / Things we left unsaid,” as some serious poetic justice for … um, something. And hey, a paper poison revolution sounds sweet, if only I could figure out what the fuck that is.

I’m fighting the instinct to dismiss this record with an ‘F’ rating because despite its elementary stanzas, Ray can shred him a mean solo. However, this kind of mindless, boring cock rock won’t change your life. It barely altered my Sunday afternoon baseball-watching routine.

Good rock music and to a much greater extent true “soul” music must connect with the listener in some capacity. I hope Jamie Ray likes the record he made for himself, because I sure as hell don’t.

Rating: D-

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