Papa Tells All

The big prerelease news about Papa Roach's second album, lovehatetragedy, was that lead singer Coby Dick had reverted to the use of his birth name, Jacoby Shaddix. That's a fine name for a personal-injury law firm, but it's not much of an upgrade from Coby Dick for a rock star. Changing hardly seems worth the trouble. But the new/old name, like much of lovehatetragedy, is evidence of how metal has evolved over the past decade. Cartoon bands like Motley Crue and Poison once sang about sex and cars and sex in cars; then Kurt Cobain came along and submerged those bands with emotional depth. But instead of being celebrated for his songwriting, Cobain was memorialized for his pain. Now metal is confessional. You sing about your scars, and you use your real name to give 'em a little veracity.

The formula works. Papa Roach sold 3 million copies of its tortured debut album, Infest, and in this follow-up the band is going right back to the well. It's not worth debating whether Shaddix's scars are real. The point is he believes he has them. On Black Clouds he screams, "Confession of depression/ This life I'm second-guessing/ Like ashes to ashes/ I always seem to fall down." On She Loves Me Not he decides that "I'm the jerk." Subtlety is not his forte, and numbness takes over after a few lovehatetragedy tracks. It's a shame, because Shaddix has the manic energy and caterwauling voice of a lightweight metal champ, and Papa Roach is a very tight band. The music rises and crunches in that relentless "Can we top this? Yes, we can!" kind of way that makes heavy metal so much fun. Now if only the lead singer would lighten up.