Did you find Nickelback to be a little too underground and substantial with too much diversity? Your dreams are about to come true.
Having sold 5,000,000 copies of their début album, we have on our hands the sophomore album, sure to sell less now they've stopped restocking Guantánamo. You should know the drill from us using the N-word, it's gut-wrenching nausea provided by ugly Americans with bad facial hair. Popstars may have given us Girls Aloud, but that's not remotely enough to excuse the travesty of the knock-on effect we have to endure.
Yes, we have ourselves another American Idol Deadbeat Semi-finalist. Surely the point of these competitions is to reward the winner, not give everyone who finishes a record contract. It's the music industry, not sports day at the special school. Perhaps a new contract might be in order banning any who do not win from ever singing again. Scratch that, probably cheaper just to shoot them in the face.
Chris Daughtry is a special kind of hell though, every single song goes exactly the same way. Dire introduction, dodgy southern-tinged verses conveying appalling lyrics (stay tuned for examples), then the drummer pounds the snare and toms together eight times and we're at the chorus, wherein the vocals start to emulate the various faces from a laxative advertisement and the melodrama reaches levels not seen since the last time a TV movie aired entitled "My Daddy Didn't Love Me On Tuesdays: The Jessica Simpson Story".
And if you think you're getting anything different throughout the duration of the album, you'd be as wrong as a trampoline in the chandelier factory. Welcome to the misery channel, where are ten minutes, you'll want to break your own ankles. How about some literary examples of the cringing-factor?
To recap then, bad, repetitive music, awful, maudlin-express lyricism, rut-running song structures and whining faux-gravel vocals. What's not to love?
Seems like the bible was right all along, 'Thou Shalt Not Permit a Daughtry'!