For a moment there’s a funkiness to Gregg Suriano’s music that calls to mind early Prince, but then Suriano starts singing and the word funky seems to entirely disappear from all forms of the English language. The rock, in question, is of course, Him. But there can be no peace for the soul exposed to Suriano’s music. When the accompanying press release suggests that this sounds “like a being trapped in an elevator on your way down to Hell” what chance does a humble critic have at topping that? Maybe by saying it’s like being trapped in an elevator on your way down to hell with someone you really don’t like? The opening song asks the listener where they stand—and I gotta say it’s gonna be as far away from this as I can get.
Sci-Fi Author Ursula LeGuin's Stories of Class War, Religious Dissension, Identity Politics and More