For Florida's sole remaining sex surrogate, love is a many splintered thing.
It's not just giant companies cashing in on America's defense industry.
How a throwaway idea at the Barkley ad agency became the "Sonic Guys."
A diner's guide to Texas's oldest Mexican restaurants.
To the band's faithful, this probably constitutes something approaching treason; to the band's label, it probably constitutes something approaching a direct order. And to the disinterested listener, it constitutes practically nothing--for all its bluster, Everyday simply plays like another Dave Matthews album. A little tighter, perhaps, a little glossier. Otherwise, it's all here: the spastic approximations of groove ("Dreams of Our Fathers," "I Did It"), the inescapable future hits ("The Space Between"), and the ballads with titles like "Angel," lines like "Mother father please explain to me/How this world has come to be," and references to things like snow-capped mountains. It's exactly what you'd expect: a middling album of diluted styles and unaffecting sentiments. In that sense, the album does display a certain sort of brilliance from Ballard--it's amazing how thoroughly invisible he makes himself. Here's a guy who helped write Jack Wagner's "All I Need," for God's sake, a guy who's midwifed songs by everyone from Aerosmith to Van Halen to No Doubt; and he turns around and in, like, a couple of days, figures out how to write Dave Matthews songs at least as well as Matthews himself.
It's not entirely clear what you call that talent--I'd be tempted to call it genius--but it's certainly the most intriguing thing about Everyday.