Review Summary: God punches Scott Stapp in the throat twice for every copy that's sold.
Attention music connoisseurs of the world: as you sit on your thrones and reach for the closest available copy of the Black Eyed Peas’ “Monkey Business” to wipe your savvy bottoms with, I ask you to finish your dirty little doings and hear me out. There is a stigma that is in constant rotation around the concoction of religion and music known as Christian rock. At the center of this gravitational pull is Creed. During the late 90’s, otherwise known as “the grunge fadeout,” Scott Stapp and his Christian cohorts looked to revitalize the genre (or cash in on its trend, depending on which side of the argument you find yourself on) while simultaneously relaying a subtle message about their faith. Now, it’s plain to see, even to the un-faithed eye, that these guys had a strong belief in God. (The band’s name is CREED) Not that there’s anything wrong with that. Millions of people all over the world believe in some form of a higher being, and hundreds of bands preach themselves onto the radio waves every year. So why did Creed become such a heavily inflated critical punching bag? Two reasons: 1) Popularity. The band became larger than life. 2) Ego. Scott Stapp’s self-image also became larger than life.
So why do I stand tall beside the band? Why don’t I slander their name into the mud along with half of America? Because the music is good. Simply put, Creed created some truly high-quality songs. The fact that their hits were catchy and radio-friendly is only relevant to the fact that they were excellent song craftsmen. Did I get tired of hearing “With Arms Wide Open” every 11 seconds? You bet your sweet bippy I did. But who of you can say that you didn’t come close to shedding a tear the first time you heard that song? Those who didn’t, may you be the first to cast your stone hearts now.
Part of the appeal for these grunge enthusiasts-turned-alternative rockers lied in their oh-so-sweet ballads. For anyone with working tear ducts, there were a slew of tunes meant to tug at our heartstrings, and thus causing our fingers to tug at our wallets. I’ll admit to falling victim to it occasionally. I thought the sentiment offered by Stapp to his son -- telling him to enjoy life to the fullest -- in “With Arms Wide Open” was incredibly sweet. Now did I feel the same way after hearing a similar, much vaguer, message offered to random children in “Don’t Stop Dancing?” Not so much. They overdid it, as they did with many other aspects of their music. If Creed’s career was made into a movie, the tagline would read something like this: Your Arms, Your Wallets. Open Wide For Creed.
Which leads me to a prominent question: was their really a need for a Greatest Hits collection? Granted, they had a remarkable career and influenced a plethora of fellow alt-rockers along the way; but even so, are they really deserving of this type of showcase after only three studio albums? Contrary to popular belief, each disc did not support 3 or more “hits.” Yes, they each featured at least that many singles, but how many of you even remember hearing “Are You Ready?” or “Bullets” on the radio? If they were going to release this compilation, they should have followed in the footsteps of fellow wayward band No Doubt and called it Creed: The Singles. So, in the end, there really isn’t a need for it. Still, it was an opportunity to cash in on the tremendous success of a fleeting band. So, I suppose that I stand taller beside the band than I do of this actual release.
The tracks appear somewhat chronologically, lumped together based on which album they originally came from. The first track is “Torn,” a shivering display of Mark Tremonti’s ability to play the part of a guitar minimalist. His subtle strings created a dismal mood which would become an essential part of Creed’s catalog in the years to come, complete with their famous loud/soft dynamics. It makes for an understated fade into the title track of their debut album, My Own Prison. I have to be honest with you, for the first dozen or so times I heard “My Own Prison” played on the radio, I thought Stone Temple Pilots were the men behind the tune. I’m dumb. But Tremonti’s riffs are smart. While not all that flashy, they are steadfast enough to sustain the multiple repetitions that they employ.
By the time “What’s This Life For” rolls around at track 3, it’s already been established that Scott Stapp has a steady, albeit slightly annoying, drawl that he uses to not-so-subtly accentuate certain words. The picking on the intro of this song is a strong indication of why Tremonti is so great at creating wonderfully delicate riffs. It’s beautiful, but not quite as beautifully simple as the next track, “One.” Though not as thought-provoking as the U2 song of the same name, nor as massively epic as Metallica’s, Creed’s version does one thing better than both of those: it contrasts a mellow, muted verse with a harsh, distorted chorus without making it feel choppy.
As far as I’m concerned, “Are You Ready” is one of Creed’s heaviest songs, if for no other reason than most of their back catalog focuses more on melody than distortion. Unfortunately, once they turn up the volume they seem to tone down the reverence. The somewhat apocalyptic mantra of “are you ready for what’s to come?” echoes repeatedly through the mindless chorus without establishing any sort of reverence. It’s like eating Cajun food: sure, it gives you a good jolt at first, but after that it just leaves your taste buds feeling like they’ve been violently raped.
The next two songs, “Higher” and “With Arms Wide Open” can be summarized with a single word: overplayed. Together, this couple launched Creed into the stratosphere, and transformed their front man from an everyday dude to Jesus Christ Superstar. “What If” lets Tremonti slap his balls on his listeners’ chins with some solid riffing and even a bit of pinch harmonics. Again though, the substance quickly liquefies and drips down your stereo, forming a puddle of nonsense on your bedroom floor.
By this time in the disc, JCS has apparently been siphoning air from his chimney, because his voice has all but depleted. To compensate, Tremonti and drummer Scott Phillips rocked the hell out of their respective instruments to create a fuller (and often heavier) sound than they had on their previous two albums. But somehow, they still managed to release a song like “One Last Breath” and “Don’t Stop Dancing” which played themselves six-feet under within the first two weeks of their release. Putting those two bland little lullabies aside for a moment to focus on something more rollicking, “Bullets” blasts through with hard-as-nails riffs and chugging drum stomps. It’s one of the few songs off of the Weathered album where Stapp’s voice actually fits. “My Sacrifice” strongly recalls the same kind of anthemia as “Higher,” but with less of an annoyance factor. And for reasons unbeknownst to this reviewer, they chose to end their greatest hits album with a song that could not only bore a catatonic into getting up and moving away from the stereo, but probably had less airplay than any other song on this CD. Oh well, I’ll chalk it up to the record company’s rush to cash in.
With all of the bad things that could be said of Creed’s Greatest Hits, there are still enough redeeming qualities in this band and in their body of work to license a purchase of this album. Even a casual fan could find solace in the recognition of at least ? of the songs found here. And the diehards, well, I’m sure at least some of them would be willing to pull out 3 nails and a hammer for a copy of it.
Amen.
