Most Popular

  • Swingtown
    Local swingers think life is a bowl of cherries, but Duncanville wants to spit out the Pit
  • Deep Ellum LIVES!
    Scott Beck's about to buy 14 acres in the"heart" of Deep Ellum. What then?
  • Un-Super Size Me: One Week of Eating Local
    One man’s attempt at slow food living in the Dallas metroplex
  • Toll You So
    The Trinity River Project should be floating right along. Instead it's sinking under the weight of its own folly.
  • Six Pac
    The Cowboys are counting on NFL outlaw Pacman Jones to pop the top on their sixth Super Bowl.

Recent Articles

Recent Articles by Amy Freeman

National Features >

  • Village Voice

    The Book of Sarah

    Subjected to the light of day, Sarah Palin doesn't look like a maverick at all.

    By Wayne Barrett

  • SF Weekly

    Building Overtime

    Exposing a construction-site scam only a San Francisco cop could love.

    By Joe Eskenazi

  • Houston Press

    Don't Nobody Cry

    Ronald Taylor is one of perhaps hundreds of innocent people Harris County has put in prison.

    By Randall Patterson

  • Westword

    Open Secrets

    Sloppy U.S. government paperwork is putting the lives of asylum seekers at risk.

    By Lisa Rab

Oleander

January 13

By Amy Freeman

Published on January 09, 2003

Oleander is a droll name for a band whose lead singer's last name is Flowers--the Sacramento quartet gets its handle from the ubiquitous, dusty pink and white shrubs that "decorate" freeway medians across the land (and the blossoms are deadly poisonous, how rock and roll). Coming off at first like one of the many grunge-lite outfits whose primary modus operandi seemed to consist of saying "Long live Kurt!" in as many ways as possible, the band's first major-label foray (1999's February Son) was a churning, effective exercise in moderately polite angst. But the Nirvana comparisons proved erroneous: Unfortunately, the band sounds more like a generic (albeit pleasant) amalgamation of Stone Temple Pilots, Creed and Enuff Z' Nuff, with a soupçon of The Cure thrown in to temper the grunge prickle (the album includes a goofily inspired cover of "Boys Don't Cry," in which Flowers does indeed sound much less likely to cry than the fey, quavering Robert Smith did). Their follow-up album, Unwind, provides more guitar crunch and an occasional Beatlesque riff; "Yours If You Like" could be an updated "Dear Prudence." And there's something weirdly refreshing about a rock singer with the chutzpah to deliver the line, "Thanks...for everything you aaa-rrre" (from Unwind's "Champion," also released as a single to benefit victims of 9/11) with a poker face and unimpeachable sincerity.


Dallas Observer Insiders

  • Local food, music and news blasts
  • Free Stuff
Backpage.com