You can’t find a female anywhere who hasn’t dreamed of being in her own band. Almost every girl I know wanted to be the singer or lead guitarist, and belt it out with a “who gives a shit” attitude. They would write songs about scumbag boys or that bitch in geometry class, and wow the crowd with the explosive energy and talent that few females have been able to master. Personally, I’d always fantasize about wearing fierce heels and fishnets, with crazy-ass rock girl hair, and playing my guitar or drums or tambourine like a mofo. The entire crowd would be agape with wonder at my utter badass-ness. When I think about those days of rock star daydreams (hell, I still daydream about being a rock star), I start to wonder why I never actually took a shot at starting a band. And then I remember. It’s hard.

So when I saw this CD by The Vibration, I got a little giddy. The all-girl foursome looks like a band I’d like to be in, all dark-haired and hip (with the exception of the lead singer, whose hair is pink – that’s even cooler). The disc is riddled with cute doodles like a girl band member would scribble, and the cover shot is charming, with darling scrawls over each band member. Everything was great…until I began to listen to the album. I wanted to like Amarilla. I really did. But the bleak, somber overtone is not what the package promised, and Ann Fitzgerald’s voice and I have developed a love-hate relationship. She walks a fine line between sounding exactly like The Cranberries’ Dolores O’Riordan and, at times, like Bjork. Really, the voice resemblance is striking, especially with O’Riordan.

Of course, after I got over the initial shock of how much of a downer the record is, I grew to tolerate it, and even like it in parts. Although The Vibration is playing further into the emotionally dismal whirlwind female groups tend to get swept up in, they seem to be on the same page throughout most of the CD. The New York group works well together to produce each song with an equal dose of depression. Trouble is, sometimes it’s even hard to distinguish one song from another. They all start with this sad overtone and Fitzgerald’s light, droney vocals. Fitzgerald is hard to listen to continuously, and her voice seldom surfaces with any true emotion. But when she does seem to express herself, it’s impressive.

“Master Exploder, Pt. 1″ is Amarilla’s best song. It has more of a beat, and although I loathe Fitzgerald’s voice in the beginning, she starts to bring it toward the end. You have to wait about 50 seconds before we hear anything with some quality, but it’s worth it. Lead song “Muscle Memory” also has a good beat and a bit more energy than the rest of the songs, but fails to stand out elsewhere. “There You Have It” is less than two minutes, which is a shame because it’s just the right recipe of rhythm and controlled vocals. But just as the listener gets into it, it’s over. Meanwhile, the other seven songs on the album blend together into this creepy, mucky swamp of sadness. “Sweet Oil” is by far the most gloomy track and is coincidentally the longest, over four and a half minutes. “Old News” is just weak, with tepid vocals and melancholy guitar accompaniment, and the rest of Amarilla follows suit.

Unfortunately, The Vibration failed to find a home in my heart, but the fact is that I’m just sick of all this girly, weepy, sad, bland music. Don’t be tempted by the appealing cover art or fancy names, unless of course you want to be wrangled into the flush of Amarilla‘s flavorless depression. My advice: let’s add a little pepper to our potatoes. Make me want to be sad and enjoy your music. Because the way it sounds now, I wouldn’t even want to use the majority of these tracks to lick my wounds after a pissy day.

Reviewed by Laura Misjak