by Johnny Loftus

Howard Benson, Chris Lord-Alge, Papa Roach. It's gotten to the point where you can fill in the last name with another combo of mascara-eyed angry men jockeying for position in the bubbling ooze of the post-rap-rock (yes, that's a term) universe. Producer Benson and mixer Lord-Alge are professionals both, masters of compression and punching up the radio mix. This is what they offer Papa Roach -- a promise that the band's Getting Away With Murder will sound both raging and properly marketable. To that end, "Not Listening" rewrites the 2001 Roach hit "Last Resort" without the rap, while the big title-track single is built around a mechanistic Korn bass throb and a carnival funhouse lead guitar line. The better to scare you with, see. On the latter, Jacoby Shaddix (the name change still stands) incorporates the affected whisper, the vengeful yell, and the vague lyrical cocktail of depression and S&M ("I'm a glutton for your punishment/You're the master/And I'm waiting for disaster"). Fill in the bruised blanks. His railing against alcoholism in the bashing, amplified rocker "Be Free" (as well as throughout the album) does seem genuine. But still, it's off-putting how much Shaddix sounds like Trent Reznor. Seriously, where's Papa Roach inside Getting Away With Murder's production and brand positioning? "Scars" is a midtempo power ballad of sorts, again about the ills of drinking; with tweaking it would fit on a Good Charlotte album. Album opener "Blood" (Empty Promises)" does suggest the harder screeds of 2002's lovehatetragedy, but it doesn't go far enough, and that tense edge is dulled by repetitive glowering ("I lit my pain on fire/And watched it all burn down!") and muddled genre posturing once the album fully starts. With Getting Away With Murder, Papa Roach offer fans of this sound an appropriately hard (yet painstakingly layered -- thanks Howard and Chris!) punch in the face. But there's a hollow sound as the bones collapse, because all that's supporting it is expensive art direction and a big scaffold of clichés. If your scream sounds like everyone else's, does anyone really hear it?