The most remarkable thing about Kenna's shameless new wave revivalism is that Fred Durst likes it-- enough to take Kenna aboard his inappropriately named Flawless imprint, anyway. After Puddle of Mudd, I'd assumed Durst would be court-ordered to remain a minimum 500 feet away from music at all times (Limp Bizkit, of course, would be allowed to continue on the premise that they had transcended even the loosest definition of the word).
What? Tired potshots at career punchlines like Durst not your idea of music criticism? Then let me be more direct: the only other remarkable thing about Kenna's music is the inherent supposition that his audience has never heard Depeche Mode. His stock 80s Casio beats may be updated with enough 21st Century stop/start glitchcraft to keep a tenuous hold on the present (the album cover itself proudly proclaims that The Neptunes' "Chase" Chad Hugo is responsible for the record's production), but New Sacred Cow is a retro love-letter all the way, with sparse, lurching synths rattling around inside hollowed-out arrangements and vocals infused with just enough heartfelt rubber soul to give the tunes some bounce when the repetitive backing electronics fall flat.
Unfortunately, that tends to happen a lot, and believe me, from the fifth track onwards, it's not a question of whether or not a track will break down to some theatrically soaring refrain, but simply when. It's a stretch that he might choking back emotion as he sings, "Give me a ride on a Zephyr and rocket from here/ Give me all your affection and teach me how to feel," on "Love/Hate Sensation", but as he carries song after song with the same gasping investiture, it becomes a complete joke. And that's to say nothing of the actual content, typified by the aforementioned profundity. Of course, the vapidity of Kenna's outbursts isn't the problem; the issue is with how purely mechanical they become. Uber-simplistic, characterless loops are the backbone of nearly every track here, with barely a hook between them; Kenna tries to shoulder the load, but inevitably tires beneath it.
There are a couple of minor standouts within the context of the album ("Man Fading" capitalizes on the drama New Sacred Cow conjures up before it wears thin; "Vexed and Glorious" offers a slightly more subtle variation on the theme), but the only really great song present is the aptly chosen single, "Freetime". As the first real song on the album, it nails Kenna's formula, and leaves it for the rest of the album to beat to death. The difference between this and the album's other tracks lies entirely with the music. The coiled tension of the verse's staccato riff is wrapped that much tighter, the cascading washes that elevate the chorus are that much more grand. It's three minutes of the recent past as filtered through the near-future; the other forty-nine minutes just filter the past through the who-cares present, and for now you can pretty much find that anywhere.
