A few years ago, Kinney joined up with Walt Craven, one of the mainstays of the Portland rock scene. Craven’s come close to the big time twice before, with Gouds Thumb and 6gig. But it’s his collaboration with Kinney (and guitarist Ted Warner and bassist Dan Walsh) that, to these ears, has the greatest chance of putting them and Portland on the map.
The band is called Lost on Liftoff. Their new album is called The Brightside, and it’s a quick burst of tightly-controlled modern rock, explosive and melodic and well-crafted and fun. It’s the follow-up to their full-length debut, Mixtape Blackouts, and while I found their consistency of style somewhat tiring over 13 tracks, it’s perfect over eight. The Brightside runs a trim 30:59, and every song is a winner. It’s like a midnight bombing run – blow some shit up, get out quickly.
In my world, the second track, “All That Love,” is a hit. Craven has never sounded better than he does here – I’ve always been a fan of his tough yet emotional voice, and it’s made for songs like this. The chorus is huge and wonderful, the kind of thing I would go hoarse singing along with at shows. As good as that song is, my favorite here is “The Day the Sun Forgot to Rise.” That one's a rocket ride, opening with a killer riff and segueing into a powerhouse chorus. Just listen to Kinney on this one – he’s a superb drummer, but he’s always delivering exactly what the song needs, and no more. A lesser drummer would have cluttered up this song, but Kinney’s just the right level of awesome here.
-Andre Salles, Tuesday Morning 3 am
By the end of Mixtape Blackouts, the much-awaited full-length debut from Lost on Liftoff, I'm hoarse, exhausted, and not a little emotionally drained. This is a huge album, where every song delivers a powerhouse chorus, soaring guitars, crashing cymbals, and booming bass. Assuming you have the standard amount of self-consciousness most people possess, you may not want to listen to this in mixed company, for fear of finding yourself singing along so strenuously the veins are popping from the sides of your neck and that cute couple your gal wants you to make friends with suddenly thinks you're a total psycho.
It's rock and roll for the children of the me generation. Where our parents' rock was full of bravado and chick-bagging, today we get giant walls of sound buffeting us with admissions like "I'm the one that failed you."
-Sam Pfeifle, Portland Phoenix
