Portents, portents. They usually are legion when things start to go South seriously and are very visible to those willing to see. It is no different with Train, the formerly snarkily cheeky Californians, now seriously on their quest for cool, giddy happiness in all its sugary forms.
Their very own portents already came home to roost in their 2014 edition Bulletproof Picasso. Now that album got them some important flak – and deservedly so. Ironically, it actually blatantly missed the cool-boat and ended up on some whitewashed beach in nowhere land.
This obsession with coolness is nothing new by the way. It already worked them over when California 37 came out. And you know what? Indeed it was cool – more so than ever. This was the album that tried the mighty footsteps of Save Me, San Francisco – and beautifully succeeded. [...]