Satellite, P.O.D. Atlantic Records

BY KEITH N. DUSENBERRY
For the Daily
Published September 24, 2001

Do you love Jesus, but still want to break stuff? Or perhaps you wear a crucifix necklace and sport some natty dreads? In either case, you"ll love that Christian band P.O.D. brings the pain in G-rated nuggets of scripture-laced rapcore. Equally suited to Sunday School weekend retreats (Counselor: "Turn off that heathen noise!" Camper: "But Reverend, they"re screaming for Jesus!") and MTV"s "Total Request Live," P.O.D."s latest release Satellite proves that rapcore should have ended the day Zach de la Rocha turned in his copy of the Anarchist Cookbook.

If you watch "TRL," and I"ll ask P.O.D. to pray for you if you do, then you have seen the video for this record"s first single, "Alive." Their previous album being their first on a major label, the boys got a taste of sellout success and now love the mainstream so much that they"ll do anything to get their video played on MTV. If you catch one of those "TRL Uncensored" specials and you look carefully, you can actually see P.O.D. performing fellatio on Carson Daly during the commercial breaks. I swear that this band (comprised of a "normal" white guy, a black guy, an "alternative" dreadlocked white dude and a Hispanic guy) was cast by "The Real World" producers. All that"s missing is the Asian chick.

And all that"s missing from the music on this album is anything interesting. Most of this schlock, like "Boom" and the title track, sounds like what would happen if 311 got roughed up in an alley they would still suck, but they would have just a little more gravel in them. I can hardly mention tracks such as "Youth of a Nation," where the most boring of Limp Bizkit songs somehow mates with a children"s choir and drones on about in-school violence or the unspeakable offense of "Without Jah, Nothin"" which morphs from "oldskool" punk into the worst reggae since Ziggy Marley thought he could write his own songs. The rest of Satellite"s tracks proffer banality beyond the limits of even the most brain dead ignoramus" patience.

Look your little brother and Ned Flanders dig this record on those "naughty" nights when they stay up past ten drinking Kool Aid and watching Howard Stern. Hardcore.

Yeah, though you walk through the valley of the shadow of shitty music, thou shalt not be tempted to buy this album. Amen.

Grade: D-