Tag Archives: Flying Colors

Music, My Stories, Stupidity

Is Having Mike Portnoy in your band a good thing or a bad thing these days?

There’s never been any doubt about Mike Portnoy’s work ethic. The man is a machine. He doesn’t just play in bands, he spawns them, shepherds them, fuels them, and somehow finds time to tour, record, rehearse, and still show up like it’s day one and he’s got something to prove.

But here’s the inconvenient question no one wants to ask out loud:

At what point does doing everything start to feel like doing nothing?

Not because the passion isn’t real.

Not because the talent isn’t there.

But because even the hungriest creators face the same truth: quality doesn’t scale.

And that’s where things get uncomfortable. Because quality, real, signature, unmistakable quality, comes from the furnace, not the assembly line. It comes from the chemistry of the right creative partners. Not fame, not legacy, not sheer hours logged.

Look at the pattern.

Dream Theater

Portnoy wasn’t just a drummer in Dream Theater. He was plugged into a once-in-a-generation creative engine, John Petrucci, the guitarist every metal kid secretly wished they could be. That partnership was lightning in a bottle, and lightning doesn’t strike twice on command. Leaving that team wasn’t sabotage, it was a gamble. A hard reset. A leap into the unknown with no guarantee the muse would follow.

Adrenaline Mob

Here, the spark came from sheer brute force.

Mike Orlando, raw, volatile, borderline unhinged in the best way, felt like the spiritual cousin of the great riff architects. You could hear the Iommi DNA in the walls. You could picture a classic record forming if the universe cooperated. There was potential. Serious potential.

Transatlantic

A different beast entirely. Roine Stolt and Neal Morse aren’t minor-league players, they’re specialists. They live in a very specific musical ecosystem: grandiose, sprawling, prog epics for people who want forty-minute tracks. That’s a lane, not a flaw. But it’s also a place where “quality control” can blur into “more is more,” where ambition outraces cohesion. It’s a world with its own rules, and its own ceilings.

Flying Colors

Steve Morse is a legend. Full stop. But legends age, and even titans spread thin eventually feel the pull. Deep Purple, Dixie Dregs, solo work… it’s not burnout, it’s bandwidth. Greatness doesn’t vanish, it just becomes … diffuse.

The Winery Dogs

And here we hit the pressure point.

If a project wants to stand out in a landscape already saturated with Portnoy’s fingerprints, it has to bring something unmistakably new.

Something with teeth.

Richie Kotzen is skilled, no debate. But that’s not the question. The question is: does he bring a signature?

A sonic identity that doesn’t feel like déjà vu from the Shrapnel era?

Because being good isn’t enough for a trio built on presence and personality. When the guitarist is the vocalist and the main songwriter, the entire organism lives or dies on distinctiveness.

And Kotzen, for all his technical fluency and vocal punch, often feels like a man shaped by the ghosts of his influences. The shred era’s fingerprints are all over him. The blues-rock revival too. Even his vocals echo Cornell’s silhouette. None of this makes him bad. but it makes him familiar. And when you’re leading a three-piece with two virtuosos behind you, familiar might not be enough.

This is where the truth gets even sharper.

Portnoy and Sheehan are phenomenal at what they do, but neither has ever been the primary architect of timeless songs on their own. That’s not an insult. It’s an observation about creative ecosystems. They thrive when partnered with a defining voice, a guitarist or songwriter who stamps the work with something unmistakably singular.

Look at Sheehan: a monster on his instrument, a pioneer even. But the biggest hits of his career came when he was orbiting giants, Vai, Gilbert, Roth. Leaders need other leaders.

Portnoy’s no different. He’s an amplifier. A catalyst. A force multiplier. He enhances the right team. That’s his genius.

But genius still requires the right partner.

James Hetfield once said that side projects dilute the core product. He understood something most musicians don’t want to face:

Attention is finite.

Energy is finite.

The muse plays favorites.

When the creative radar is pointed everywhere, it points nowhere with the same intensity.

Portnoy’s output is enormous. Admirable. Occasionally brilliant. But the law of diminishing returns doesn’t care about effort. It only cares about focus.

So maybe the point isn’t whether Kotzen is special enough. Or whether Sheehan should shoulder more. Or whether prog epics should be shorter or longer.

Maybe the real question is this:

Has Portnoy been chasing the feeling he once had with Petrucci and does he know it?

Because that’s the paradox:

A great creative partnership isn’t something you replace.

It’s something you spend the rest of your life trying to rediscover.

And maybe that’s not a flaw.

Maybe that’s the whole point.

Because the audience doesn’t want “more.”

They want magic.

And magic only happens when the right people collide at the right moment with the right hunger.

Everything else?

Noise.

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Music, Stupidity, Treating Fans Like Shit

Adrenaline Mob and Mike Portnoy – Is He Serious?

Article

Is he serious?

From where I sit, this was a major misstep. Mike Portnoy isn’t a star in the sense of commanding multiple projects and making each one thrive on name alone. He’s a drummer. That’s it. Talented, relentless, precise, but a drummer first, not a solo brand.

It looks like the Portnoy philosophy goes something like this: start a band, convince yourself you’re the main songwriter, the driving force, maybe even a god in the room, and then spin up another band, and another, and another. When one starts to gain traction, walk away, schedules conflict, priorities shift. It’s a pattern. It’s ambitious, but it’s also scattershot. It’s not a strategy built to last.

Adrenaline Mob had legs. That band could have grown into something bigger. Flying Colors? Already stale. Winery Dogs? Lacks direction. Transatlantic? A cult following, yes, but niche, not career-sustaining.

Look at the chatter online. Facebook, YouTube, blogs, Twitter, the fans are speaking. And fans are everything now. They amplify a release, they create buzz, they breathe life into a project. When they start to shrug, disengage, move on, that’s when it all dies.

Portnoy’s peak came with Petrucci. That was the alignment that created Dream Theater’s defining moments. And walking away from that partnership was a gamble. He may not have meant to squander it, but when the chemistry that made the magic was gone, the results were inevitable. Because the truth is simple: the music isn’t about one drummer, it’s about the sum of the parts, and some parts carry more weight than others.

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Music

Mike Portnoy

I’m not a casual listener. My name sits in the liner notes of “Lifting Shadows”. I chased the bootlegs, bought the club editions, stood in the crowd in Australia. I saw Petrucci and Portnoy together on stages where the electricity felt like a revelation. I paid for that music because it was the songs that grabbed me, not the spectacle.

So let’s be straight: technique is everywhere now. Virtuosity used to be a miracle; now it’s a YouTube commodity. A kid can learn a sweep pick and a double bass blast between breakfast and lunch. What still separates the great from the merely flashy is songcraft, melody, arrangement, that singular idea that lodges in your skull and refuses to leave.

That’s why I struggle with some of Portnoy’s post-Dream Theater output. Not because he’s a bad drummer, he’s not, but because being prolific isn’t the same as being precise. When someone spreads their creative capital across a dozen plates, the best work can get crumbs.

Dream Theater worked because the band added up to more than the sum of parts. Petrucci’s riffing and compositional voice gave those albums a spine. The drums were essential, sure, but they were the heartbeat of something built around guitars, keys and bass. “Pull Me Under” hooked me because the music did more than impress; it told a story.

Does that make Portnoy small-minded?

No.

Does it make him the wrong man for every project?

Also no.

The point is structural: some players are catalysts. They need the right chemistry to make magic. Portnoy amplifies greatness. He doesn’t always manufacture it on his own. That’s an observation, not an insult.

Adrenaline Mob is the closest thing he’s had to raw, no-nonsense heavy rock that actually lands. Those songs hit. The riffs bite. The singer cuts through. That project finds a balance: muscle and melody. It’s proof that when focus and songcraft align, everything else follows.

Flying Colors? Not my cup. The ambition’s there, but ambition without bite becomes languid. It’s like watching a celebrity-level practice session and being asked to call it an album. That’s okay to say. We want fewer filler projects and more full-blooded records.

Now The Winery Dogs. The concept, three masters in a room, sounds promising on paper. But promise isn’t product. When the guitarist is also the frontman and the primary songwriter, the record needs a distinct voice that wasn’t borrowed from other eras. Technical chops are table stakes. The question is: does the music say something new, or just recycle yesterday’s influences?

Richie Kotzen can play, no argument there, but the job at hand isn’t to impress other players. It’s to write songs that refuse to be background music. To front a trio, you need a personality that sings through the riffs, not a voice that echoes familiar silhouettes. Again: not an attack, just a reality check.

And the final point, because this is where the truth lands hard: a career built on collaboration requires choices. Spread yourself across side projects and the core product decays. That’s not celebrity shade; that’s simple math. Attention and intention are limited resources. Pick where they matter most.

If Portnoy wants to recapture that lightning, he doesn’t need to be “the guy” in every headline. He needs to be the guy who brings his full attention to one record, one song, one uncompromising statement that can stand beside the true classics. Focus. Patience. Let the songs breathe.

Because at the end of the day, fans like me didn’t sign up for fills and bombast. We signed up for the songs that make you feel something you can’t name. Deliver those, and the rest writes itself.

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