All style and no substance. The shit-on-purpose production style holds this record back in my opinion. That and the fact that some of the songs are probably twice as long as they should be. All that said, a fun rockin' punked out death romp that's enjoyable at least one time through.
Remember when I said it was way too hot? Well guess what? It's fucking hotter now. I've got the it's hot as fuck and I want to eat dinner but don't want to cook it because having a box emitting 400 degree heat into my home sounds like some sort of torture. It's too hot to pass on any sort of information. You don't care anyway. You just use me for my links. But you see that face on that album cover? That is a man attuned with the riff. Pay attention.
Maybe you are a smarty pants and you already know all about The Bootlicker, part of Melvins weird trilogy thing they did. They did a lot of weird things. This album is Melvins playing some tantric Om type stuff. It's trippy mane.
Double feature because I've been pretty juiced on Melvins lately, a phenominon that will come to a raging head September 6th when they play with Big Business. Much like said performance, this album is "Melvins Lite" which essentially just means it's King Buzzo, Dale Crover, and Trevor Dunn. No business dudes. No double drum kit.
It took my awhile to formulate just how I felt about this record. There are a couple tracks that I'll come back to, but so me of them are pretty snoozeworthy. Not enough heavy for my rotten desensitized pallete but plenty of badassery to be had in the riff department.
IT'S SO FUCKING HOT. WHY IS IT SO HOT. THE SUN IS LIKE A HEAT LAMP HANGING TEN FEET ABOVE MY HEAD AND I'M NOT EVEN OUTSIDE RIGHT NOW.
Anyway, here's some reggae. Sure, this isn't the usual fare around here, but I'm into this record. I actually checked this album out because John Cardiel recommended it. Not directly, of course. I was watching the very cool documentary 'Epicly Later'd' and when asked what his favorite album was, he responded with Barrington Levy's Run Come Ya. I've recently been delving into the world of reggae, dancehall, etc, so I thought I'd give it a chance. It's a pretty nice middle ground between reggae and dub, just enough weirdness, reverb, and bass to make it pleasing. I really can't stand most reggae, but this is pretty decent.
Was that story worth typing? In hind sight, probably not. But you read it, and you should know by now that I don't really use the backspace key around here. You'll never get that time back. I'm not sorry.
Even though my mortal vessel is festering with disease, cheap beers and Thrash Weekend beckon. Chapel is a very cool blackened speed metal band from Canada. This is their first LP. It is pretty good.
For those of you that don't know, I live in Seattle, Washington. I always have except for a brief window of time in which I ventured to the Bay Area. I found it pleasant, but yearned for the crushing bleakness of the Pacific Northwest eventually. If you want to see the good part of California, check out the bay. Anyway, I've been getting in touch with my weirdo Northwest roots and listening to all the music that I denied myself when I was 16 and only liked to listen to extremely aurally challenging "music" that made my parents mad. When you reach this point in your personal development, there are two paths you can take. The first, you eventually come around and check out all the cool stuff you hated for no reason. The second, you eventually start collecting harsh noise and power electronics cassette tapes. Don't do that one.
Mudhoney is very cool and heavy. Super heavy rock music is usually fun.
From the very first cavernous tom fill you know you're in for some serious business. To-the-point death metal that isn't going to try to beguile you, they're just going to riff at you for 43.5 minutes. Don't interpret that as boring, however. A sinister atmosphere and just a hint of what almost sounds like crossover thrash make this the stand-out from these Czech dude's fairly solid catalogue. Paul Speckmann would eventually join their ranks, giving them further credibility. Because Paul Speckmann is cool and doesn't fuck with poser shitbands.
It's the weekend so it's time to chug a fuckload of cheap beer and listen to thrash. Let's all listen to this Slayer album. You know what Slayer sounds like so I'm not going to describe it for you.
New death metal from very cool dude and everyone's favorite death metal expat Paul Speckmann. I don't know what the evil version of gold is, but whatever it is, everything Speckmann touches turns into it, this album definitely fucking included. As I was telling a friend of mine earlier today (Yes, I have those. Fuck you.) The New Elite is a certified, notarized, bonafide ripper and if you don't at the very least check it out you're a dummy.
I saw this band play with Iron Lung a couple weeks back. They were really good. Also they played very cool powerviolence from Austin, Texas. The recorded material doesn't quite live up to the unreasonable sounds they were making live, but it's still fun.
I've been listening to this album a whole lot, so guess what? I'm gonna type about it on the internet. And you're gonna read about it on the internet. Or maybe a phone. I don't know what the fuck you do.
Discharge is a very cool band that started a new style of music called Discharge-Beat. This particular LP of Discharge-Beat has a truly horrifying guitar sound. A sort of undulating cloud that's accented by distant squeals. Mostly the drums just play a Discharge-Beat.
Attend closely, dear reader, lest a tendril of another's shadow impede your view. You have stumbled into my internet basement. I have really stupid taste in music and I post whatever I want. The format of this blog is none of your business. It's really become more of a stream of conciousness type affair over the years, so you're just going to have to deal with it I'm afraid.
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