3 other things...

Just want to state a few things publicly:


1. Thank fuck Andre 3000 is rapping again. The "Walk it Out" Remix opened the door to this new, overly rhythmic choppy flow. Then it was the "Throw Some D's" Remix, some other track I can't remember, and then his verse on "What a Job" the track by Devin the Dude...who you are probably already sleeping on anyway. His new album is called "Waiting to Inhale", which should be enough reason to own it already. Get it, buy a blunt off the shadiest dude you know, borrow your Mom's car, put 85 cents in the tank, and get faded with that record on the sunniest day you can find.




2. The bassline from "Blindness" by The Fall (from the album Fall Heads Roll) is almost identical to the bassline from "Witness (one hope)" by Roots Manuva. Get the Jist of the bassline from the Fall track in this damn Mitsubishi commercial (cry 'sell-out' on someone else's time, you monkeys).



It doesn't seem that far fetched, they are both from the UK and fairly well known. "Blindness" came after "Witness" just so you know.

Anyway, mashup geeks get to work.

3. I forgot what was supposed to go here. Shit. Have a good day.

EDIT: I remembered. Detroit rap, I started saying this awhile ago, but look for detroit rap making a big push (i've already seen a lot of press, so they stole my idea) Black Milk, Phat Kat, Guilty Simpson (collabs with four tet??? whaaaaat?), and the posthumous Dilla releases will make sure Detroit becomes at least one major destination for hip hop. Remember where you heard that when you are diggin up old Dirty District mixtapes and telling people you were "on that shit in '02".

This is all I really want to say right now.

Makes it all worthwhile.

A while back I posted a story about how I was raised. It included (you should really check it out before going on) a little bit about one of my aunts, auntie Jer, and the effect she had on me and my cousin. I showed this story to her, and she sent me this in return. Something she had written quite some time ago...


It Could Have Been Us
By J. ______

As we flew south toward home through the mountain pass I saw the helicopters still searching for the plane that went down two nights previous. Watching, my mind drifted back to my vivid memory of that fateful night.

We were flying in a friend’s Cessna to yet another peaceful weekend in the mountains, away from the relentless heat of the desert. Less than an hour into the flight, the sky began to darken and ahead was a huge, murky body of cumulonimbus clouds. We had flown into the worst storm I had ever been in.

Entering the massive black clouds seemed to end the day with swiftness, like a power failure in a fully lit arena. We were in total darkness. I couldn’t tell if we were flying high or low, straight, or turning. Looking out the side window, I could see the heavy rains in the pulsing light of the wing strobe. A few moments later, the drops had frozen and I could hear them pelleting the metal skin of the wing.

The cockpit light was turned on and gave an eerie orange glow to the instrument panel. The audio transmission with the tower was switched to the pilot’s headset so I couldn’t ask questions or distract him in any way. Left alone in my silent fear, I found myself wondering if my nephews would have pleasant memories of the time we had spent together.

It seemed like hours, nearing forever, that we had been in the air. When we finally broke the clouds on our final approach, the city looked different. Were we in the right place? The street and runway lights glowed with a chilling calmness, seemingly unaware of what was taking place not less than 2000 feet above them.

Obviously, the pilot knew all the right mountains to dodge because as I stepped out of the plane, the ground was solid. Rain danced on my face as I looked up. The sky was still laden with nature’s turmoil and unrest.

As we tied down the plane, the pilot remarked there had been another plane behind us that had lost radio contact with the tower. I assumed but was afraid to question the possible outcome.

Three young men lost their lives that night. I wonder if they had enough time to think of the memories they would leave behind.
________________________



"I found myself wondering if my nephews would have pleasant memories of the time we had spent together."

She wrote that quite a few years ago, I'm tempted to say it was the mid 90's when she wrote it. The actual event, the flight, probably happened long before that, when my cousin and I were only 5. She wondered in that story, facing death and blackness, if we would have fond memories of the time we spent together. She said she got her answer 19 years later.

Sometimes I think my writing is pointless (it often is, but I do it anyway), but this time it feels worthwhile. I wont ever really get what this exchange has done for both my aunt and I, but I know it feels good, and that's cool. Its never a bad idea to let someone know what they have done for you. Im sure you owe someone out there a big "thank you", so get to work.

Deicide=Love

I have been in love before.

Its true, and I still am. I am in love with a woman who may as well not exist. Her name even fades now, Alexa...I think.

Interlaken, Switzerland. I was 22-ish and I had just spent an entire semester studying abroad. I stayed after a few weeks to travel around. By the end I felt jealous of myself, too privileged and impressed to exist anymore. I didn't think it was possible to have that much fun. Switzerland would be the beginning of the end of my trip.

Interlaken is the most beautiful place I have ever seen. It sits in a valley surrounded by white-tipped mountains, it is blindingly green in the spring and sits at a perfect temperature minute by minute day by day. From what I could tell, 90 percent of the women in Switzerland are 9's, so it was very easy to keep my eyes open.

You would be walking with a big dumb grin and sunglasses on your face, fuzzy at 1 pm from some sweet beer with a name you couldn't begin to pronounce, and a blonde Lamorghini would hum past you doing 90, as an impossibly gorgeous blonde would cruise by on a glinting Schwinn, politely excusing herself in German. Just at that split second, a tandem hang glider would fly over your head carrying two nude lesbian knockouts, one blonde one brunette, pleasuring each other in mid air. You would look up, watch the sun flare off the glider, take a breath of impossibly fresh air, and tuck your boner into your belt. It was an area of complete and thorough beauty, everywhere you look, even the sidewalk was sexy.

Anyway, it was my travel buddy Jerod and I. Jerod was a hell of a guy from LaCrosse Wisconsin, but we both knew we wouldn't be hanging out once this trip was over. That is an unspoken rule about study abroad friends. They weren't necessarily permanent.

We spent our first night in a bar populated solely by people our age. It felt like a college bar, but the vibe was friendly, literally everyone in the bar loved each other. It was intoxicating watching them high five each other, kiss the girls and talk excitedly as if they hadn't seen each other in years. Jerod and I drank quietly and felt out of place.

Eventually we got to talking to one of the locals. It turned out that this bar was something like the VFW for a local gang. We never figured out what the gang was called, but it was pointed out that nearly everyone in the bar had on thumb rings, comprised of three narrow silver rings coiled on top of one another.

Apparently, they had a problem with the Yugoslavians, a big problem. It was a pretty typical "they took our jobs" type of dispute, from what I could understand. But apparently the Yugoslavians were major assholes. Our new friend showed us the stab wound in his buddy's back, an offense that a Yugoslav caught a bullet for. From a "9", as they called it.

They were all kids our age, and looked like completely typical college kids, not gangsters and killers. So, we just drank beer with them, played the jukebox, and got our asses whipped in foosball.

The next day I fell in love.

We had been out all day, and went out at night, just Jerod and I, with no real destination. We ended up in some weird ass Southwestern themed lounge that was too well lit. I felt lame standing there, looking like just some dude from Wisconsin, so I got into, "Hey I'm never going to see these people again" mode.

There was a table of three girls, one was a 6, the other was unbelievably attractive in a black outfit, blonde with destructive blue eyes, and the third was a goblin.

I left Jerod, walked up and said hello, and probably said something stupid. They were receptive, and spoke better English than me with amazing accents. We naturally started talking about where I was from...although I think they were being nice, they could probably smell the 'American' on me from a mile away. The blonde, her name was Alexa, piped in, it went something like this;

Blonde "You are from America?"
Me "Yes"
Blonde "Do you know, Florida?"
Me "Yes, I have been there a few times"
Blonde "Do you know this band, De...De-side?"
Me "Decide? I don't understand"
Blonde "Um, Decide...um, Cann-e-ball corpse?"
Me "CANNIBAL CORPSE??!!! DEICIDE??!!"
Blonde "YES! You like them?"

At that point I was in love. The Goblin, the 6, Jerod, the whole of Switzerland, the rest of the world may as well have disappeared. It was just me and her.

It came to pass that she was very into brutal death metal, Manowar, Evil Dead, and disgustingly graphic Lucio Fulci horror movies.

It was on, I was in love and I wasn't going to leave this girl for the rest of my life. We celebrated with a tequila shot (which I never do) and decided that we all need to hang out. They invited us to a club, but insisted that we first head back to Alexa's house so she could change.

I got into her room, which was a library of amazing metal and brutal things on tape. She put on a Lordi record, (a band that just now is gaining fame in the American metal community) and as she changed into a skirt and knee high boots (which was amazing to see) she demanded that I watch highlights from the Lucio Fulci film, 'City of the Living Dead' or, 'Paura', namely the part where a girl throws up her own organs, and then the painstakingly slow depiction of a man getting a drill to the head.

This may seem shocking, it was, but remember this girl was a beautiful girl, and as the film of the same name states, you should do anything for a beautiful girl. She could have told me that she hosted toddler fights in an abandoned concentration camp and I still would have loved her.

I was thoroughly aroused and bewildered, and she seemed to feel the same way. I should have suggested that we stay there all night and drink wine and make love listening to Manowar records, but I didn't. Saying "should have" sucks. Eliminate this phrase from your vocabulary.

So we headed out to a club, the only way to get there was to take bikes, so I jumped on the handlebars of the 6's bike, Jerod got on with the Goblin, and my girl rode solo. It was hilarious, riding through the streets of Interlaken, in love on some girl's handlebars.

We got stopped by a Swiss cop, (which is basically a glorified hall monitor) who checked our IDs and told us not to ride the bikes anymore.

We got to the club, and I found it to be populated by metalheads in Army of Darkness T-Shirts. They would play typical club rap and shit, but they would also throw in tracks like Manowar's 'Warriors of the World Unite'.

Yes, this is club music in Switzerland.

I was having an amazing time, but this is where it went south...

I lost sight of Alexa while listening to two douchebags from California about how sweet it is to work for Hurley. She came up, told me she was heading out, gave me the Rock Lock and walked away, tentatively. She didn't seem like she wanted to leave, and I did NOT grasp at all what she was saying to me. She wanted me to come with her, it was so early, and so apparent, but I was not thinking. I didn't use my time wisely, and she walked out of that place, and out of my life forever.

One beer later, i realized that the woman of my dreams just walked out of my life. Night over.

The next morning as we left for Zurich, I would not shut up about how sad/pissed off I was at myself. It was really sad, I was so fucking angry and full of regret. I bitched Jerod's ear off the whole two hour train ride back to Zurich, poor kid.

Right when we got into Zurich, I pulled a move that I have only seen in romantic comedies. I got off the train from Interlaken, bought a ticket for Jerod and I, and got right back on...

I told him I forgot to buy my Dad a hat from Interlaken. HA, what a bunch of bullshit. My plan was to try and remember where her apartment was, find her, profess my love (I hoped it would rain for dramatics sake) and start my life with her.

We wandered blindly around the city, not knowing where the fuck we were, only to give up and mope around the train station. Man, I was depressed, you should read my journal from that day, its ridiculous, reads like the lyrics to a fucking Cure song.

It is really funny looking back, that the only time I've experienced something resembling love was for one night, in one city, and it was built upon a stack of dead bodies and death metal CDs. It might be just that it never happened. If it worked out the way I had planned it in my head, we would have ended up in her apartment, tangling ourselves up, listening to Gwar naked until the birds started chirping. I would have walked away satisfied, with an email address and a good story to tell. But it didn't go that way, and thats why I am in "love", because nothing really happened. Love is the pursuit of the carrot on the stick, you will probably never get there, but damned if you are going to stop bucking for it.

I left Zurich to attempt to fall in love again in Spain, and then Iceland, and then home. Ha, wow, I still feel a little pang of regret when I think about that girl.

I never did get my Dad that hat though. Sorry Jerod.

3 things.

1. I came into my room, woke up my computer. Firefox was open on Google. The search field read:

"Why Vienetta ice cream is so hard to find"

My roommate uses my computer when I'm gone, apparently, and has trouble finding ice cream lasagna.

2. This video.

3. Stop snitching. You know who you are.

Zombeeeeeeatch!

Ha, so here is another fucking zombie story. They are so much fun to write, this was inspired by Ryan starting this site. Now go there and submit some fucked up ass zombie fiction.

If you are looking for the bumbling post about my misguided cunt-hunt on Saturday, look below this one....cunt-hunt....I literally just made that up and now I feel like a filthy bastard for putting it to type....


WRAP YER WEASEL, SON:
--Ask anybody out here, they will tell you that I bring in money. Steadily. Godzilla could be wrecking shop around here stepping on buildings and shit, and I’d have him hitting me up for trim and blow on a Saturday night. I work. This is what I do.

I have to look at my assets, play the hand I’m dealt. So when my two main bitches caught a bite, I didn’t think it meant they had to stop working. There’s some fucked up people out there bro. You name it, it’s out there. I knew of one dude who would show up with his own novocaine and busted ass dental equipment. For real, shit was rusty and crusted with old blood. He’d have the girls hit him up with novocaine and fucking rip his teeth out while he jerked off. Once he ran out of teeth I never saw him again. Shit was wild, but you see my point, there’s a market for all kinds of shit…including people who want to fuck zombies.

Who knows why they wanted it, doesn’t matter, even when things were bad, I’d have these twitchy motherfuckers trading me food and old cell phones and shit to get at one of my Zombitches…that’s what I called them. I know the name sucks, but I’m not advertising pro. I’m more like a “Fuck you, pay me” type of pro.

I had them there, chained up like whoa. Sometimes I would have them gagged, but some of the johns liked the gag off, so they could have that zombitch gnashing and snapping and howling at them while they got fucked. Sometimes I wondered if the girls could feel it, if they liked it, through those dirty eyes, did they know what was happening? Sometimes they moaned louder, but I think that was because they had a meal right there, literally inside of them, and they couldn’t have it.

If they did get at them though, I was ready. The catch was that I would have to be there, right there in the room when they did it. If they got bit, I would wax them right then and there, no questions asked.

It actually worked better for me after they turned, because before, the girls were all, “I need to eat, I need to get my nails done, my kids need a babysitter” all that shit. Now, they just lay around, chained up, making that money, all profit.

No blowjobs though, that became a law after I saw this one dude go for it like it was a good idea. I think the danger is part of the turn on for these guys, but putting your unit in the mouth of a G bitch? You might as well be sticking your dick in a blender. You can guess how that one ended….my girl getting a snack and my gun getting some work.

Condoms too, those were a rule. Unless you were fuckin’ stupid. Who knew what type of fucked up ass STDs a zombie bitch would have.

What can I say? This war was good for business. Pimpin zombies definitely ain’t easy, but it’s definitely easier than pimping regular bitches.

WE ARE YOUR FRIENDS. YOU'LL NEVER BE ALONE AGAIN.

First off, the guy who sits next to me is the master of Roadrunner Records' entire back catalog. What this means for me is that I get to sit here and listen to old King Diamond, Slipknot, and classic power metal and....fucking machine head. Ok, so its not THAT amazing, and it will be even less cool once he gets to the "N for Nickelback" section...but for now, I fucking love walking into work and hearing "Abigail" screaming full blast out of studio quality monitor speakers.


St. Patrick's day was a fucking mess. I got my roommate and friend Tek drunk at 5 pm...they can't drink for shit...and we headed to the city, 6 hours after the other drunks hit up 2nd avenue for their green beer.

Things were great, we found wings and Irish Car Bombs fairly easily, and were high fiving our way to sainthood. Until the girls showed up. My roommate studied in Japan for a month, thus affording him what many college students have, "the study-abroad friends". The strange and unique bond that you form with some people you have met with zero context, with only a strange new culture to put them in. You might have a night of wild drunken slippery sex on a study abroad trip, only to find out that stateside, this girl is a raging bulldyke lacrosse champion lesbian. No one knows who/what the fuck they are when they are living in a different country.

Regardless, some study abroad girls came out to meet my roommate. They were in from Florida, and this was to be their last night. I was feeling strong, so I decided to attempt some charm. There were two of them, and I couldn't decide which I liked better, so I just tried for both at the same time. I was a double barreled shotgun, sometimes both barrels, sometimes one, and sometimes I would just jam...hearing nothing but the sickening sound of a weapon clicking ineffectually...and throw up.

Right in front of one of them my stomach went sour, the bile coming up to rest at the base of me neck, the flume of alcohol I had been riding would be temporarily closed at that point. So I thought I would be cool and take a generous (read: fucking huge) sip of water. The glass i grabbed wasn't water at all, horrifying, it was a nice huge glass of whiskey and water that I had just ordered. That was a wrap, I headed straight to the bathroom and puked my brains out. Nice.

So you could probably tell I had no chance with any girl, but damned if I didn't keep up my overzealous attempts at bedding one of them. When it came to pass that the other of the two had a man, I focused my efforts on the other. Poor girl.

Overzealousness reeks of desperation, and desperation, as they say, is a very, very smelly cologne.

So I continued my misguided attempt to get ass. No matter what though, we were having a fucking great time. The only kind you can have when you are with your friends, drinking at odd hours with cute girls who laugh at your jokes. All smiles and little glasses that you have to drop into bigger glasses before you can drink from them.

We hopped around the city, bar to bar to ATM to bar to Roach Coach Gyros to bar. In transit, without fail, we would be screaming, literally screaming the song, "We are your friends" by Justice vs. Simian. Mimicking the singers maniacal shriek, getting better at the imitation with each step and pint. My singing probably didn't help my chances either, nor did the fact that I had developed a nasty habit of saying "bunz". ..which I picked up from a previous night of hanging out with Shady Milos.

Anyway, crunch time, Bleecker street, she is sitting on my lap somehow, laughing at something stupid, talking about Arcade Fire (they're fucking overrated), and she just leaves. I make a half ass attempt to pursue, but the look on her face says, "hey well thanks for all the whiskey, but I'd rather go home and pleasure myself in my hotel bathtub than hear you say 'Bunz' again. Have a good night."

"Whatever, that bitch was BUNZ, son."

I wake up on my couch confused, but pretty damn happy regardless. Hungover giggling with my roommate and Tek, patting ourselves on the back for being such fools.

I believe thats all for now. My friend Jargy is coming to the city tonight. He is a hell of a journalist, coming to check out neighborhoods for when he moves here. We are going to work on some projects together, but he has a towering cunt of an ex-girlfriend that he just cant shake, so I will be performing an exorcism before anything gets done.

Have a great day.

Gang Gang Dance

Gang Gang Dance is from Brooklyn, I think. They have been embraced and lauded as a pretty cool "band" in the Williamsburg white-fucker scene. I think they kind of sound like Liars...who I like.

I suppose this is a "review" of their DVD I saw.

Lower East Side, the 205 club, fuck-you cold outside, and I knew already that the drinks were going to be 9 dollars, the opposite of a giggling open bar. The night started off ok, as I warmed up with a Guinness in the pub around the corner, waiting for my co-worker and whiskey partner to show up (he never did). The pub played talking heads and TV on the Radio and I talked with the locals about the merits of both. Great people.

Leaving such a place to walk 30 feet in arctic cold to a hipster prom with a guest list was already looking to be horribly unappealing.

I was intrigued though, as I like noisy we-eird shit, and I was told by "the scene" that Gang Gang Dance is exactly that. So i bundled up, griped, pissed, and moaned my way 30 feet up Stanton and went in. So this was the release party eh? Shady people still had their scarves on, mugging from the garage-sale furniture VIP section. A skinny white dude played nice dubstep records, which still didn't do anything to cool me off. The 9 dollar rum and coke didn't work either, and I found my hands clenching into rocks every time I was bumped into by a "hey I'm here, did you see me?" type of person.

My spirits lifted though, when I saw the adorable girl writing notes on a pad. Just like an old school journalist. April O'neal fantasies gave me something to think about until the DVD started. I had a hero in a half shell by the time my drink was half gone....sorry I just had to, the set up was too perfect.

It should be obvious by now that I was in no condition to view something like a Gang Gang Dance DVD.

It was pretty cool, but so weird to the point that I desparately wanted some one to call "bullshit". There was no way these people were "feeling" this all the way. There were some interesting elements, but it was far too noisy and grating to cheer for. So I started getting on the whole, "these people are not here for the music, they are here for the scene" line of thinking.

I believe there is a lot of truth in that. Gang Gang Dance I'm sure has very few "fans", and by fans I mean the type that know all their songs and can whistle their tunes. BUT, fans or no fans, a lot of people still show up to their shows, and still buy their shit. This is because they enjoy (we'll stay away from the reasons WHY) what the band is a part of...which is...fucking....hip white jerks in brooklyn making innovative music.

I like to think I was just there for the music, but I came to the conclusion that I wasn't that much better than these people.

Yup, it was full on existential crisis at a DVD release party. Anyway, the DVD is called "Retinal Riddim", it is pretty cool, but the main thing to learn from this is the age old adage that I made up:

"If its good, its good, if it sucks it sucks."

If the music can stand on its own once its been severed from the scene and the hype, then it is worth your attention. Check out the trailer for the DVD, this is actually the coolest part of the whole thing because of the gabber beats.



More to come later...

Kung Fu Drunk

"Kung Fu Drunk"

I need to remember that phrase, it came to me in my sleep last night dreaming of underwater combat with the Aliens from the Alien movies.

It had a narrator,
"Ash was able to free himself, slicing the thing above the left shoulder with his plasma torch. He backpedaled, piss scared, violent, and kung-fu drunk. With the thing inches from his face, he closed the door to the facility, set the timed lock for 30 years, and took off his helmet to figure out what the fuck was going on."

Of course, immediately after that, a different door opened and the alien came in riding a flood like Slim Pickens riding an A-bomb, hooting and hollering, singing something like "She'll be comin' round the mountain" in the most demented voice I've ever heard.

ANYWAY, I needed to write that down, because the phrase "Kung Fu Drunk" made a profound impact on me. If I were ever fighting zombies or aliens, I would make sure to achieve that kind of drunkenness, where my own strength is alien to me and my fear is almost non-existent. Like the time downtown when the 300 pound blacked out guy got directly in my face with a look that sharks must give to their prey, abusive husbands to their wives. I just stood there and didn't move, too drunk to register the threat, or too drunk to care, I looked him right in the eyes until he walked away.

The Alien had a voice like the guy singing in this song. This song/band is fucking amazing. The band is called Battles, the song is "Atlas".

OK thanks for reading, proof that dreams are a hodgepodge of shit you've recently experienced:

1. I've watched Alien and Aliens and Alien 3 more times than you jerked off last year.
2. Just read a section in my zombie book about underwater zombie combat.
3. Battles fucking rule.
4. The vocals in that song fucking rule.
5. Slim Pickens in Dr. Strangelove is funny as hell.

...that was a weird one. More to come later.

Aesop Rock New Single

Listen to this track.

Aesop Rock- None Shall Pass
From the Adult Swim/Def Jux compilation; Definitive Swim. You might as well get that too, its free.

Aesop Rock has a way of putting together seemingly utter nonsense to make it compelling. At least 10 times I've gotten pissed at the guy for being too obscure, but yet I always end up listening to him. I can't really explain it and that is what I like. I spend a lot of time explaining why one thing is better than another or who could beat up who. With this, it just feels good to say "I just like it". So I've already said too much.

Anyway, check that one out, and then move backwards in time through other inexplicably good Aesop Rock tracks, the ones that are just plain fucking good (yer going to have to find them yourselves, I have no idea where they are).

"Fast Cars, Danger, Fire and Knives" from the EP of the same name.
"Freeze" from Bazooka Tooth.
"9-5ers Anthem" from Labor Days.
"Daylight" from Labor Days.
"Skip Town" from Float.

And that's where I stop.

Now go find a nice girl with huge breasts and give her a hug. Its therapeutic.

Metal

Ok, So i updated this thing 3x just now. Thats right, there is three posts of bullshit below this. Even a new one under the weird ass JC post.

I also just wrote this as a reaction to a blog belonging to a friend of a co-worker of mine: http://www.metalsucks.net/

Its a pretty cool metal site, and I wrote this with the intention of getting it posted on their site, but I wouldn't blame them for not posting such direction-less ranting. Enjoy.

METAL SUCKS

Call this an editorial, or a guest editorial. None of what I say here will be really news-worthy or news-related. In fact it’s the opposite, all I am going to do here is be an “old school” (I’m 24) metal curmudgeon. The point is that I am wholly and completely correct when I say, you can stop listening to metal now. It’s ok. You’ve had a good run.

Metal bands will do one or two fantastic things, and then consistently follow it with re-hash crap until one of their band members either gets married, has kids, or gets killed on stage. This is why I am utterly dumbfounded that people still buy Korn records.



Maybe it’s a personal problem, but I can’t even find myself engaged by the new Haunted album, because nothing will beat the opening to “Hate Song”. That band died a quiet death when Peter Dolving left, and they didn’t re-animate when he came back.

A few other things…

Opeth never topped Orchid, all they did was get obsessed with the letter “D” and make some weepy sad bastard cold castle music. You can stop pretending they’ve made anything good in the last 6 years. Chris Barnes’ Cannibal Corpse will never top The Bleeding, and Corpsegrinder’s band will never top Vile. It’s a shame isn’t it?

If you want to skip to the end of this whole thing, the entire genre of “metal” was completely and totally negated by one album. It is called City and it is by a band called Strapping Young Lad, maybe you’ve heard of them.



So what then? Nothing beyond that point is relevant, I am not all that worried about it, but there are a few other things I want to address.

Another problem is the discovery that people in metal bands are actual people. That one is a shame. I was extremely angered to hear that Alex Webster had a wife, and didn’t spend all of his time fucking and eating corpses. The guy in Soilent Green worked for an art transportation company or some shit. These people don’t have jobs! All they do is live metal, drink, fuck, kill, rock, and play shows. I don’t want to hear about anything else.

The only “real life” metal drama I want to hear about can only involve one or all of these three things:
A) The members of Mayhem stabbing each other in the head.
B) Immortal shopping for bullet belts.
C) Chris Barnes entering rehab for his crippling addiction to vaginal skin.

The only metal tour video that anyone needs to see ever was created by Pantera. I realized this watching my roommate’s Lamb of God DVD. The only redeeming factor was that the lead singer is a drunken camera-mugging diva. Nice try, but there is no room for diva-dom in metal (unless you are Big Val), there is only room for tits, solos, firecrackers, brown liquor, and tits.



And what is this about black metal gaining credibility in the hipster community? I thought black metal ended with Old Man’s Child’s album Ill Natured Spiritual Invasion. Galder fucking freestyled the vocals on that whole album. It doesn’t get any more hip than that (the time that Demon Burger used a vocorder is a close second), so stop blogging about hip black metal.


Fuck you.

It is also too bad that The Berzerker broke up. That band ended the second they took off their masks, because they were “too hot”. Metal bands can’t get “too hot”. Rest in Pieces Berzerker, we hardly knew ye.


R.I.P.

You can also stop opening heavy metal record stores. The only heavy metal record store that ever mattered was called Nightfall Records in Minneapolis, Minnesota. The store was owned and operated by Don Decker, the fat angry hearse-driving singer of the legendary band Anal Blast (Tampon Tea Bag!), the first time I went there I had to wake him up on the couch to buy my first Blood Duster CD. This was after I stood around to hear tales from the Nightfall’s officially sanctioned crack whore/mascot about getting butt-fucked in the alley for crack. That’s metal. You can give up now, world.


I can't believe I found this. Thats Decker and he's about to tell her he wants to shit in her eyes and eat her used tampons.

In closing, Atheist is reuniting somewhere in California. I will see you there.

Phat Kat Review

Here is the review I did for Beautiful/Decay Magazine. The issue is out now. I love those guys. I worked the VIP section at their last party that was co-curated by a pretty upscale (read:pretentious) art studio. Meaning I had to quell a minor uprising of artsy fuckers with French Accents demanding VIP. The only exception I could find was this guy, Sun Tek Chung. He's cool as fuck.

Shady Milos later came to the party and hated my ear off for about an hour about the seven dollar beer.

Anyway, Here is the review.

PHAT KAT- CARTE BLANCHE
Look Records

Phat Kat was slept on, mishandled by a few labels, watched his city (Detroit) get grossly misrepresented, and had one of his best and brightest friends (Dilla) leave earth far too early. He put Carte Blanche together so we could hear exactly what it was like, in his words. The end result makes me darkly thankful for dead geniuses and major labels with their heads implanted in their asses. The beats on here (namely the 5 posthumous DIlla beats) are worth the trip alone, but they are nothing without Kat's "Motherfucker, I've been chained starving to this radiator for years now" type of flow. I listened to this record so many times I memorized where the "promo only" drops were. The point is that James Yancey might be resting but Phat Kat and everyone else on this record wants you to know that Detroit refuses to do the same.