What I’m listening to

July 16, 2010

Divided into groups so you can skip the parts you don’t care about:

ROCK and/or ROLL

Jamie Lidell – Compass

Technically Lidell is a former electronica square-pusher who is now doing R&B and funk.  But he has time for other genres too, including this folky title track from his third album.  Here it is paired with visuals from the game “Red Dead Redemption,” which it played a key role in.

Jose Gonzalez – Veneer

Speaking of “Red Dead,” this summarizes why the game was so absorbing to me, and why my girlfriend probably considered hiding my copy.  This is what happens in the game when you first enter Mexico.  (This song isn’t on “Veneer” but it gives you a taste of the beauty of Gonzalez’s music.)

Broken Social Scene – Forgiveness Rock Record

For indie rock this is pretty high-profile.  I beg your forgiveness, but frankly I don’t have the energy to read the reviews in Alternative Press every month any more.  But here’s what matters: it’s a damn good album.


Big Boi – Sir Lucious Leftfoot… The Son of Chico Dusty

OutKast fans can rejoice because half of that classic group finally released something, after several years of label drama and non-music-related BS.  Hip hop fans can rejoice because this right here is the best rap album of the year… and it’s only July.

Homeboy Sandman – The Good Sun

This cat is just weird.  Video below isn’t from this album, but from his previous one – however, I find the video so low-rent charming and his flow so bizarre in this song that I just had to throw this up.

Roc Marciano – Marcberg and AG – Everything’s Berri

No video here, but let me just say this: if you miss old school boom bap with grimy production and sedate flows, and above all that immersive, cinematic quality that made “Only Built 4 Cuban Linx” a classic, check out both of these.  I especially dig “Snow” off of “Marcberg” and that very-70s cover art for “Berri.”  Both albums are nice.


Busy Signal – D.O.B.

Excellent album in general (though his debut “Step Out” remains his best), but this dark, poverty-focused track with Bounty Killer is the high point for me.

There’s also, rather weirdly, a few semi-covers of popular hit songs.  This one really works for me and I couldn’t even explain why.  I only wish Busy would get past the autotune trend – his voice is so effective without it.

Black Dillinger – Love Life

This track is so huge, reminding me of old Sizzla cuts such as “Like Mountain.” The digital version of “Love Life” has been out for a spell (since January or so) but the CD still doesn’t exist, which is a shame.  Anyway, give this a listen.


Hooded Menace – Never Cross the Dead

Death metal mired in sludge, taking one horrible crawling step at a time in your direction.  Hooded Menace’s concept is based on the sleazy, cheesy Eurohorror “Blind Dead” series of movies:

…and the music is SO fitting to that premise.  Also: best metal cover art of 2010, without question.

Sabbath Assembly – Restored to One

Sabbath Assembly is Jex of Jex Thoth – a sonorous-voiced woman who sounds imported from both the 70s and a Frank Frazetta painting – along with Dave Nuss of the No Neck Blues Band and a guy who produced Sunn O))).  The concept behind the album is to take a bunch of hymns of the Process Church of the Final Judgment (key excerpt: “They were often viewed as Satanic on the grounds that they worshipped both Christ and Satan. Their belief is that Satan will become reconciled to Christ, and together will come at the end of the world to judge humanity, Christ to judge and Satan to execute judgment”) and realize them with fleshed-out arrangements and a serious evil hippie, Manson cult vibe.  It’s 60s flower rock meets 70s doom metal meets seriously weird religious fanaticism, and if I thought they believed in what they’re singing, I’d be a little concerned.  But as is, it makes for really interesting listening, almost like an alternative reality soundtrack to “The Wicker Man.”


Art from beyond the 5th dimension

November 10, 2009

I don’t usually post my visual art here, but I like this piece and this animation, so yeah.  Yesterday I did a piece of cover art for a death metal band’s concept album about the Lovecraft story, “At the Mountains of Madness.”  (Yes I know, I am a huge nerd.)  This animation represents the four main stages the piece went through: 1. rough sketch to get the composition down (what is this place? where is the huge monster? where do I put the tentacles, and how many of them?); 2. pencil and pen drawing (look, shit is all shaded and realistic-y now!); 3. first layer of digitally-added color (the basic hues are there but it’s flat like a comic book); and 4. the finished thing (darker! wetter! more abhorrent to the bounds of sanity!).  Anyhoo, here it is – or click for a slightly larger version.

Cover art for Cosmic Atrophy

Your hands, and what they tell the world about your metalness

December 8, 2008


Hands can be used for good and ill alike.  They can dispense massages, but they can also give out punches or stabbings.  They can make a fine deep-dish pizza, or slip somebody a mickey.  They can write a good blog post, like you might find somewhere else, or churn out some crap like this.  You see?  A, B.  X, Y.  Black, white.  “Lost,” “Heroes.”

Well, they can also communicate to a band’s listening public exactly how metal that band is… or isn’t.  So here are some handy guidelines for metal bands looking to appear metal.  Stick to the first five, and avoid the second five – it’s just that simple.


1. Make devil horns. 


Devil horns are the universally-acknowledged symbol of metal.  You’d think their sheer ubiquity (even your grandma has probably thrown horns some time this year) would ruin their cache in the metal underground, but somehow, the ol’ horns soldier on.  Proper headbanging practically requires injudicious use of the horns, and I have it on good authority that finger-tapping as a guitar technique was invented to free up the pick hand for horn-hurling.  As a metal asset, there is none greater.

2. Do the “Metal Hands.”


I don’t know what this is actually called, so I’m just calling it Metal Hands.  Five million metal bands (statistic courtesy of my ass) have done this exact thing with their hands in band pics.  (I’m referring here to the left and middle guys in this picture, not the emo girl on the right who is apparently very distraught about her boyfriend dumping her.)  It communicates an assortment of very metal sentiments: “I want to claw at things,” “I may have rigor mortis even as we speak,” “This happened because I masturbate too much,” etc.  It’s important to note, however, that even the considerable power of Metal Hands can be overwhelmed by great lameness in other areas, as shown here:


3. Adorn them with, and use them to display, knuckle tattoos.


This is quite simple: 1. Black Sabbath created metal.  2. Ozzy was a key ingredient of Black Sabbath.  3. Ozzy has the world’s most famous knuckle tattoo.  4. Therefore, knuckle tattoos are completely fucking metal. 

If you need further convincing, a gentlemen calling himself “HeadOvMetal” on Flickr has the final word in this discussion:


Now that might be the metalliest thing I’ve ever seen.

4. Play a flying V with them.


Dave Mustaine is so metal that he’s made it acceptable to convert to Christianity, refuse to play shows with bands that have Satanic lyrics, and even sell out and release a bunch of shitty albums that are much, much worse than “Peace Sells.”  So – listen to Mustaine, and bask in the glory of that picture of him destroying the world with the most metal guitar there is.

5. Clutch an inverted cross.


The Norwegians in Old Funeral show off their inverted cross-clutching AND Metal Hands skills.  Clearly, this is a band not to be trifled with.


1. Point at the camera.


Anyone can point, man.  Frankly I’m a little scared that the members of Emperor today all look like they should be in a jazz-fusion group.  Or “The Matrix.”  Anyway, take a lesson from Ozzy: if you must point at something, point at your knuckle tattoo. 

2. Hold a candelabra.


We at the field office are always willing to court controversy, and here is this week’s flirtation with infamy.  I don’t care if Dead from Mayhem did it, or Fenriz from Darkthrone, or the incredibly weird creeps from the awesome Mortuary Drape as in the picture above: holding a candelabra can’t be all that metal when they are most associated with church, weddings, and Hannukah.  At best, this activity is metal-neutral.  Now if you inverted the candelabra – and especially if you somehow kept it alight while doing so – I’d be open to discussion on it.  I will concede, though, that Dead looks pretty great in this famous album cover:


But my argument is that the darkness, corpsepaint, and band logo are working for him way more than the symbol of yuletide cheer is.

3. Make devil horns (wife and kids variant).


It’s totally great that James Hetfield is happy and all that, but… Jesus H. Satan, what the fuck IS this picture?  You’re lucky that “Death Magnetic” doesn’t totally blow, Het, or I’d hunt you down and give you a severe tongue-lashing.  Probably also confiscate your flying Vs and whatnot.

4. Restrain your band from fighting.


I can only imagine this shot preceded a Michael-Jackson-in-the-“Beat It”-video-style confrontation.  Perhaps with the members of Cradle of Filth.

5. Use them to take money out of your wallet and buy a bunch of lousy crap from the Halloween store; then subsequently bedeck yourself with said crap, and on top of it, wield a giant plastic axe for your official publicity photo.


He calls himself Damien Storm, and you really should hear the music he makes.  If I could review it in a word, that word would be “blaaarrrrrrgggh.”  This is the same word I use during flu season when I’m in the bathroom, kneeling in front of the toilet and making Metal Hands.

Sympathy for the devil

September 11, 2008


Satan has been much on my mind of late.  Given my hard-won and rock-solid atheism, that might surprise you. 

Well, what can I say?  Listening to heavy metal and watching horror movies will do that to a guy.  Even THIS guy.

I’m on the home stretch of a book called “Lords of Chaos: The Bloody Rise of the Satanic Metal Underground,” and it’s been a fascinating read.  Generally the subject is the goings-on in the Norwegian black metal scene circa the early 90s – I refer here to church burnings, heathenism, racialism, Satanism, and most especially the murder of Euronymous (né Øystein Aarseth) by Count Grishnakh (né Kristian Vikernes, but more commonly known as Varg), in which the former was stabbed repeatedly by the latter, including once, and with great finality, right through the forehead.  With crazy antics and bizarre pseudonyms like that, how could this subject NOT be interesting?

The thing that has been dawning on me through the late pages of this book is that we’ve lost him.  The devil, that is.  The darkest and most dangerous thing imaginable in a Christian society has been swept under a rug and replaced by boring, real world shit: terrorism, sexual predators, teen pregnancy, Republicans.  O how dull and lifeless.  I practically flat-line just thinking about it.  Wherefore art thou, our love and loathing of the occult?

The devil in music

First there were those bluesmen and their legendary relationship with the horned one.  Robert Johnson is the most notorious example – the man who sold his soul at the fabled crossroads so he could play guitar like nobody’s business.  Interestingly, the devil also gave Johnson the ability to write sinister lyrics like these:

Hot tamales and they’re red hot, yes she got ’em for sale
I got a girl, say she long and tall
She sleeps in the kitchen with her feets in the hall


Next up was rock ‘n roll – blues-inspired, and true music of evil.  The Stones and Led Zeppelin dabbled in occult rituals, flirted with the actual Church of Satan (more on which momentarily), and wrote paeans to all sorts of subterranean shenanigans.  Zep was lyrically subtle when it came to Satanism – which is to say, they threw a few Satanic ingredients into their incomprehensible stew of Tolkien, blues-derivative sexual innuendos, and drugged hippie babble – but they liked to drop a lot of hints, including the seeming fallen angel of their famous logo and the Zoso sign on their fourth album cover.  (Zoso, if you’re not in the know, is supposed to be a stylized rendering of 666, or at least some kind of crazy occult/demon-raising thingymabob.  For a tiny smidge of extra info and a lot of belly laughs, visit this hilarious site.)  The Stones were, um, not as subtle.  They wrote “Sympathy for the Devil.”  They titled one of their albums “Their Satanic Majesties Request,” and another “Goats Head Soup.”  Hell yeah, boys – now that’s what I’m talkin’ ’bout.  By about 1970 that red guy was front and center in the public consciousness – especially here in America, where we fear the lord in one way and fear everything else in quite another.  The stage was set.

Fallen angel, zoso

Fallen angel, zoso

The devil in film

And on to that stage paraded a bunch of moralistic, uptight movie directors (with one exception, soon to be mentioned).  These guys nevertheless managed to crank out some Satanic classics.  William Friedkin adapted William Peter Blatty’s novel “The Exorcist” in 1973, and even though the moral was pretty much “be on guard, that nasty devil is everywhere!” a lot of people were very taken aback by all the crucifix masturbation and pea soup vomiting.  “The Omen” followed suit in 1976, presenting an extremely Christian vision of the son of Satan coming to Earth to try to engineer the end of days.  The storyline and lesson that followed in the trilogy was ham-fisted and conservative, but hey: it was at least pretty great when Damien’s nanny flung herself off the roof.  Even the great Hammer Studios rode the demonic winds with a pair of Dennis Wheatley adaptations: “The Devil Rides Out” in 1968, and “To The Devil A Daughter” in 1976. 

The best and most subversive of all of them was probably the earliest – Polanski’s “Rosemary’s Baby,” which offers no clear lesson, allows evil to triumph in the end, and even presents that evil as a rather banal, urban lifestyle choice.  Out of any of these pictures, “Rosemary’s Baby” was the closest to wandering the left hand path.  (This point would be underscored many years later when Polanski made “The Ninth Gate,” which went even further in allowing the forces of darkness to prevail and offering no judgement upon their actions; unfortunately, the movie was a little too weird and erratic for its own good.)

The Exorcist

Famous promo image for "The Exorcist"

The devil in basically everything else

So with all that background, it should come as no surprise that Dungeons & Dragons emerged from the primordial soup in 1974, and created a huge superstitious and moralistic panic throughout the 80s.  If you had a 20 sided die and a bottle of Mountain Dew, you were probably secretly worshipping the devil through your Monster Manual (and particularly your Deities & Demigods book).  TV and radio simmered with panicked reports of D&D-inspired murder, infant sacrifice, and dark backwoods spell-casting.  Awesomely, during the exact same time frame (1983-1985), Dungeons & Dragons ran as a Saturday morning cartoon, warping my fragile little mind with images of beholders and Tiamat.  They were heady, dangerous, confusing-ass times.

If that was the extremity of fake and laughable Satanism, Anton LaVey’s infamous Church of Satan surely represented the other end of the spectrum.  Except that, y’know, LaVey didn’t believe in God OR Satan, really.  LaVey declared the founding of his church in 1966 on Walpurgisnacht, and it wasn’t long before he had some high-profile rock bands and seemingly half of Hollywood in his pocket.  The glory years of the Church were fleeting, but LaVey at least had the dictinction of introducing a Satanism that had little to do with an actual horned guy presiding over fiery pits and torture chambers.  LaVey took Aleister Crowley’s idea of the Left Hand Path and made it another thing altogether – a path away from theism, a path toward worship and satiation of the self.  LaVey’s Satanists were in fact atheists and hedonists, and little more; they just had a knack for terminology and imagery that really pissed off the Christian Right. 

So in that respect, at least, they were pretty great.

LaVey was only an intellectual threat (if that) to Christianity, although many were confused on this point because of his use of the name of the devil.  (Many Christians still today have no idea what the Church of Satan actually believes in, and probably assume it involves hair- and demon-raising rituals right out of the lamest Lovecraft stories.)  There was a lot of blabbity-blab in Christian churches about practitioners of magic and the popular Ouija board game/netherworld communication device – I distinctly remember a weird sermon one week that focused on people who can call forth ectoplasm, like “Ghostbusters” but not funny – but it was fearmongering based on almost no real events or persons.  Actual Satanists who actually worshipped the literal Satan of the Bible were hard to come by.  So…

The devil in music, for real this time

…naturally someone had to step into that void.  And who better than disenfranchised, cold, surly teenagers from Norway?  Throughout the 80s heavy metal, as pioneered and designed by Black Sabbath and others, had evolved into true extremity, and with that came the sneering face of Christian evil.  Sabbath toyed with Satanic images (in fact, the lyrics all tend to be reactionary and anti-Satanic when read closely… or at all); but it was up to the bands at the dawn of extreme metal to really ally themselves with darkness. 

Slayer put out their first album in 1983.  By 1985’s “Hell Awaits” the band was trading in full-on devil worship in musical/lyrical form.  The same year, Celtic Frost released “To Mega Therion” with a cover image of the devil using Jesus as a slingshot (no kidding), and Possessed put out their seminal “Seven Churches.”  The latter album was a classic, a twisted slab of electrifying guitar riffs and lyrics such as

Holy Hell, death to us
Satan’s fell, unholy lust
Devil’s water starts to flood
God is slaughtered, drink his blood

Alright, it ain’t exactly great poetry – in fact it barely hangs together as English – but it sounds pretty fucking good when Jeff Becerra howls it over Larry Lalonde (yes, the guy from Primus!)’s crazy guitar lines. 

A flood of Satanic albums (most of the faux- variety) followed in the wake of these influential examples.  Five years later, the Swedes in Entombed released their debut album under the name “Left Hand Path.”  The devil wasn’t just in the details – he was in everything.  No wonder my parents’ panties were all in a wad every time I brought home a Queensryche tape or a character sheet (my characters always had high Dexterity – you can’t fuck with Armor Class bonuses, yo).

Left Hand Path and Seven Churches

"Left Hand Path" and "Seven Churches"

So it was high time that the dark one achieved critical mass.  Which he did, when Burzum and Mayhem started releasing albums, burning down churches, and murdering each other.

Mayhem’s first album title from 1994, “De Mysteriis Dom Sathanas,” roughly translates to “Lord Satan’s Secret Rites” (a full breakdown of what it really means can be found here).  Here in all their glory are the lyrics from the title track:

To the elder ruins again
The wind whispers beside the deep forest
Darkness will show us the way
Heic Noenum Pax, Here is no peace
The sky has darkened thirteen as
We are collected woeful around a book
Made of human flesh
De Grandae Vus Antiquus Mulum Tristis
Arcanas Mysteria Scriptum
The books blood written pages open
Invoco Crentus Domini De Daemonium
We follow with our white eyes
The ceremonial proceeding
Heic Noenum Pax, Bring us the goat
Rex Sacriticulus Mortifer
In the circle of stone coffins
We are standing with our black robes on
Holding the bowl with unholy water

Psychomantum Et Precr Exito Annos Major
Ferus Netandus Sacerdos Magus Mortem Animalium

I imagine I would have been locked in my room for a week and then shuttled off to a religious private school if I’d brought home anything with lyrics like those.  Notably, the CD came out shortly after Euronymous of Mayhem was murdered – with publicity like that, who needs an advertising budget?  Black metal took over the metal underground around this time, and Satan had finally reached the forefront of public consciousness as a threat to the souls of ourselves and our children.

Except this was 1994 – two years after Nirvana dropped “Nevermind,” a year or so after we stopped giving a shit about hair metal, and almost exactly the point that we collectively became 50% more ironic and 50% less interested in God.  You can see where things were heading.  We had simultaneously built things up as far as they could possibly go, and also started turning a corner into a much more enlightened age.

So naturally, when a few years and five thousand black metal bands came and went, we all kind of shrugged and said, “Hey, we’re over this.”


We don’t care about the devil any more.  A lot of Norwegian-style black metal bands still scream his unholy name on their highly limited albums and seven inch singles, but now that they’ve stopped killing people and whatnot, we don’t really pay attention.  Horror movies have gone through various phases – slasher movies, J-horror, torture porn, remake-o-rama – but the devil hasn’t made much of a re-appearance as of yet.  The closest we’ve come to it were remakes of “The Amityville Horror” and “The Omen,” and both of those whizzed through the public sphere like the translucent nothings they were.  “The Exorcism of Emily Rose” enjoyed a brief spurt of popularity, I guess, but nothing like the furor and excitement generated by the original “Exorcist.”  We used to really fear the devil, and from that fear sprang true titillation; now we pleasantly and absent-mindedly engage with the devil, the same as we might enjoy a retro monster movie (e.g. “Cloverfield”) or western (e.g. “3:10 to Yuma”) on a sleepy summer afternoon.  In effect, Satan has been sucked into our post-modern, soulless entertainment machine, and delivered back to us as packaged pap.  Where’s the danger in that?  Where, even, is the FUN?

I’m thinking, Diane, that I miss the old guy a little bit, even though LaVey still seems too reactionary to me, and I’ve long since disposed of any belief or interest in the spirit world and the occult.  Perhaps this Halloween – or next Walpurgisnacht – we should gather ’round in our black cloaks, with knives and burning candles and a squalling infant, and do a little sacrificin’ to the evil one.  Frankly, I don’t know what else would inspire us all to care again.  But if that’s pushing things a little too far, might I suggest that we all watch “Rosemary’s Baby” and listen to “Seven Churches” and enjoy a little nostalgia for better, darker time-gone-by?

"To Mega Therion"

Albums pre-made for failure

February 15, 2008


As I was flipping through racks of CDs in my local independent music store (support them while they last – Best Buy didn’t succeed in putting them all out of business, but the mp3 eventually will), I started wondering about those albums I’ve barely or never heard by artists I like.  Maybe you’ve thought about this before too – in fact I’d say you probably have if you are at all like me, which is to say, a voracious consumer of music and someone who likes to read a few reviews before making a purchase.  I wouldn’t say that I let reviews steer all my buying, but sometimes when you already own a couple hundred reggae albums and are considering whether to re-finance your house to afford #201, you’d like a voice of experience to tell you if Bob Marley’s second to last album is considered good, bad, or just alright.  Maybe at that point you think, “Well – if it’s not quite ‘good’ then maybe I don’t need to own or hear it this year.”  I think this is a reasonable way to behave.

What I’m wondering about, though, is whether sometimes artists seem to review themselves before the critics even get a hold of them.  And this latest trip to the record store seemed to confirm it.

What follows is a list of albums where the album title seems to deliver a message that the music itself is somehow subpar, slapdash, barely adequate, or wholly disappointing.  My criteria for selection were these: 1. The artist or band has to be successful on a critical or commercial scale, within their chosen genre, prior to the release of this album.  2. The album immediately preceding it must not be generally regarded as a failure.  3. The album title has to lend itself to obvious jokes and quips ready-made for the amateur reviewer.

1. Daft Punk, “Human After All”

Daft Punk made two unimpeachable classics of electronic dance awesomeness, “Homework” in 1997 and “Discovery” in 2001.  Then came “Human After All,” the album that was quickly to be held as a disappointment and a dropoff in quality.  Luckily we now have Justice to be today’s Daft Punk and make up for lost time.

Reviews: On Amazon.com, Daft’s debut averages 4.5 stars; the second album a slightly less robust four; and “Human After All,” three and a half.  Objectively this doesn’t seem to be a huge decline, but on the Amazon sliding scale, 3.5 might as well be 1.5.  Allmusic sums it up thusly: “Human After All was made in six weeks, and sounds like it — and not always in a good way: the quick-and-dirty recording process and limited palette of grainy synths, vocoders, and guitars do lend a stripped-down, spontaneous feel, but just as often, this minimal approach feels like it’s supporting minimal ideas.”

Use of title to describe the music: One Amazon reviewer goes with “Repetitive after all.”  Another: “No imagination… after all.”  Yes, but where is the snide recitation of the title-as-judgement?  …Ah, here it is: “HUMAN AFTER ALL – NOT WRONG!”  Caps lock means Hulk MAD!  Muzicality.com gives us this version, aimed at a two year old, I think: “‘Human After All’ is a perfectly fitting title for a perfectly disappointing album from one of the world’s ‘finest’ electronic acts. It proves that despite how wonderful and god-like an artist may seem at some point in their careers the bottom line will always be that they aren’t. They are ‘Human After All’.”  Thanks, teach!

The verdict: A few stalwart defenders aside, Daft Punk definitely struck out with their fanbase on this release, and professional critics weren’t much warmer.

2. Malevolent Creation, “Stillborn”

The guys in Malevolent Creation (of course they are guys – this is Old School Death Metal, after all) were inviting catastrophe, or at least withering scorn, with this album title.  In retrospect, it seems like they’d have better sense  after contributing two genre staples with their first two albums, “The Ten Commandments”* and “Retribution.”  But no.  They skimped on production, not going to death metal studio of choice Morrisound; singer Brett Hoffman recorded his vocals with what sounds like a nasty head cold combined with a Reverb-O-Matic set on “Enormous Cavern”; and then they named the thing “Stillborn” and just begged their fans to hate it.  Which, naturally, they did. 

Reviews: The Metal Archives has five posted reviews for each of Malevolent Creation’s first three albums.  “The Ten Commandments” scores a respectable 83% average.  “Retribution” has a dominating 93%.  And “Stillborn”?  49%.  Ouch.  On the other side, it has a 4.5 (out of 5) average rating on Amazon, from 10 total reviews.  However, the general tone of the Amazon reviews can be described as “defensive” (sample sentence: “this album does not deserve all the slagging it gets.”) 

Use of title to describe the music: One Metal Archives review starts with, “The Title Says It All.”

The verdict: A bit inconclusive, but it’s clear that at least by reputation, the album is inferior to prior releases. At least it has a typically awesome cover by Dan Seagrave.

3. Michael Jackson, “Bad”

This is one of those test cases.  A title like “Bad” is really inviting criticism in a major way, but at the time of its release, this guy was non-ironically known as The King of Pop and was coming off of… oh, only the biggest-selling album of all time.  Whatever it was called, I can’t remember.  Could this type of icon derail himself with a poorly chosen title (not to mention a lead-off single that was no “Billie Jean” or “Wanna Be Startin’ Somethin'”)?  Read on…

The reviews: …were quite kind.  I’m not a “Bad” fan myself but I have to admit that outside of me, anybody that likes Mike liked this album.  Allmusic gives it a 4.5 out of 5.  Amazon reviewers give it the same average rating as “Thriller,” also 4.5.  Rolling Stone liked the album with minor qualifications and gave it a four.

Use of title to describe the music: I didn’t bother digging for any but I’m sure a great many contrarians out there have thought of this clever little gibe.

The verdict: “Bad” ain’t that bad.  (Though later Michael went the ironic route and sunk himself with “Invincible”; he may as well have named the thing “Titanic.”)

4. Metallica, “Load”

The career trajectory of Metallica is fascinatingly obvious from their album covers and titles alone.  Their debut “Kill ’em All” was as subtle as a blunt object smashing open the back of your skull, but also as effective.  The three albums following, “Ride the Lightning” through “…And Justice For All,” had iconic and striking cover art themed in different colors (blue, red, and light grey) and titles that told the listener exactly what they were in for.  And then Metallica hit some sort of transition point – on an album with an almost plain black cover and no title save the band’s name.  Where would they go from here?  Distressingly, the answer was “to derivative, Metallica-ized southern butt rock,” and the name of that album was “Load,” and the cover art sucked.

The reviews: The purists and elitists of the Metal Archives hated “Load,” but only 13% more than they hated the black album, which they generally blamed for the murder of thrash metal.  Allmusic gives “Load” a paltry 2.5 out of 5.  Rolling Stone liked “Load” but the opener is telling: “If heavy-metal fans are supposed to be such hardcore loyalists, what is it about a few haircuts, some eyeliner and a little songcraft that throws ’em into such a dither?”

Use of title to describe the music: You betcha!  One fella on Amazon titles his review “What a ‘Load’ of crap!” which definitely gets the point across, but rapes the wordplay of any subtlety there was to be had.  We also get “Load of junk” and “Load of Something Alright.”  I see what you guys are going for, but what’s wrong with simply, “Yes, it’s a load”?

The verdict: Whatever fine line Metallica was kinda walking with the black album (that being the fine line between a stadium pop-rock band and a tr00 heavy metal outfit), they fell off of it here.

5. Sugar, “File Under Easy Listening”

When you stake your claim in the unforgiving ground of punk rock, albeit fertilized with a bag of catchy melodies and pop sensibility, you shouldn’t tempt fate by moving away from the punk.  Those mohawk-and-nose-ring guys are notoriously unforgiving.

The reviews: Name critics like Allmusic and Entertainment Weekly liked this one as much as Sugar’s debut.  Fans, not so much.  Amazon reviewers rate it a full star lower than “Copper Blue.”  Me, I barely remember this album, though I owned it at one point.

Use of title to describe the music: A typically lukewarm Amazon reviewer says, “File Under Easy Listening is a rather fitting title, since some of these songs are very accesible.”  Which I think translates into today’s English as, “Meh.”

The verdict: Not an awful album, but not as good as the one before it (or even the stop-gap EP “Beaster”).


Got any others, Diane?  Please add on in the Comments.

* I’m not sure why it’s called this, but based on the cover art and general tenor of the band’s lyrics, I’m guessing it’s not a concept album about how you shalt not kill.

Opinionated art

July 12, 2007


A friend of mine recently told me the story of how he logged into his neighbor’s network through their unprotected wireless router.  He found their music library, an oddly assorted collection of Britney Spears pop and Burzum black metal and all points in between (which I guess is all the points there are).  Browsing over the black metal, he found a lot of so-called NSBM (national socialist black metal), which basically means racist Satanists from Norway.  He may or may not have deleted some of it.

This is interesting to me because of my recent insider/outsider status in the online metal community.  I occasionally post on a couple different forums, mainly to gather death metal recommendations from people who’ve been listening to the stuff for two decades more than I have.  On that front I’ve done extremely well.  I don’t listen to black metal*, but one can’t participate in that kind of forum without at least skimming over some of the black metal-oriented conversations.

Now, there is definitely such a thing as racist death metal.  Arghoslent is probably the best-known proponent of growly singing about flogging a particular kind of now-illegal cargo.**  But they don’t represent a very large trend.  NSBM, on the other hand, is widespread enough to have earned itself a genre name, albeit one that rarely appears in Rolling Stone or Entertainment Weekly’s music section. 

The people who listen to this music are in some unmeasurable percentage not racists, though, and that is what fascinates me.  If you ask them about it, the general theory goes like this:

1. It doesn’t really matter what they’re singing about if the music is good.

2. Besides, you can’t understand them most of the time anyway.

3. I have a black friend.

4. Wagner hated Jews, so, y’know, wtf.

I haven’t had to indulge in this exact rationalization myself, because I don’t listen to NSBM.  I don’t listen to black metal in general – most of it strikes me as juvenile, talentless, and ridiculous.  If death metal is a cousin to good horror movies (as I’ve argued previously), most black metal reminds me of those Italian cannibal movies where they stage gruesome scenes designed to look like no-budget snuff flicks, and sprinkle on some actual animal killing for flavor.  I don’t watch Italian cannibal movies from the seventies, and I don’t listen to black metal.  And even if I was going to listen to black metal, I doubt I’d be deep enough into it to have exhausted all the good bands and need to move on to shitty racist ones.

But the basic concepts here should be familiar to fans of several other kinds of music – most notably hip hop and dancehall.  And indeed, Diane, I listen to both. 

Hip hop ran into a lot of trouble in its early days by damning homosexuals (Brand Nubian, 2Pac, lots of other guys) and Jews (Public Enemy’s Prof. Griff, Ice Cube).  After a few public relations disasters, it seems like most rap artists – or maybe their record labels – learned not to cross those lines.  You still can hear some homophobic and anti-Semitic rants on hip hop records, but they’re buried a little deeper and scattered a little wider.  Certainly not a lot of major label releases are going out with this kind of rhetoric embedded in them.  Where they still venture though (and problematically for the enlightened listener) is into the dark waters of misogyny, as well as anti-white racism.  The former is more common – so common, in fact, that I think the average gangsta rap listener long ago stopped being shocked or surprised by songs that refer to bitches and hos, and in what capacity said bitches and hos are best used.***  Anti-white racism is fading out, especially now that MC Ren is off the scene and Ice Cube is making kiddie movies in exchange for what must be fifty zillion dollars and all the free handjobs he wants, but it still carries an aura of acceptability.  In fact, most white listeners I’ve spoken with about this type of lyric have shrugged and said, “Yeah, I guess that’s fair.”  The spectre of slavery and segregation have created a free pass for this kind of subject matter.  You’re more likely to get in trouble in the media for a gay slur in your rap song than for calling whites “devils” or talking about shooting up a white suburb.  (To be honest, if anybody wants to go shoot up Carmel, IN this weekend, I’m available and would be happy to drive.)

Dancehall has an even bigger PR problem than hip hop nowadays.  To give some background, Jamaica is a pretty homophobic island.  Homophobia is deeply ingrained in both the culture and the most well-known (though far from statistically dominant) religion, Rastafarianism.  A lot of Jamaicans in general are prejudiced against gays, and an even larger proportion of rastas are.  I don’t know for sure, but it would not surprise me if the likes of Bob Marley and Winston Rodney (a.k.a. Burning Spear) were homophobic to some degree.  However, they didn’t sing about it.+  But as reggae has evolved into the more aggressive digital styles of ragga and dancehall, homophobia has jumped to the forefront.

Roots reggae was always infused with rasta spirituality – one love and all that.  As such there was a certain amount of anti-Babylon polemicism, a degree of condemnation of us American sodomites (not necessarily meaning “one who practices sodomy,” but rather a latter-day resident of a metaphorical Sodom and Gomorrah).  Dancehall has evolved that into a full-on battle against homosexuality.  Slack artistes++ like Bounty Killer will use some unfortunate gay slurs and insult an opponent by saying he’s homosexual, but it’s really the rastas in dancehall who sling the most anti-gay fire.  Capleton and Sizzla, two singers whose music I enjoy, have been banned from performing in certain venues (and even whole countries) because of some of their lyrics.  Partly this is because the rasta way of speaking sounds more violent than it is.  A singer condemning the gay lifestyle will “bun [burn] it out” or throw “fire pon dem,” which is not intended to describe a literal torching of gay people, but rather a spiritual fire that cleanses sin.  In the same manner, for instance, a rasta would sing about burning down Babylon, which just means me and most of my friends (small comfort, eh? Enjoy another day of sin, fellow Babylonian).  Where the trouble comes in is in the more literal violence of songs like Buju Banton’s notorious “Boom Bye Bye,” or Sizzla’s “Gunshot.”  It may be a lot of big talk or it may not – Banton was recently charged with attacking some men who were believed to be homosexual – but either way it’s a troubling tendency.  More difficult for the listener is that your average Capleton or Sizzla album tends more toward roots reggae and milder lyrical themes; it’s usually on the single-only, aggressive dancehall tracks that they cut loose and really burn out the sodomites (this time meaning exactly “one who practices sodomy”).  So if I buy the latest by one of these guys, am I supporting their hidden agenda?  Should I wait for them to stop releasing anti-gay singles before I spend money on their gay-neutral (or non-gay-mentioning) albums?

I don’t have a good answer for this; it’s just a dilemma I have been thinking about.  My conscience is clear when it comes to NSBM and Arghoslent, because I don’t like either one.  But I do buy a lot of hip hop and dancehall, and I’m sure some of the artists I’m supporting are harboring some not-really-concealed homophobic and misogynistic and possibly racist agendas.  (Note: just to pre-empt any accusations of racism on MY part, I am going to point out that I also own three Eminem albums, and he is square in the center of this discussion as well, considering tracks like the infamous “97 Bonnie and Clyde” and his pre-Elton John lyrics about gays.  Intolerance and prejudice is by no means a black or Jamaican province; I just happen to listen to a lot of black and Jamaican music.)  Am I obligated as a consumer to only support artists whose politics and opinions I agree with?  Or at least not support the ones whose politics and opinions I strongly DISAGREE with?

Would I buy a Ku Klux Klan monthly calendar?  Even if it had Jessica Alba in various stages of partial nakedness on every page?  No, I wouldn’t.  (Uh, probably.)  So maybe I shouldn’t be buying music by anyone who sings about hitting women or gays.  There is one difference, though, which is that the Klan primarily exist to further prejudice; artists primarily exist to create art.  Even politicized art is mainly intended to entertain and stimulate the mind+++, which is very different from an organization holding racist rallies and trying to get affirmative action laws overturned.  And unlike your standard skinhead punk band, most of the artists we’re discussing here sing about things other than their unfortunate prejudices.  Eminem rapped about killing his bitch wife (a few times) – but mostly he raps about killing everybody else, plus doing drugs, trading letters with Stan, and losing himself in the moment.  I don’t feel like the money I give to Eminem is going into his “Kill All The Bitches legislation” fund.  I’m guessing (hoping) he doesn’t have one.  More likely it’s funding his pot-buying and his next “Rocky” remake.  Mostly it allows him to continue to exist as an artist.

The difficulty re-enters here though: if an artist is encouraging people who aren’t very good at thinking for themselves to have intolerant, prejudiced attitudes, should I oppose the art?  A lot of Eminem fans are young and stupid.  They absorb anything you put in front of them – and then spit it back out like parrots.  And regardless of the fact that Eminem hasn’t made me cut your head off and stuff you in my trunk, Diane, it’s possible that he might be gently enticing some other dumbass out there to do so.

It’s a question that I’m not going to answer now.  I’ve babbled on for far too long already, and besides, it should be obvious to you that at this point I don’t really have an answer.  It’s just something for all us hip hop, dancehall, national socialist black metal, and racist polka fans to consider.  And to my friend browsing his neighbor’s music collection: don’t delete their shitty black metal collection.  Maybe eventually they’ll decide to do that on their own.  Maybe not.  Or maybe they’re actually a bunch of racist assbags – but hey, even racists are entitled to their bizarre, completely wrong-headed opinions, and their Britney Spears albums.

* For those of you out there wondering, death metal and black metal are not the same thing – no matter what allmusic.com tells you.  Death metal is an outgrowth of thrash (e.g. Metallica, Slayer) that places a high value on technical skill, and utilizes a lot of twisted guitar riffs, low-pitched vocals, and precise drumming to get its point across.  Lyrics can be about almost anything (though mostly they are about mortality and sub-horror movie gore descriptions).  Black metal is defined as much by ideology (“we love Satan!”) as music (“we like singing in a high-pitched rasp that sounds eeeeevil… to high school students!”).

** Meaning slaves.  Seriously, they have a song called “Flogging The Cargo,” and that’s exactly what it’s about.  They also titled one of their albums “Incorrigibly Bigotry.”  For some reason, these guys get a lot of hate mail.  For some other reason that is a lot less clear, the metal community is generally accepting and borderline-worshipful of this band.  Maybe they’re just stunned that a bunch of racist dickwipes playing metal don’t sound like a pig with its foot in a blender.  I’ve spoken with a guy who describes himself as mixed Puerto Rican and Spanish; he listens to Arghoslent, and commented that he didn’t feel bad about listening to them because he’s “not a jew and not a full spic.”

*** Sperm receptacle, punching bag.

+ Burning Spear is actually still alive and active in reggae, but sorting out the tense changes in these two sentences was too irritating to finish.  My apologies to Mr. Spear.

++ Being “slack” in Jamaica is the equivalent of being a gangsta thug in America; slackness is the same as hooliganism, but the word is a lot less hilarious.  “Artiste” is how they refer to musical artists – I wasn’t just spelling it that way to be annoying.

+++ This is what differentiates art from propaganda, and “Birth Of A Nation” from “Triumph Of The Will.”

A perfect day

July 5, 2007


My perfect day begins at 9 a.m.  Eight makes me feel sleepy and ten makes me feel lazy, so nine it is.  I will perhaps be over-rested since I went to bed around midnight, but for this day it won’t matter.  I will wake up clear-eyed and transition quickly to appropriately energized.

There won’t be a breakfast.  The perfect day is going to involve a substantial lunch and dinner and plenty of snacking, so there’s no room for a real breakfast.  I’ve had great days that started with breakfast, but they were never perfect.  So instead of real food, I’ll drink a few mouthfuls of water (after showering and brushing my teeth, of course, which will impart the water a fresh, minty taste), and eat half an apple.  Nancee will eat the other half.

We’ll sit on the deck in the cool morning air, the sun crawling up the sky but not heating things up too much, because it will be late September.  We’ll talk for half an hour, then go look at the garden, which will somehow still be producing tomatoes late in the season.  Then we’ll head back inside and lie around reading books for a while.  My book will be something by Bill Bryson, I think, because Cormac McCarthy is a little heavy for a perfect day.

At 11:20 we’ll be too hungry to wait for lunch any longer, so a-lunching we shall go.  And let me tell you, Diane, nobody does lunch like the India Garden.  I’ll heap my plate with vegetable biryani and chicken tikka masala and that cheese and peas concoction that sounds and looks appalling, but is actually utterly amazing.  And because it’s a perfect day, they will have brought over some of those marvelous fried cauliflower things from Garam Masala Indian Grill.  I’ll clean one plate and pick over half of another one, and then we’ll head out.

We’ll walk to Indy CD and Vinyl where I’ll buy two or three CDs.  I’m thinking three – one roots reggae classic and two lost gems of late 70s funk.  Then we’ll drive to Vibes up in Castleton and I’ll load up on punk and metal.  Something by the Dead Kennedys, and some Entombed album that they recorded between “Left Hand Path” and “Clandestine” but somehow forgot to release.  Finally we’ll stop by Luna Music, which has conviently relocated to the same strip so I don’t have to make another trip, and I’ll pore over the hipster indie rock before eventually deciding that I’ve had enough music for one day.

The CD player in my car will miraculously heal itself, and Entombed will serenade us with raw-throated paeans to death and Satan (played at a moderate volume) as we drive to Brown County in southern Indiana.  The CD will end just as we get there, because somehow the drive will only take 40 minutes even though it’s usually twice that.  We’ll hit the candy shops and buy carmel corn and almond bark, and peppermint bark for Nancee.  We’ll get fresh-made ice cream in waffle cones, and finish the last dripping bite as we start a round of mini golf, which will eventually end in a tie (much to Nancee’s delight).  The air will smell like wood smoke as we walk to the pizza place to get dinner.

We’ll eat pizza and breadsticks stuffed with jalapenos and mozzarella, and we’ll watch “Jaws” on DVD back in the hotel room.  Our cat Fiver will be there, because we always miss him when he’s not with us; but for some reason he’ll decide not to nip and poke us to get our attention, because that drives us crazy.  Quint will die but Brody and Richard Dreyfuss will paddle home and leave me feeling inspired and hopeful.  I’ll put on my earphones and listen to Scientist dub me into another world as I drift off to sleep.

Now that’s a day, Diane.