Well, fuck a bowl of puke! It’s a new book by Jon “Psycho” Konrath. We don’t usually review books here at Metal Curse, but that’s only because most books are written by gay homosexuals. If you’re not familiar with Jon’s work, you should be. He’s a brilliant writer and always has been. Very few authors can be this open, emotional, truthful, witty, and painfully honest while still managing to appeal to the Death Metal demographic in the process. Make no mistake about it, this is a dangerously insane individual. However, his books always reveal a very human side of him. He can actually turn banality into an interesting read, as those who made it through his 4563-page debut Summer Rain can attest to. I may have gotten a little choked up in certain parts of that book (some of that may have been due to my own fecal stench, as I only read while shitting), but that’s because Jon’s writing is usually very personal, and I can often relate to him. You see, he used to live in this shithole I inhabit known as the Midwest, but has since moved on to New York, Seattle, Colorado, and now Oakland. Damn Jon, you’re never gonna outrun those gay thoughts, man. You might as well move back here. All joking aside, Summer Rain and the handful of books to follow were all from an almost diary-like perspective, which is fine. As I said, Konrath can turn just about any angle into an interesting read, but with Fistful of Pizza his pure comic genius is allowed to roam free. This is really not a new book, per se. These are short stories compiled from different sources, most notably his own Air in the Paragraph Line zine. Fans of this publication’s “Dear Death” column should already be familiar with the potential of Jon’s insanely unique humor. These stories are fucking hilarious, with quotable lines such as, “Stay in school and shit,” and “Gotta go, Friends is on. Hail Satan.” There are even appearances by Richard Nixon and Dokken! Well, not really… Needless to say, you can ditch the tissue box for this one. Just reach for your narcotic of choice and get ready to laugh. The last story, “They,” has almost a Tarantino-like structure (minus the hours of unnecessary dialogue) with a twist ending that I don’t want to spoil. In fact, I’m not going to give anything else away. Get your lazy ass on Amazon.com and order this book immediately. Psycho would probably even hook it up for the right bowl of puke.

I’m not going to lie. As little as I value the writers of Decibel Magazine’s collective happy-go-lucky, Metal-as-a-passing-fancy opinion, when I saw that Path of Totality was awarded their #1 Album of the Year, it piqued my interest somewhat. I only read while defecating, so perhaps an open anus leads to an open mind as well? Regardless, when I started hearing Tombs’ single, “Silent World,” on Music Choice eight times a day, that piqued interest evolved into an unhealthy obsession that I must own this fucking record immediately (even if it means taking human life at the FYE on Christmas Eve). This song is addictive, most notably the drumming and drum sound. If I can get snare rolls alone stuck in my head, then the album must have some other memorable qualities as well. I guess the staff at Decibel stopped playing Pattycake and 4-Square long enough to actually get something right. This is a great record. Nearly impossible to describe, but I’ll try. Imagine Unsane getting beat up in an alley by Eyes of Fire and Black Anvil while Godflesh is playing nearby. It’s Sludgey, it’s Doomy, there are subtle traces of both Black Metal’s fury and melancholy, there’s throwback Gothic hooks, and even an underlying mechanized Industrial vibe (yet it’s achieved naturally, by a 3-piece no less). Sorry, that’s the best I can do. A bit easier to describe the feel of the music than the style. Darkness. Tension. Misery. Hate. Sadness. Insanity. Isolation. Rage. It’s all that and more. The production, as I mentioned, is outstanding. I can’t remember a snare drum recorded so perfectly, hitting so hard that it results in involuntary twitching. Something should be said, too, for drummer Andrew Hernandez, who punishes his kit with reckless abandon with a truly remarkable less-is-more approach. If this Brooklyn trio lacks anything it’s vocal range. Mike Hill does a serviceable job with his subdued roar, also incorporating an occasional higher-pitched scream and a few clean vocal attempts, but I sense it’s still a work in progress. The vocals could also be a little higher in the mix, but I’m merely nitpicking now. Is this the Album of the Year? Not quite. But it is one damn fine piece of genre-defying dark art.

I’ve never been a big fan of Killing Joke. I don’t own any of their albums and the only material I’ve ever heard of theirs has been from those rare occasions where I’ve had to spend any time at a Goth club, or the cover of “The Wait” that Metallica did back when they were still Metal. Listening to them play live is an interesting affair because it reminds me of all the times I’ve been at a club or theater, watching an opening band, wondering who the fuck they were and not recognizing any of their songs. Musically, these guys sound pretty straight-forward. You have basic power chord-driven Rock & Roll that falls loosely in the Goth category because the singer sounds a bit like Robert Smith from The Cure, but not as miserable. Given that this is my first real exposure to Killing Joke in an official capacity, I have to say that I’m not impressed. Their isn’t new or innovative for me because I’ve heard more than my share of this kind of stuff over the years. In fact, even their in-between-song leftist rhetoric about putting Tony Blair and Dick Cheney on trial, etc… came off as old hat. If this had been an angry Punk band like The Exploited, this might have worked, but Killing Joke sounds flat and unenthusiastic. If you want me to get riled up about some cause or idea, you’ve got to put something behind it. If you just go through the motions, I’m not going to care. And while listening to this, I really, really, didn’t. From the sound of the music, the band didn’t care either. I’ve heard Reggae that was more pissed off than this. What I heard on this album was a glorified “greatest hits” package played by a bunch of limp-wristed old guys looking for a paycheck. That’s it. As undead as the Rolling Stones look, at least they put on a good show. Killing Joke put me to sleep faster than the last Yob album. Boredom, thy name is Killing Joke Live at Hammersmith Apollo.

1. Phil Anselmo Gave Seth Putnam AIDS
2. Dying from AIDS Is Gay
3. R.I.P. Funny Bastard
4. I’m Gonna Miss Your Crazy Ass
5. In the End It’s About Not Giving a Rat’s Dick What People Think
6. I Also Don’t Give a Rat’s Dick What People Think
7. Henceforth, Anal Cunt Songs Made Me Feel Warm Inside
8. That Was Taken from Me Like Your Kid At the Supermarket, Bitch
9. Posthumous Releases Are Gay
10. This Compilation Is Gay
11. It Sounds Like Total Shit
12. Noise-Fart Songs #1-467
13. It’s Because These Songs Are Older Than Betty White’s Pussy
14. That’s Why They Called It The Old Testament (Which Is Also from a Book About Christian Mythology)
15. Anal Cunt Didn’t Get Good Until Top 40 Hits
16. I’m Paying Homage to That Release with This Review
17. People Who Think That’s Dumb Are Gay
18. You’re Gay
19. So Is Your Dad
20. You Have a Gay Dad
21. That Glam Rock Anal Cunt Album Was Really Gay
22. That’s Not How I’ll Remember Seth Putnam
23. Seth Putnam Was an UnderGrind Legend
24. He Just Happened to Be a Comedian at Heart
25. His Heart Stopped (That’s Gay)
26. Noise-Fart Songs #468-587 (Live in a Carl’s Jr Bathroom)
27. This Compilation Isn’t How I’ll Remember Seth Putnam Either
28. It’s an Unrealistic Amount of Fucking Around to Try and Process All at Once
29. My Friend Paul’s Band Toured with Anal Cunt in Mexico Before Cordless Phones Were Invented
30. He Still Won’t Shut the Fuck Up About It
31. Shut Up Paul
32. Noise-Fart Songs #598-654 (split w/Inverted Bitch Fister)
33. I’m Gonna Give This a 7 Because Seth Putnam Is Dead
34. It’s Probably More Like a 4
35. Your Mom Fucked a Gay Guy and You Were Born
36. Seth Putnam Did Not Go to Heaven When He Died
37. You Don’t Go Anywhere When You Die, You’re Just Dead (There Is No Heaven)
38. His Heaven Was Entertaining Fags
39. My Favorite Anal Cunt Song of All Time Was Their Cover of…
40. American Woman (The Guess Who)

Full disclosure: I’m from San Francisco and I’ve been in and around the local Metal scene for 20+ years. I’ve known John Cobbett since he booked shows at the Covered Wagon (Lucifer’s Hammer night!) with Aesop (currently drumming for Agolloch). I’ve seen this band live any number of times (with several different line-ups), starting back when they were known as Unholy Cadaver. I don’t normally listen to Progressive Metal, but I make an exception for only two bands: Anvil Chorus and Hammers of Misfortune. I’m a biased in favor of this band and if you don’t like that, I apologize. But remember: I did fully disclose my bias so you were warned. If you’re still reading, here’s the review. Like previous Hammers of Misfortune albums, the songs on 17th Street are steadily becoming more Progressive and less Metal - though there is still plenty of heaviness on display. This is a direction that they’ve been going for ages and one of the hallmarks of their albums is that you really have to listen to them several times to get your head around where they’re going. There’s a lot of melody and though the songs are technical, the playing never detours into that “technical to the point of absurdity” zone that Dream Theater and Fates Warning call home. Lyrically, Hammers of Misfortune has always had something to say. While there isn’t a central story like on The Bastard , the songs on 17th Street revolve around the primary theme of life (or whatever passes for it) in the city. I guess living in San Fran-sicko is endless inspiration when it comes to how fucked up living in a major metropolitan area can be. While the lyrics are on the depressing side, the music is never boring. If you like Progressive Metal, I think you’ll enjoy this album.

A warning to all, this Depressive Black Metal unit from Germany cannot exist in happy faggot realms. If you are enamored with your insignificant day-to-day existence, this beautiful music will go through one ear and out the other. But for slaves to Negativity and Her supreme will, this should be well worth seeking out. As far as one-man bands go, I personally was shocked at the level of quality and professionalism on display here. Eklatanz (ex-Fetus Christ, ex- Wintersturm) successfully channels the power of souls (the somber elegance of Alcest, the desolate Folk vibes of Agalloch, and even at times the pure melancholy of old Katatonia) into a new god. It certainly does not feel like your typical one-man Black Metal affair. Due in large part to the fact that one of the most effective weapons in the Heretoir arsenal are the clean vocal harmonies. They are almost Byrds-like in their timeless grace. To think he achieved this all on his own perhaps gives answer to why it took five years to produce this debut full-length. Not to give you the wrong impression, by no means is this only a gentle, reflective piece of downtrodden art. There are plenty of more traditional, more aggressive Black Metal arrangements interspersed with the misery. Of all Eklatanz’s many talents, his impressive blast beat competency should not go overlooked. If there’s one flaw on the record, it’s the order of the tracks. After a short intro, we are blessed with the suicidal “Fatigue,” an initial in-depth glimpse of everything this album has on the table. But then two instrumentals -one long, one short- disrupt the flow. They are fine pieces of music, but maybe placement towards the middle or end would make for a better feel? It’s not a big deal. The despondent power duo of “Weltschmerz” and “Graue Bauten” more than make up for this virtually nonexistent blotch. And by the end of the epic, 10-minute, eponymously titled closer, I’m ready to leave as well. I highly recommend this album, as I also can no longer exist in happy faggot realms.

Revocation is a band that probably sounds better live than on CD. The music on this album definitely lacks in the aggression and brutality departments. I’m going to be generous and assume that this lack of aggression and brutality is due to the studio sanitization of their sound. Chaos of Forms sounds like a band trying to become more mainstream by incorporating some “Hard Rock” (read: LA Butt Rock) riffing and Bluesy guitar solos in with their Death/Thrash. What they get is a form of neutered Thrash that isn’t fire-breathing enough to get my head banging, not technical enough for the Metal hipsters who dig Dream Theater and Fates Warning, and not metrosexual enough for the Hot Topic kids. When I want to listen to Death Metal or Thrash, I want it to kick my ass. I don’t want to listen to a bunch of songs that sound like a more technical version of “we don’t play Metal anymore” Metallica covering their favorite Motley Crue cuts. Guys, cut the bullshit and go for the fucking throat. Death/Thrash Metal is supposed to be brutal and aggressive. Diluting it with more “accessible” riffs doesn’t make things better and you probably lose more fans than you gain. Technical playing is great. Megadeth had some fucking deadly Thrash albums that were technical, aggressive and brutal all at the same time (Killing Is My Business… and Peace Sells… for those born after 1986), so it’s not only possible - it’s been done.

Root has been around forever. I remember hearing about this band when I first started listening to Black Metal’s second wave (Bathory, Venom and Mercyful Fate were part of the first wave, for the younger kids out there). Hell Symphony and Zjeveni / The Revelation were both considered cult releases even back then. They formed in 1987 and like many bands from that era, Root has their influences coming from old Heavy Metal and Hard Rock. There are elements of newer Black Metal thrown in, but the riffing is definitely old Metal in style. The album is a mixed bag of songs with some kicking ass, such as “In Nomine Sathanas” (which is not a Venom cover, by the way), and others just being weird, such as “Son of Satan.” The one thing consistent about Heritage of Satan is that there is no musical consistency. The songs are all over the place and you go from good song to bad song seemingly at random. The vocals are everywhere, going from the standard Black Metal style to a more Cronos-inspired Hardcore style, to some gravelly clean stuff. Like the music, you never really know what you’re going to get from one song to the next. I don’t mind changing things up but this is just too chaotic for my taste. There is no musical direction other than a general overarching “Black Heavy Metal” banner. On an individual basis, most of these songs aren’t bad, but when listened to in context of a full-length album, the inconsistency sinks this.

This band name is just begging to get made fun of. You could go the Venom route if you’re one of those rare, true fans who has Calm Before the Storm and can randomly quote it. Or I personally think The Little Mermaid is the way to go as it’s funnier and meaner (I’ll let you figure that one on out your own). However, the band name is the only thing you’ll be chuckling about here, because these sour krauts fucking rule. Talk about a Black Metal band that can do it all. This is amazing stuff. Blasting that makes Dark Funeral seem slow, enveloped in pure depressive hatred. If ever there were a hymn penned for the goddess named Negativity, “Haunted” would most certainly be it. Take Immortal’s grim and frostbitten fury entwined with Emperor’s sense of majesty, and don’t forget to call on Dissection’s melodic genius at will. The song “Zenith” actually made it snow in my house. It was that bleak! The completely non-Billy Joel related “I Set the Fire” is another work of sheer brilliance. A waltz between despondent pagan melodies and the aforementioned Emperor at their most witching. These guys invoke the power of the elder gods with apparent ease, and even manage to give it their own miserable spin. Some moments even recall vintage Ulver, long before the fateful LSD trip that destroyed their songwriting ability. Unfortunately Under That Spell aren’t always as great as the sum of their parts. “Sinister Circle” and “I Complete” are a bit of a bore and the instrumental acoustic segue, “Redemption,” could be argued as filler. But the album ends on a glorious note with the suicidal melodies of “Sun” followed by a similarly poignant outro. This band may not be the most original zenith under the black sun, but you’d be hard pressed to find a more convincingly passionate Black Metal LP performed with such a high level of talent.