My Useless Life - On the Edge
There certainly isn’t much subtlety involved when it comes to this band name, but I like it. Good record or bad record, I at least know I can relate on a personal level. Although, it is a bit of a bummer that I’m going to have to come up with a new name for my memoirs now. My ever-expanding gut tells me I’m in for Suicidal Depressive Black Metal, and if history’s taught me anything, that usually means either breathtakingly good or joke-bad. One thing you can say about my gut, aside from how morbidly grotesque it looks hanging in the missionary position, is that it’s usually right. And yes, My Useless Life definitely is SDBM, however, On the Edge is neither a flawless masterpiece nor a pathetic embarrassment. I guess the genre does have middle ground after all. The biggest hindrance here is the production. Obviously I don’t expect a huge, crystalline sound from bands like this, on the contrary I believe a little necro is in order for this ilk, but this is really bad. I’m talking I-hope-this-isn’t-destroying-my-speakers bad. I doubt this was even mixed, let alone mastered. Another grievance would be the vocal quality, or lack thereof. Scantly used and buried, I assume intentionally, the vocals are weak screams at best, with the occasional long-winded moan or groan not helping the cause whatsoever. More than any other kind, depressive music needs vocals —and they need to be good vocals— to properly illustrate the pain of the music’s inherent sadness. And if My Useless Life does one thing well, it’s crafting musical sadness. The poignant, tearjerking melodies found on “Suicidal Angels,” “Existence Without Purpose,” and “Road to Nowhere,” are pure cheerless genius. That melancholic mastery makes this impossible to write off, but the piss-poor recording and lack of a real singer creates a gaping void within the album that desperately needs to be filled, yet never is.
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