The New Black - II: Better in Black
Well, these cheerful Hard Rock lame-asses are smart enough to put their best song, the peppy title track, first, and if the entire album had been at least that (barely) minimally tolerable, maybe I wouldn’t have had to pause it 666 times to think things like, “What the fuck are they doing?!?” and “Are they serious with this bullshit?!” But amid my sighs of disbelief, I did contemplate those questions, and many more, because the other tracks incorporate disgusting, sister-fucking Southern Rock groove and insipid Butt Rock idiocy, to name only two of their litany of offenses. And I can’t even explain the acoustic AIDS of “Happy Zombies,” which is possibly the worst, most mind-withering thing I’ve ever heard in my entire life, and I have reviewed some truly awful crap over these many years. The annoying, wailing vocalist tries very hard to sound like Alice in Chains’ dead singer, but completely fails in all but the most superficial ways, because he obviously doesn’t understand that Layne Staley was a tortured, wretched husk of a person, and that his anguish fueled his emotional vocals. This limber-dick sounds like he’s in the gayest cover band in all of Arkansas, but the group is actually the great embarrassment of Germany. The New Black guys are at least competent musicians, but maybe that makes it worse, because their talents (and the good recording/production) are utterly wasted here. Better in Black is such pathetic, useless junk -such nothing- that’s it’s not even really worth making fun of. So, I’ll stop.
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