Whitechapel - Whitechapel
These guys are lucky I dig them so much. It wasn’t easy, but when they covered a poser band only faggots like that shall go unmentioned on their little download-only EP last year, I looked the other way. I was pissed, and ready to invent new slurs for homosexuals with my slander, but the faux pas went unpunished. Why? With a ferocious triple-guitar attack responsible for the heaviest breakdowns known to man, and a vocalist whose deep roar is so demonically bestial it has been known to provoke involuntary bowel movement, Whitechapel had created three near-perfect Deathcore albums until that point. Plus I saw them pull it all off convincingly in the live setting, so I wasn’t ready to negate all this history over one terrible mistake on an EP that only exists in theory anyway. However, after sitting through this highly disappointing self-titled album several times, I’m a bit closer to being ready. Clearly when bands start deciding it’s a good idea to cover Glam songs, it’s a fair indicator shit’s about to head south. And while I can’t say Whitechapel is that bad of an album, it sure isn’t all that good of one either. Certainly not by their lofty standards. This is the sound of a Deathcore band neutering themselves to appease the wavering masses. Breakdowns are out because the burgeoning neophytes of the Metal press who spend all day listening to awkward, lightweight drivel like Baroness and Torche say they’re out. Henceforth, no more big bad Whitechapel breakdowns. The band’s molten, oppressive heaviness has been significantly sterilized, most likely to appeal to a wider range of fans (who illegally download all their music anyway). The guitars aren’t half as heavy as they once were, and Phil Bozeman’s voice has gone from demon to drill sergeant. Ironically, the only real standout cut is from the aforementioned EP of ill repute. Not sure if it’s time to stick a fork in this band just yet, but it’ll take some serious regression for me to give a fuck again.
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