Little Blue Butterfly

Some things are just purely pefect.  Some are borderline perfect.  Some are sublime.  Death in June's "Little Blue Butterfly" is sublime.  I hear the collective gasps now.  "Death in June!  No!"

Relax.  Douglas Pearce may be the scariest homosexual you know, and his band may inspire protests and terror worldwide, but "Little Blue Butterfly" is beautiful. 

Death in June, as many of probably know, is the neofolk band.  This song is what will win over those who don't let themselves be held back by some controversy. 

Earlier this week I posted the song on my Facebook page.  As to be expected, it warranted little comment except from the person I knew would get it.  I'm not even sure anyone else listened to it, either because they have grown scared of the music I put up (Whitehouse bothered a lot of people), or they just couldn't be bothered.  I doubt too many of them know about the band, either.  If you can let go of the preconceived notions, put aside the fears and just listen you will be treated to something haunting and moving. 

A friend of mine once described Death in June as the "most evil music" he had ever heard.  It "scared" him.  I think that is understandable, actually.  It is powerful music.  It strikes to the core.  It makes you uncomfortable.  Sometimes art isn't safe.  Sometimes it shouldn't be.  There's plenty of entertainment to serve that purpose.  Plenty of lifeless music.  Plenty of music you can bob your head to and not think.  And there is really nothing wrong with that, really.  Nor is there anything wrong with music that moves you.  Love it.  Loathe it.  At least it has pulled forth a reaction other than, "That was nice." 

Is this impure?  No.  Far from it.  So very far from it.

Bad Cop No Donut

Everyone has one of those bands where the instant they hear it they know they need to hear more.  It becomes their next big thing.  This is not one of those bands.  In fact, this is one of those releases that becomes instantly forgettable.

Bad Cop's Harvest the Beast is not really bad in any definable way.  It just isn't anything special.  The press release uses words that sound like I should like it.  Southern fried garage.  Blues.  Post punk.  "For fans of the White Stripes."

No.

I mean, it has hints of all these things, and I could see some college radio stations going nuts for this, but I imagine it would be forgotten by the time the next band like this puts a CD out. 

ROIR is often hit or miss with me, but I have never doubted the label's sincerity when it came to its music.  This is no exception.  Unfortunately, a belief in the music doesn't always translate into something worth multiple listenings. 

Mandatory FTC Disclaimer: I received this to review.

Impetigo's Faceless -- Naked and Sweating and Ready to Be Beat

Monday morning.  Facing another week of mind-numbing work, I needed something to get me up and running.  Cocaine was out of the question, so I put on the 1991 Impetigo release, Faceless, on Wild Rags Records.

Grindcore from Illinois seems as unlikely as political hip hop from Cheyenne, but here it is.  Four listed songs plus one "hidden" track, Impetigo delves up some serious horror on this slab grey vinyl.  "Mortado," "Dis-Organ-Ized," "Bloody Pit of Horror," "Sinister Urge" and "Faceless" are all good songs.  They aren't pleasant, but when you find yourself dreading the upcoming day it is sure a lot healthier than, say, any number of things.

"Naked and sweating/Let the beatings begin."  That's a line from "Bloody Pit of Horror."  It sums up the e.p. quite well.  The audience that is looking forward with masturbatory glee to Smash is the same audience that would be appalled by "Mortado crucified/Skewered to a tree" in "Mortado."  That suits me just fine.  This release isn't for them.  It's for the people who understand why someone would go "hunt humans."

In the end, Impetigo's Faceless is less a blueprint for murder and more an adaptation of an EC comic book.  Its over-the-top violence is cathartic in a purely anti-social way.  It never got play on mainstream radio stations, and it was never "acceptable."  The world needs things like that, a lawn mower to the flowers, a piece of glass to lobotomized eyes.  It makes Mondays safe for everyone.

What did you listen to?

Mandatory FTC Disclaimer: I bought this, bitches.

Legalize Murder

After a hard day at the office, there's nothing I like more than a little GG Allin and Bulge.  It's not everyone's favorite backing band for Allin, but the Legalize Murder 7" is something I can get behind.

Released on Fudgeworthy Records, this delightful bit of blue vinyl is probably fairly sought after today.  I will not be parting with my copy, however.  I like it way too much.  And while only two of the three tracks are all that good, it is the title one that brings a smile to my face.  You see, when Allin sings, "So many people I want to kill," you can kind of feel where he's coming from.  One of the angriest most unstable musicians of all time singing about how he'll stick a knife in your chest or put a gun to your head may make the more cynical among you give a wink and a nod, and if any other singer would sing that, I'd be right there with you.  Remember, though, Allin did time for cutting a woman, drinking her blood and setting her on fire.  He was as out of control on the stage, too.  In other words, he sang what he believed.  It wasn't politically correct or even pleasant, but he did harbor a lot of anger, and it often came out in his songs.

Yes, I used to be right there with Allin, thinking people should be able to tag one a year like a deer, but the times have mellowed me.  What started as rage transformed into pity, and now it is indifference.  In other words, I wouldn't waste my time with people.  Instead, I'll just let fate have its way with them and do little to intervene.

As I was doing some work around the house this song was flitting through the air, materialized through the needle's connection with the wax grooves.  And as I was singing along, I pictured people glued to their sets waiting for that Doritos commercial they had heard so much about on the news.  I couldn't help but wonder what they would make of this song if popped up selling the new Prius or asking you to visit a site that would help the unemployed find work.  Would they be terrified?  Offended?  Numb?  Numb is probably right.  Sometimes, even calling for one's murder fails to elicit a reaction from well-controlled subjects.  The single is 21 years old, but it could've been made yesterday...

Mandatory FTC Disclaimer: I bought this.  Do the same.

I've Got the Devil Inside

Don't let the devil's suave looks, polite words and slick special effects fool you.  He created rock 'n' roll to turn all of you into incessant fornicators who would like nothing more to be humping away all day in a cloud of smoke and a puddle of booze.  God's fighting back, though, and Reverend Beat-Man's Surreal Folk Blues Gospel Trash Vol. 2 is the Lord's answer to the devil's dirty tricks.  

The good reverend's Voodoo Rhythm label put this out (of course).  It's twelve songs (narrowly avoiding that wicked number) of truth in advertising.  It starts with "Letter To Myself" and ends with "The Swiss Army Knife."  Nothing is filler.  All of it is holy.  The devil can have Mayhem and Jay Z., this is for the folks who understand that God likes humpers, too.

As I've said on countless occasions to anyone who stands still long enough to listen, Voodoo is a label for musicians by musicians and could be the most important label out there right now.  Beat-Man's release proves it.  It is a celebration of a distinctly American sound filtered through the lens of a foreigner.  You hear it and you can't help but think, "He does our music better than we do."  Example?  "Blue Moon Of Kentucky."

I love this song.  My daughter loves this song, and will inevitably turn up the stereo whenever it comes on.  What starts as a traditional country crooner quickly evolves into thunder cracks, gun shots, sirens, the fiddle and banjo.  It is unlike anything you've heard in the past decade.  If I was lucky enough to race in NASCAR, this is the song I'd used to get pumped before tackling Bristol.  

The video above is for "Don't Stop to Dance."  Featured is a woman with some nice ink.  Any woman with tattoos and a love of Voodoo is someone you will want to know.  Not because of the overt sexual nature of her being (though that will be stronger than most women you meet), but because of her intelligence and ability to carry a conversation on an amazing number of topics.  I have witnessed this firsthand.  I am still waiting for one of them to disprove my theory.  It won't happen.  

This release came out four years ago.  It sounded dated and timeless upon its release.  Nothing has changed.  It is beyond what is being done now musically, but its roots are firmly stuck in America's swampy past.  It is the man of God at his finest. 

Mandatory FTC Disclaimer: I received this to review.  If you click on a link I may earn a commission.  If you don't buy this release you are an idiot.

Kanye Loses the Definition of Irony

If you attend an Occupy Wall Street protest with bodyguards, have a spokesperson in the form of a multi-millionaire (who even wrote a book on it), and happen to perform songs that worship the excesses of capital, I believe it is safe to say the definition of irony is lost on you.

Kanye West apparently, if the video is to be believed, did not want to make a statement (I'm not sure he'd know what to say), but his mouthpiece made it known that West offers spiritual support of the movement.  I'm not sure what that means, but I think it means West thought it may make an interesting photo op.

Love or hate the protesters, you have to admit that Kanye making an appearance there is the height of stupidity.  Even moreso than Jay Z making shirts about the movement.  Kanye looks befuddled and sometimes scared.  It's like he didn't know what he was getting into and feared that at any second people would start chanting in unison at him.

Stay home, West.  Stay in your mansion and write your songs.  It's better for everyone.  Yes, you've looked like a dope countless other times, but this one sort of takes the cake.  What's next?  A tree sit.  Come to think of it ...

Your Satanic Majesty

If you went to Pocono Mountain Senior High in 1986 and listened to Iron Maiden, you were considered a Satanist.  I know.  I was one of them.

It was easy to see why Iron Maiden frightened teachers and administration.  The skeletal Eddie.  The Number of the Beast album.  Loud guitars.  Of course, if anyone ever took a moment to listen to more than one or two songs they would see that Satanism was about the last thing on Iron Maiden's collective mind.

Metal, in whatever form it takes, has always scared those in authority.  Whether it be the sexually questionable (and utterly harmless) hair rock bands like Poison and Cinderella (I have always even questioned lumping them in with metal, but I will concede to history).  Or the seriously evil sounding (and often evil acting) black metal.  There is something about metal that has those in power grabbing for their Bibles and signing people up for re-education camps.  Not even punk has such a widespread effect.

I've always had various theories on why this is, why metal seems to make parents, teachers and politicians fear for their lives.  After all, there are far more insidious types of music out there, some of which a fear of could be warranted.  Metal, on the other hand, is diverse enough that any kind of group reaction should be mitigated by the sheer amount of subgenres, but I've noticed that time and time again the fear and disdain is all-encompassing.

I guess the mixture of loud, aggressive guitars, "frightening imagery," and confrontation is too much for some people to witness.  People may fear their teen son will kill himself to Ozzy, but chances are it will be some loathsome pop song on FM radio on a Saturday night that actually sets the bullet in motion.  Nothing makes you feel more lonely than pop music on a Saturday night.  Metal makes you feel empowered, and maybe that is what people fear.

Metal has always played around with violent and evil imagery.  Old blues has done the same.  So has country.  Metal mixes it with something more powerful, though, and that power transfers to listeners.  Let's face it, losing one's virginity to Marvin Gaye may well be romantic, but losing it while Motorhead plays in the background is how gods are made.

So, authority types, keep fearing it.  Keep calling it "devil music."  Those who know better will continue to listen and continue to scare you.  And isn't that what is truly empowering?

Synchronicity

I had just written about the music I'd be listening to when I start work on the next manuscript, and it happened.  Strange.  Prophetic.  Powerful.

I had scraped the ice from my windows, got into my car, and turned on the MP3 player.  The first song was none other than Non's "Predator/Prey."  The exact band I'd be listening to.  One of the songs I envisioned.  It was as if the dark universe I'd be tapping into gave me its approval. 
The magic of music is its ability to transform an otherwise normal situation into something sublime.  You're at dinner with a friend and you hear just the right song.  You meet someone special you are interested in and the moment you realize it you hear a song that seems to sum up your mood perfectly.  You are driving in Boston during the Big Dig and Skinny Puppy is doing its best to kill you.  Yesterday was one of those moments.  This manuscript will require a lot of work, a lot of research and my job is just going to get in the way, so as I was scraping I was wondering all the things I could do about it.  I came up with some solutions, and then when that song hit, I knew I was on the right track.  Magic, indeed.

Those who have heard "Predator/Prey" know how the tones change just enough to make you feel on edge.  It is almost sublime.  It's the kind of song that a friend will ask you to change when it comes on.  It makes listeners uncomfortable.  That's my manuscript idea.  (That's usually the idea behind my stories, actually.)  To have that come on at a time I was thinking of it seems perfect.  Pulling out of my driveway as the noise continued unabated I could only laugh.  Even the song title was an omen.  Predator.  Prey.  That is the central theme of the next manuscript.  That is the central theme of life.  You are either predator or prey ... and somewhere there is a soundtrack to whatever end of the hunt you are on.


Mandatory FTC Disclaimer: Clicking on a link may earn me some cash.

The Next Manuscript ...

I usually listen to music while I write.  For Nothing Men (look to your right for how to purchase), I listened to a lot of old country music.  For the manuscript I'm working on now it is primarily classic rock.  For the one after that, the one that's been bouncing around in my head for the past month or so, it will be music like Non's "Between Venus & Mars."  Grinding, destructive, pure.  Italian music from its fascist history may also come into play.  If you've heard it, you'll understand why.

There is something amazingly beautiful about music that most people would dub "noise."  It lets you escape into your mind to unleash whatever hungry beast lurks there.  It is confrontational.  It is the opposite of the prefabricated madness that pushes itself as "art."  It is a god amongst swine.  When the future manuscript is finished, it will be easy to see why this music was my soundtrack.

Every manuscript calls for different music.  Some writers can only write in silence.  Some need a crashing chorus to help set the scene.  I could do either, but I prefer the latter.  I like losing myself into the flow.  When I was writing a scene for my current manuscript, "Sympathy for the Devil" was playing.  It was a nasty scene and it got nastier as the song went on.  Would I have written it differently if I were writing in silence?  Maybe.  I know the music added an element to it that fit what I wanted to create.  It only helped what was going to already be there.

Grinding noise.  Confrontation.  Purity.  I cannot wait.

May I Suggest You (Watch Out Adele)

Whitehouse has always been ... interesting.  It pretty much embodies the sound of a insanity.


A friend of mine once said that listening to Whitehouse made him think people were after him.  I laughed at that and told him that was the point.  Whitehouse is the sound of someone after you.  It's that hand you feel on your shoulder at 3 a.m. as you struggle to get the keys in the door, a little too much to drink.  That hand makes you piss a little bit.  That is Whitehouse.

Of course, the band has had its share of controversy.  (Peter Sotos was a member for a time, so how could it be anything but controversial?)  I think the controversy wouldn't be there if the music sounded ... different.  It rubs people the exact wrong way. Put it on in the car at night, driving around looking at the people walking the streets, and suddenly you get it.  This is what will play when some stalker does in Adele.


Whitehouse isn't content to just present the filth.  It absolutely wallows in it.  Not like a pig, but like a hungry worm with teeth.  And that worm eventually finds its way into your brain.

It's not a band that will get air time or ever find its way onto a Disney cruise.  It exists solely to make you uncomfortable, and I have to admit that makes me quite fond of it.

Thank you, Whitehouse, for existing in a world of country crooners, hip hop stars who want to be pampered Beverly Hills housewives, and pointless pop stars who couldn't create music without a fucking committee.  Thank you for the soundtrack to the madness.  You may (thankfully) never win a Grammy, but hard work is really its own reward, right?  You bet.  Let's bring back the awful and do away with the offal.

Garifuna Music

Garifuna Music: Field Recordings From Belize is exactly what it sounds like. It is the music of the Garifuna performed by various musicians and recorded between 2002-2004. It is 16 songs with titles you can't pronounce celebrating things we don't understand. A lot of it is played on instruments that aren't exactly the electric guitar and bass.

Turtle shells, shell rattles and conch shells are combined with drums and other instruments to create music that is a celebration of the Garifuna and where they live. What does this mean to someone not familiar with the culture or its history? Surprisingly, not much. Without that knowledge, the music lacks much of its punch.

I'm sure if I had any knowledge of or interest in the Garifuna, I would find this music to be a fascinating cultural study of a people out of time. I don't have knowledge of or interest in them, however, so this affects me in much the same way modern hip-hop does -- something to be shrugged off and used to sell hamburgers. The more cultured among you may have a totally different reaction, but I'm left with less of a sense of wonder and more of a "eh, it's okay," dismissal.



Mandatory FTC Disclaimer: I received this free to review. Click on a link, and I could earn some cold, hard cash.

Egypt ... Unveiled ... Unfettered

The cover seems almost mystical. Symbols, slightly forboding, floating in the night sky above the pyramids. An end of the world scenario? Perhaps. Only the musicians behind this, Hossam Ramzy and Phil Thornton, know for sure.

Egypt Unveiled follows the duo's other Egypt-centered releases, Eternal Egypt, Immortal Egypt and Enchanted Egypt. (Typing "Egypt" that many times makes the word seem almost unreal by this point.) It is kind of a love letter to Egypt and all that it encompasses, and if you don't read the song titles, it's actually not too bad. The music is modern Egyptian utilized through various Egyptian musicians going to town with traditional instruments. These aren't old folk songs, but new compositions meant to inspire awe and wonder. If you read the song titles, though, it sounds like you may have stumbled onto a metal band from the '80s.

"Cleopatra's Secret," "Sett in Stone," "Egypt Unveiled (Part 1)," "The Sword of Orion," and "Storm Over Giza" are just a sampling of the 13 songs to be found here. Seriously, if you picked this up and knew nothing about it, could you not picture a wonderland of guitar solos and at least one ominous spoken word intro? "The beasts of Stygianhall came forth from the skies upon steeds of fire to take home in the mighty pyramids. That night it was said a warrior was born. That warrior, bonded by the blood of pharaohs, carried forth a magical weapon ... the only weapon that could kill the Stygianhall beasts. That weapon ... The Sword of Orion!" Cue the manic guitars and thudding double-bass.

All kidding aside, this is fairly interesting release. I run hot and cold on Ramzy, but this release is not about merit. Those song titles, though, have got to go.


Mandatory FTC Disclaimer: I received this for review purposes. Clicking on a link could earn me a commission.

If You Like John Mayer, Here's More Crap You Might Like

Why Big Fat Cat (the public relations firm) sent Miller Howell's Habits Can Be Hard to Break to me for review is a mystery best left up to NASA scientists. I am not a fan of male singer-songwriters. Not even close. Even looking at the songs on this told me all I needed to know.

"Tomorrow Comes." "I Need You." "Missing You." "I'm Here." "Kirksville." And last, but surely not least -- you guessed it -- "Miracles." I swear I am not making this up.

The PR paperwork informs me that Howell was "the master of the gradual crescendo." If you have to be master of something, and you can't be original, that's what you should go for, I guess. The gradual crescendo. Screw interesting songs. The gradual crescendo is where it's at.

Reading through more of the paperwork of this 2006 release (I know) assured me with earnest that these six songs were about "traveling through life, getting from point A to point B, and experiencing all moments in between." I can't believe I even re-typed that. Seriously, this entire project seems piece-mealed out of other similar projects. It's all cut and paste.

Granted, I know I am not the target audience for this. I'm not a mid-20s to early-30s gal who is coming out of a relationship and is worried I'll be a spinster cat lady. I'm also not the young woman who just hops on a bus and goes to the big city for some grand adventure. Those are the people this is made for. In fact, Howell's music is custom made for them. It has just enough emotion to make it seem edgy, but is about as confrontational as a rabbit. Women who aren't sure what they are looking for in life will find their answer here. Paint-by-numbers. Enjoy a class of expensive wine and think of yourself as decadent.

I "dissed," as the kids would say, John Mayer in the title to this blog. I'm not a fan of his, though I appreciate that he has some talent and enjoys a good prank now and then. The reason I referenced him is because this release is for the ladies who used to like him but gave him up when he got "too mainstream." (The irony of that statement speaks for itself.) And again, keep in mind I am not the target audience. I'm baffled as to why I got this, quite frankly. Did they think the guy who loves Nashville Pussy would write a glowing review of this? I seriously doubt it.


Mandatory FTC Disclaimer: As previously noted, I received this for review purposes. If you click on the link and purchase it, I will earn a commission, and I will wonder what it was in my review that appealed to you. Did you read it?

In The Fields They Hollered in Pain

Most people know I'm a huge fan of anything and everything on Voodoo Rhythm Records.  I've only said it about 5,368 times.  The Dead Brothers, a funeral band like no other, have always been a favorite.  5th Sin-Phonie is no exception. Thirteen (yes, I know) songs of pure "delinquent jazz" and and horn-heavy musings on death, love and life.  Standards in many a band's set list, but no band does it like this.  No band ever will, either.  The Dead Brothers is one of a kind, and this release holds quite a few surprises for die-hard fans.  Surprises and secrets.  All are delightful, of course.  All are worthy of your time.  Enough hyperbole, though.  Let's dig into the meat.

First things first, there are plenty of original songs on here, but there are also two covers: the obvious "Bela Lugosi's Dead" and the less-so "Teenage Kicks."  Both are done in the Dead Brothers' own unique way.  Fans of Bauhaus' original song should like this one quite a bit, too. 

The next thing, which I find fascinating, is who is helping out with the song writing.  None other than M.A. Littler, filmmaker, pirate and general thorn in the side of mainstream thinking.  Littler has always been linked with Voodoo and the acts on it, but seeing his name pop on here was quite the pleasant surprise.  He is as every bit as good as I would expect, but then again, I'm a big fan and have been for years.

Focusing on a single Dead Brothers song is a lot like not being able to see the forest for the trees. Each release is a complete circle in and of itself. And while each and every song can stand on its own, when taken as a whole (something rare in this age of iPod shuffle dead dance) they create a decadent, perverse Disneyland of despair and delight. You will not possible understand that, however, until you actually sit down and listen to an entire release. This is a good place to start ...


Mandatory FTC Disclaimer: I got this sent to me to review. That in no way influences what I think of it. Clicking on a link may earn me some cashola.

Rhythms of Morocco ... and Then Some

Forget for a moment, if you will, April 28 of earlier this year. That is when 15 people at relaxing at the Argana cafe were blasted in pieces while 19 others were injured. Forget that the threat of terrorism against U.S. targets in Morocco remains high. At least the music's cool ... or so one would want you to think while listening to Chalf Hassan's Rhythms of Morocco. I don't only listen to abrasive, nihilistic music. Shocking, I know. Sometimes I prefer something lighter, more worldly. This is not what I had in mind. Granted, the eleven tracks on the disc are lighthearted fare that would cause any Westerns listening to it in lands both foreign and domestic to consider themselves part of an authentic ethnic experience the likes of which can only be found on the Travel Channel and in movies, but the music is actually too flighty for my decidedly more aggressive tastes. These songs are traditional Moroccan maqams played on both modern and traditional instruments, which may be part of the problem. While you can tell these are old songs, they just sound too modern. Take, for example, "Aita Jilaliya," which translates into "Spiritual Call." The history behind the song is that when ladies would organize a spiritual "party" at night, they would try to connect through their chosen spirit through song, dance and dress. The song should sound old. Instead, I picture George Clooney wandering the streets of Rabat-Sale while asking citizens in stunted Moroccan Arabic if they know where he can find an "American in black." In other words: too modern. When I hear traditional songs, I like to hear them played on traditional instruments, not a mixture of old and new. Playing these things on the instruments they were intended for keeps the magic in the music. Let's face it, nobody likes "Jumpin' Jack Flash" played by an orchestra. It doesn't sound right. That is the case with this release, too. It lacks magic ... and that is something that should never be lacking from Moroccan music. Mandatory FTC Disclaimer: Yes, this CD was sent to me to review. And, yes, if you click on a link I may earn some cash, which I shall use to buy far better music than this stuff.

1999

Some love for GAW.

If you are a Prince fan, you know what 1999 means.  Double album.  Penis drawn on cover.  "Little Red Corvette."  Mommy, why does everybody have a bomb?  It brings back memories.  You can sing every single song on it.  (There were 11, which is a small number for a double album.)  I was 11 when it came out.  I still have it today.

It's nearly impossible to pick a favorite song on the release.  It is, like Pretty Hate Machine from Nine Inch Nails, a perfect album.  Even the songs that don't hit quite as hard as "Let's Pretend We're Married" are still pretty damn incredible.  And would such a combination of sexuality and patriotism fly on any other album?  Unlikely.  This is Prince before Purple Rain, before the symbol, before he pretty much dropped out of the public mind.  Anyone who listened to it prior to Purple Rain would be blown away.  "1999" and "Little Red Corvette" were all over the radio (even with LRC's incredible sexual imagery -- "Because you had a pocket full of horses/Trojans and some of them used.").  It was the album to have, and nothing else released in 1982 was dripping with as much sex and funk.  An anomaly?  Of course, but a delightful one.

Listening to this album today not only brings back memories (some of them quite obscene), but it also makes me realize just how timeless 1999 it is -- unlike most other releases from the early '80s.  It could be released today and still be as strong.  Few other performers can make the same claim.

When Prince dies he will be remembered for many things.  Purple Rain will probably outshine 1999, but it shouldn't.  The former may have been a bigger hit with the public, and while it was a great album, the latter was far more artistic and impressive in scope.  Michael Jackson thought he was always in some kind of competition with the diminutive one, but from where I stand there really was no competition.  Jackson never did anything like 1999, therefore: game over. Prince wins, and this album did it.  Take that, dead Jackson.


Mandatory FTC Disclaimer: I paid for this release, and if you click on a link, you may get me a commission.  Buy the damn thing already.

The Devil's Rain

It has been a long time coming ... almost a decade really.  The Misfits released an album of all new (mostly) material last week.  The Devil's Rain, named after that Shatner movie I've written about on The Last Picture Blog.  Awesome cover art from that artist who did all the Marvel Zombies covers.

With any new Misfits release, however, comes a small bit of dread.  I've been a Misfits fan for over half my life.  I've hung out with Mo and Doyle.  I gave them stuff to use in their lawsuit with Danzig.  I still have my Doyle Fan Club card (handed to me by Doyle).  I'm Member 00171.  I used to call them just to chat.  They gave me their cassette release of Kryst the Conqueror.  Dr. Chud, who came later, gave me a Sacred Trash release.  I blew off getting flown to Los Angeles for an interview with Korn to interview the Misfits instead.  Favorite release?  Legacy of Brutality.  I used to sing Misfits songs to my daughter to put her to sleep.  She's grown up with them.  I'm not just a casual fan.  But let's face it, Fiends, we all know the hesitation that accompanies a new release.  All the line-up changes.  The misguided songs.  The in-fighting.  The wrestling. It is sometimes like a soap opera.

I was excited about The Devil's Rain.  The cover itself gets the blood boiling.  I bought it (no freebie here), and then I hesitated to play it.  A day or two or three, actually.  Afraid that what I would hear would not please me.  Now, I know the band can't do another Legacy ... or Earth A.D..  Nor would I want it to.  But I feared a serious stumble. 

It's not a serious stumble.  There are some missteps, and it is bound to irritate people who think the Misfits died when Danzig did Samhain, but this release is a natural progression for a band that has been influx since the 1980s.  Perfection?  No.  Solid?  Definitely.  More solid than it should be given the circumstances. 

I'm not going to do a breakdown of every song.  I figure that is pointless and best left to people who write reviews solely for Amazon.  I will, however, say, that when you hear a song like "Cold In Hell" or "Jack the Ripper," you know you are in Misfits country.  The landscape is a bit different, but it still feels like home. 

I won't go into some of the more obvious problems, either.  Bad makeup choices and some lackluster singing in spots speak for themselves.  I'm also not going to compare this to Misfits of old, which if many of you remember, featured some line-up changes, as well.  What I will say is something that every Misfits fan can understand.

Gone are the days of old, and that's okay.  Had this release come from any other band it would be worthy of a few listens and then brought out only once a year or so.  This is the Misfits, though, and at this point anything that isn't a total disaster is a godsend.  We will listen to it enough to make the songs stick in our heads, and we will grow to love some of it, and skip the rest.  It could be far worse, and we know it.  The lyrics are pure Misfits.  Some of the hooks recall the bygone days.  The subject matter is what we've come to expect.  It's a class reunion, and while everyone has gone on to different things, they still seem oddly familiar.  More importantly, they're still fun to be around and it's comfortable to be there.  Do I sound like an apologist?  I sure as hell do, but I'd rather be an apologist for the Misfits than any other band any day of the week.

Mandatory FTC Disclaimer: Clicking on a link may earn me some cash, and as noted earlier, I bought this ... as did many a Misfits fan.