Sunday, February 28, 2010

Stretchheads MEGAPOST


(patent pending)

So alright! Let's get this gravy train of lucrative endeavoring 'a chuggin'. Back about 10 hundred trillion seconds ago, I made a big-ass post about Scotland's Dawson in an attempt to make accessible a giant stew of fantastic releases rendered virtually impossible to acquire in their original formats (or unoriginal formats, at that... the Cheesemarket compilation released on Gruff Wit is just as off grid as the LPs it contains!). Dawson were part of an incredible regionally-relative scene back in the closing years of the '80s and early '90s made up of heavyweights like De Kift, Whirling Pig Dervish, Archbishop Kebab, Dog Faced Hermans (who stand strong as one of my all-time favorite bands), Badgewearer, Mug, Keatons, and today's rodeo sweethearts, 87' to '91's (the) Stretchheads.

While the above list contains a wide range of sounds and styles, Stretchheads still end up sticking out like a clown's brutally defiled corpse laying just off the shoulder of I-80 with a sore thumb in an implied sea of upturned thumbs. Instead of dabbling in funk-punk ala Minutemen/Pop Group like Whirling Pig Dervish and Dawson, anarcho or folk and free jazz aesthetics in the Dog Faced Hermans' case, these guys seemed to wrap up their Big Flame/Bogshed fanship in a whacked out, sped-up, silliness the Boredoms were championing simultaneously, littered with samples, effects, and electronic dickery of all varieties. As to whether they were even aware of the Boredoms' existence at the time I'm not so sure, but it's a hard comparison to avoid.

Anyhow, the band's debut LP Five Fingers, Four Thingers, A Facelift, And A New Identity is a bit different from the rest of their catalog with it's seemingly powerviolence-timbered, bass-heavy bleats of raw hardcore speed and aggression with militant, rolling drums. Definitely tough on the ears, but a great disc nonetheless. In the following years, 3 EPs that showed a much cleaner, less speed-oriented version of the band emerged which amalgamated to their swan-song and one of my all-time favorites, Pish In Your Sleazebag - a raucous epic of silliness, squealing vocal upchuck, great songwriting, and lots of tape-edits and sound manipulations.
Sound good?
On with the share!

1.) Five Fingers, Four Thingers, A Facelift And A New Identity LP 1988

2.) 23 Skinner EP 1990

3.) Eyeball Origami Aftermath Wit Vegetarian Leg EP 1990

4.) Barbed Anal Exciter EP 1991

5.) Pish In Your Sleazebag LP 1991

Thursday, February 25, 2010

Sonny Sharrock - Black Woman

As I mentioned in previous entries (I think), I'm tunneling through the vast, dark, jungle of free jazz wackiness - the apparent truest showcase of black musical expression (as well as a trend Miles had no trouble shrugging off in favour of music that doesn't clear banquet halls in under 30 seconds). Hey did you catch the metaphorical use of "dark" and "jungle" in tandem with sentiments for black musicians in that last sentence? Dial 3 if you'd like to paint me a racist. Dial 4 if you're aware of the phenomenon known as 'unfortunate coincidences'.

Bullplopage aside, let's just say it's... challenging to find a foot hold in the murk of free jazz at times. There certainly is appeal, as I've found a lot of enjoyment is derived purely at the sonic force of these musicians, but for all that and a jar of dimes, Sonny Sharrock's '69 debut is in-fucking-credible. A total mindblower here, as well as a perfect balance of melody and blistering improv chaos, with wifey Linda Sharrock screaming, howling, and even singing all over this bad boy. The percussion is pounding and clattering away neat little rhythms and falls into the painfully abstract while the piano dips in and out of nonsense, complimenting Sharrock's fast picked tunefulness and improv alike.
As far as I can tell at this point, the ideal form of free jazz dips it's fingers into the traditional, but always reverts back to the sanity-damaging improv. No damages to Brotzmann and his particular vehicle - it's definitely a vision I enjoy - but man do the more traditional moments compliment the improv (and vice versa!).

Hey, did I mention how much this album rocks? 'Cause it's the bee's knees AND tibia. "Black Woman" sways and shrieks, "Peanut" clamours and smashes, and "Bialero", "Blind Willie", and "Portrait Of Linda" are all just beautiful. Reeks of hyperbole, but I could seriously see this album working it's way into an all-time favorites list some day. Totally awesome stuff.

Wednesday, February 24, 2010

Goma & The Jungle Rhythm Section - Rhythm And Breath

Going for a post record this month!
I've been pretty much artistically devoid lately (and then some), but fortunately good ol' music and the inane, uninteresting ramblings she imparts with me keep this blog turd afloat. Before we get to that album on the left, though, lemme tell you about an album tying my knickers in a troop-leader impressing knot - Joanna Newsom's new full length, Have One On Me; a godblessed TRIPLE ALBUM of new material. What other modern artist can you think of released a 3XLP in recent years? I know it's already leaked (and released in stores, too!), but with my iron will, I'm holding out til' I can acquire it in it's most prim and prose incarnation - wax. This'll mark my 4th album exceeding 2 discs, with the other two being Sun City Girls' Dante's Disneyland Inferno and 330,003 Crossdressers From Beyond The Rig Veda, as well as Bastard Noise's truly monstrous 5XCD(!!) Our Earth's Blood IV (which I'll be covering in a future entry).

But enough about ridiculous excess, let's focus on that enigmatic album in the corner. To be honest, I don't know much of anything about these guys (and can't really find anything, either), so I'll keep this short. Goma & The Jungle Rhythm Section are apparently a side project of the band's leader and didgeridoo player, Goma, with this being the first of currently 2 full length albums. Urm... here:
In the 1998 Arnhemland Barunga Didgeridoo Competition, Goma received The Northern Land Council prize (judged by Galarrwuy Yunupingu), surprised audiences by being the first non-Aboriginal to be recognized. Since that time, as a solo player, session musician, and band member, he has steadily increased his audience by consistently striving to innovate and expand his musical horizons.
...that was posted on the JPOP Lover blog, and is only available information I could find about this dude in English. The music itself isn't much easier to describe, though... it's tribal. Very rhythmic and pounding, likely featuring lots of homemade percussion (again... "likely")with the didgeridoo warbling in it's earthy tones all over the record. It's all instrumental, and while I wouldn't call it "danceable", it's definitely moving. But ENOUGH weak descriptors: this stuff kicks some supple ass. It's certainly not the most varied, but it's got a lot of punch, and if nothing else, is a perfect oddity for your collection. Czech it:

Monday, February 22, 2010

The Pop Group - We Are All Prostitutes

I'm afraid this blog's got an expiration date - approximately 4 months away, too. Y'see, although you don't care, I'm going off grid. New York's cold, my job is monotonous, I've worked myself into an artless rut, and I'm chock-full of pent-up crust punk idealism. How does one break this strain of wide-eyed hopefulness? Likely by going into the muck of the U.S. with a backpack, a bike, and a friend or two. No date set for it's conclusion, either, so if I ever choose to revive this here blog, it might be 6 months to a year-plus away.

Anyhookers, I'm in the middle of a free jazz/70's prog odyssey right now, but since the former is still digesting and the latter's not delivering the goods as I'd hoped (Gentle Giant? Bleah), I figured it was time to whip out an old favorite of mine - The Pop Group's stupidly scare singles collection, We Are All Prostitutes; a bag of hits I started rotating back in high school and never looked back.
Now if you're unfamiliar with the music of said Pop Group, it's a bizarre, somewhat even composure of spacey dub reggae, funk, skeletal jazz, and noise, all weaved into a sweater of post-punk sensibilities and hard-as-tacks political staunchness - and a phenomenally ugly sweater at that. In fact, if I were pressed to describe The Pop Group's sound in a single word, it'd probably be "ugly". This compilation is essentially a split between the creeping, disjointed minimalism of their legendary debut, Y, and the undeniably danceable funk-punk of the follow-up and neglected classic, For How Much Longer Do We Tolerate Mass Murder?, but the quality is consistent as either release.
Another thing worth noting (but uninteresting to read, much like this entry as a whole) is the production, which is raw, scratchy and full - totally unlike the spaciness of the rest of their catalog. Makes Gang Of Four sound like total pansies.

Oh, and once again, my stupid laptop is still broken because everything sucks and/or should die.

Saturday, February 20, 2010

Organisation - Tone Float

If there's a better example of a band with "classic" status I'll never find an affection for, it certainly hasn't topped Kraftwerk on my list. Both critically lauded and perpetually glorified by music buffs of a far too similar persuasion to mine, I can't help but feel bewildered whenever I catch a fragment of the praise heaped on them in my periphery. Am I overlooking some key historical principles that make them anything but the progenitors to a genre as personally maligned as synth-pop? Or maybe that's where the problem lies...
Either way, after the 'Werk's 4th LP, the better constraints of krautrock all but dissipated, leaving a cheesetoothed, starched suit pop band of the "dorkiest" variety. But hey, enough about corny keyboard progressions, lifeless, processed vocals and simple melodies that ramble on and on longer than the universe is vast - let's talk about Organisation!

Who are actually Kraftwerk.

For whatever reason, the RCA decided the relatively phonetic Kraftwerk moniker ("Kraaftverk") had less of a hook for U.S. audiences than the plain-as-toast British variant on the the word "organization". But whatever; at this point, Organwerk was a totally different entity: almost entirely acoustic and stationed firmly in the krautrock territory with nary an electronic bloop or bleep to be found. The group's sole recording under this name is a bit like the 2 following releases from Kraftwerk - Kraftwerk and Kraftwerk 2 - and stands as a colossus of the hippie-dippie magic we all ashamedly enjoy.
The title track is a 20-some minute spiritual epic of flute, organ, bass and bongo with a particularly meditative, eastern-vibed, and almost Pharoah Sanders-esque quality, followed by the high density, Miles Davis-indebted fusion murk of "Milk Rock". From there, the tiny, creepy interlude "Silver Forest" pops in and out to allow my favorite track on the album, "Rhythm Salad" to bongo the fucking house down. It's a seriously great piece that grows in intensity over the course of 5 minutes with a whole slew of unorthodox percussive devices clattering and bopping their brains out. The album closes with an extension of the title track's sonic terrain, but pulling a scratchy electric violin in tow to a bongo/cymbal backdrop.
All in all, a solid, enjoyable release. Probably nowhere near as groundbreaking as Kraftwerk's later material, but it also doesn't sound SO AGONIZINGLY OUTDATED. Here's the ideal usage of Kraftwerk's material:

Friday, February 19, 2010

Pigbag - Dr. Heckle And Mr. Jive

Say! How about a/an hilarious anecdote from the ol' grind? Alright, so this one time - oh, by the Wayans Brothers, I'm a cashier/cart-pusher/merch-handler/tire-salesman at BJ's Wholesale Club ("Felatio's" for short). Anyhoo, there was this one time not so long ago where I came to a run-in with the law at my humble, paycheck-dealin' dojo. I was standing at register, thumbs a' twiddlin' and tongue a' tonguin' when this dude walks over to my station giggling and chattering with his standard, middle-class, nuclear family, presumably aiming to purchase a full boat of high-mass groceries at a low, low price. We exchange greetings, everything's going along fine, when I suddenly interject: "May I scan your member card?".
That was the first Domino brand domino to fall.
If you're unfamiliar with Blowjob's Wholesale Club, shoppers are required to purchase a membership card we scan at the beginning of each transaction and return at the conclusion of each fast and courteous checkout - sadly for the man and his family, such was not the case.
I glanced down at the man's extended hand and beads of sweat began to accumulate on my steadily furrowing brow. My stomach turned. My hands trembled. A darkness took hold as I studied the faint, well-worn lettering on the Sam's Club Wholesale Club card he extended to me.
" son of a bitch."
Needless to say, things got ugly from there, and perhaps more needlessly to say, I ended up beating the man into years of relearning to feed himself using the corpse of his victimized son as a bludgeon. A night or two of food court probation later and I've got myself a little story to share.

Anyway, Pigbag.
Pigbag comes from a relatively short lived scene I've been slowly re-familiarizing myself with over the course of the past 2 weeks. In tandem with both the post-no wave "mutant disco" scene and the funkier side of post-punk, these dudes ripped out a beautiful instrumental mix of smart, somewhat straight-faced brass-heavy disco pomposity, pronounced funk, hints of world music, and just the right amount of dissonance to fit snuggly into the "post" half of the "post-punk" equation.
Btw, if you're unfamiliar with the term "mutant disco", it's basically a post-mortem term for the bands that popped up after certain tangents of post-punk got rooted heavily in the funky, decidedly less Caucasian roots of rock music and typically performed a parodist form of disco (think James White And The Blacks' Off White or anything by Kid Creole And The Coconuts).

The barely-amusingly titled Dr. Heckle And Dr. Jive is the first full length and followup to the chart storming (really!) instrumental and shameless play on James Brown's "Papa's Got A Brand New Bag" (which is actually considered a classic single nowadays in England... apparently even making it's way into the stadiums at sports events!) and sounds as forward-thinking as it does ironically retro. Slap on a seal of credit via Simon Underwood of the Pop Group's presence and a deal with Y Records, and you've got a recommendation packed full of teeth-grinding hyperbole.
Need a list of contemporaries? : probably somewhere in line with Lizzie Mercier Descloux, ESG, Liquid Liquid, and Simon Reynolds-appointed Pigbag imitators, Konk. All good, all worth checking out.

Thursday, February 18, 2010

Unrest - Kustom Karnal Blaxploitation

I feel my entries have become a little too formal as of late, or at least, a little too reserved for me to be comfortable with at an expressionist level. No foolin', either. I started this blog for fun, first and foremost. The desire to connect with other musical nutjobs across the interbutt is definitely in the mix, too, but personal amusement has always been the target.
So then you might ask:
"Where are the strike-through text gimmicks, Steve? And what about those delightfully irrelevant accounts of your daily toils? I'm beginning to think you sold out to contextual clarity and ramblings that actually pertain to album in the spotlight... for this, I weep."
- You, Presumably 2010
My reparations are as follows:

Anus anus anus anus anus anus anus anus anus anus anus anus anus anus anus anus anus anus anus anus anus anus anus anus anus anus anus anus anus anus anus anus anus anus anus anus anus anus anus anus anus anus anus anus anus anus anus anus anus anus anus anus anus anus anus anus anus anus anus anus anus anus anus anus anus anus anus anus anus anus anus anus anus anus anus anus anus anus anus anus anus anus anus anus anus anus anus anus anus anus anus anus anus anus anus anus anus anus anus anus anus anus anus anus anus anus anus anus anus anus anus anus anus anus anus anus anus anus anus anus.

Self-absorption aside, let's say we were to cover today the Unrest album that approximately no one in the entire universe likes - Kustom Karnal Blaxploitation.
If you're unfamiliar with the band, here's a brief, 10th-hand history lesson: Unrest started off as a sub-punk, everything-including-the-kitchen-sink, indie rock band formed in Washington, DC circa '82 as sort of a rejection of the newborn hardcore punk scene for no disclosed reason. While largely directed by Mark Robinson (later of Grenadine and Air Miami), the band had two distinct phases - the experimental, constantly genre-swappin', line-up shiftin' early run ('82-'89) and the heavy-duty yet minimalist romantic pop phase initiated by the inclusion of bassist/vocalist Bridget Cross in 1990 that would carry on 'til the break up in '94.

Kustom Karnal Blaxploitation is the band's third full-length LP (probably 7th or 8th release overall), and the last album of the aforementioned first phase. What we've got here is an uneven mix of punky indie rock, fuzzy, sub-metallic riffage that hearkens back to the first two Melvins albums, as well as a couple pop 'n' folk remnants ("Teenage Suicide" and "She Makes Me Shake Like A Soul Machine" are particularly enjoyable), the funky "Foxey Playground", and even a dirge-metal track reminiscent of well... later Melvins material ("Kill Whitey").
Unlike the band's sophomore album (the equally good Malcolm X Park), this 'un is rooted much less starkly in poptones, and is typically regarded as an inessential piece of their discography. I don't really know if I could argue the relevance or impact this release had (it probably didn't have much at all), but it's certainly worth a listen, and I go as far as to say it's my favorite of their first era.
Czech it oot:
Personally, I love both phases of the band equally. The first is certainly less accessible than the second, but it has that rare hook of being just out of comprehension that makes me return to it over and over again.

Hey, did I mention it also feature a 12 minute spoken word piece about Sammy Davis losing an eyeball in a car accident? SOLD!

Tuesday, February 16, 2010

Public Image Ltd - Flowers Of Romance

I'm beginning to think that the initial intrigue behind the bulk of my music library is planted a widdle more firmly in the culture's birthing of these niches than the actual aural components. That's not to say that these artists haven't created wonderfully engaging tunes out of these "uncouth posturings", but unlike your standard rock 'n' roll act, stuff like krautrock, psych, noise, IDM, rock-in-opposition, free jazz (etc) seems to be attractive on a cerebral level first, a gut level second. I gotta wonder - is this how the artists intended their vision to be absorbed? Like pieces of conceptual artwork to be pondered and slowly digested rather than enjoyed on a throbbing primordial level? Furthermore, at this junction in time, is it even possible to create music of an instantly accessible, perfunctory nature that simultaneously goes against the pop grain? Or has time made the majority of music buffs too reactionary as a whole to accept the unchallenging as high quality? Maybe I'm thinking too much on this - more likely, I'm not thinking hard enough. It's hard to say anything cohesive or constructive when you're a monolithic dumbass, though.

So whatever. To start, this is an album I'm constantly at odds with concerning my favoritism towards a certain Public Image Ltd affair - sure, this one is forward thinking as fuck and the sole album of this style in Lydon's catalog, but c'mon - Metal Box/Second Edition is not only monstrously enjoyable, but is a monstrously enjoyable DOUBLE ALBUM. Hard to one up for quality and quantity.
Anyway, what would you do when your bassist who was formerly the cornerstone of your band's sound gets canned for recycling tracks for his solo project and you're not a Rhode Island based noise rock band called Arab On Radar? Why, you totally overthrow your pulsing, dub-heavy dance-punk style to produce an album of incredibly dense, percussion-centric ugliness that dabbles in musique concrete, ragas, a few skrankly-krankly guitars, and a lot Lydon's horrible wailing!
As strange and inimitable the descriptor might make this album sound, it's actually totally apparent from first listen on what sort of impact this stuff must've had on the industrial genre what with it's hard, locked-in beats, bizarre background noises and the untamed, ugly-as-shit vocalesce. I hate to be "this guy" who tells you to "PLAY IT LOUD, BRAH", but really, play it loud, brah. This is one of those albums I can state without hesitation sounds a whole lot better when it's pounding grooves envelop you - the kind of heaviness you can feel in your chest when a fire truck sounds it's alarm 10 feet in front of you.
I don't know. Check it out

Sunday, February 14, 2010

King Missile - Fluting On The Hump

Y'know, it's a funny thing about the marijuana plant - it turns college kids into drop-outs, drop-outs into King Missile, and The Beatles into The Better Beatles.

Also, in unwittingly oversized doses it has a tendency to make every minor injury a mindscorching descent into agony, a constant struggle to keep one's tongue from retracting into one's esophagus, and breathing terrifyingly arrhythmic to the the erratically shifting sands of time. On the flipside, in doses proportionate to the host's tolerance, it's a boring, easily replicable sense of detachment and hunger that costs way too much.

In conclusion, I am literally the D.A.R.E lion.

But anyway, a few months back, I covered King Missile's first long playing record-vinyl-wax-disc-audio document and heaped on the praise for not only They, but their debut extended playing record-vinyl-wax-disc-audio document Fluting On The Hump. Despite this, I feel like the latter is just too good not to cover in an entry of its own. What we have here is a pretty similar experience to They, what with the poppy, bedroom psych-folk-pop and the bevy of cheesy instruments, but while the LP's humor is silly and momentarily chuckle-worthy, Fluting is generally laugh out loud funny in it's lyrical earnesty and vocal innocuousness. For example, listen to the insane, gruff screams surfacing at the end of "Sensitive Artist", or the dialogue between John and Dogbowl in the bridge of "Muffy", the term "residual wussiness" in "Wuss", and [further evidence to back up the initial claim].
Unfortunately, this isn't my upload, so the link actually brings you to some other dude's upload of the compilation released by Shimmy Disc that features not only Fluting, but the band's post-Dogbowl exercise in mediocrity known as Mystical Shit. So really, you can either skip through the first 16 tracks, or you can take advantage of the opportunity to gauge the enjoyability of their remaining catalog.


Saturday, February 13, 2010

The Gerogerigegege - Tokyo Anal Dynamite

Hey, you like abundances of things, right? Just great quantities of items or concepts or aural commodities like in this case, songs? If you nodded viciously at the idea of procuring a profusion of product, well here's a whole sprawling mess of noisy garbage.

Now that wasn't the best hook, but when you're dealing with anything in the vein of Japanoise legends The Gerogerigegege (an apparently onomatopoeic title for puking or shitting or something scatological and whogivesashit) that also doubles as the "Japanese Ultra Shit Band", it'd be pretty dishonest to describe them as anything but "noisy garbage". This release is the followup to the historically (in)significant epic, 1988's Showa - an LP only release composed of two side-long tracks of the sweet, supple sounds of two Asians getting their fuck on bookended with the Japanese national anthem and a portrait of the recently-deceased Emperor on the cover - and is a live performance from '87 cut into 75 tracks of hardcore-punk formatted noise freakouts ("1-2-3-4!).

Despite the quantity, the album clocks in just over 30 minutes, but if the cover art is any indication, you're in for a senseless blitzkrieg of mindnumbingly distorted anti-rock, anti-art, or maybe just a snapshot of a couple dudes freaking out and having a blast while apparently revolutionizing the Japanese underground. I'm not too well-read in noise, but I'm going to have to assume it was primarily this album's 'brutally simple and harsh' aesthete that really made an impact on artists like Masonna, The Incapacitants, and Hijokaidan, but then again, what do I know?
If anyone could reccomend me some literature on the subject, I'd highly appreciate it.
The rest of Gerogerigegege's catalog actually falls in all directions from noise-inflected rock music, to ambient, and tape loops - and from what I've taken in thus far, is par enjoyable. Again, the link isn't mine due to the laptop situation, but check out the Blunt Vision blog in the meantime.

Shut Up - Hell In A Handbasket

Shut Up is a band I would have enormous difficulty even pretending to exhibit expertise in. After an hour of scouring the crusty bottom of the internet dishpan with a steel wool of learning volition, all I could find on them was that they acted as a precursor to post-rock kings Cul De Sac and tied in with unknowns the Girls and Combustible Edison - and no, not the current Girls, but another, equally-mystery-quilted act whose moniker creates quandaries regarding the everyman's search engine.
Anybutts, Shut Up as far as I'm concerned, were a collective of musicians that strung together many aural components in a phenomenon dubbed "music" in this day and age. They sit somewhere in the eyebrow-raising murk of later, synth-squiggle-saavy Pere Ubu, prime-era Public Image Ltd, a punked-out electro-fuzz with homage to Neu!, and mebbe even with the electro-sludge of Dylan Pickle And The Chaperones debut EP*.
Considering I just nabbed this dittie at the semi-local Rhino Records shop (that no longer has any connection to the namesake label), I can't say I've given it a thorough grind yet, but from the few exacted revolutions I can tell y'all, it's purty good. Nothing enormously original or groundbreaking, but undeniably solid, listenable, and fun.
To clarify, this isn't my link. My laptop's fried, so I'm just borrowing from other blogs until I can rectify the smushed LCD situation.

*...which doesn't exist. I wasn't feeling qualified to draw further comparisons, so I lied.

Therion - ...Of Darkness

From the tail end of 2003 to early 2006, I was a death/grind/crust connoisseur and purist, poo-poo'ing just about everything that wasn't heavy and brutal as a wrecking ball of clawhammer studded bismuth. Luckily, the pedantry eventually voided from my mentality bowels, and I started to branch out into more "adventurous" territory; starting with punk rawk, tunneling through 80's and 90's "emo" (see for a basic intro) and indie, noise rock, and settling where I am now as your dime-a-dozen "eclectic" avant-dada-art-noise-terrorist - an ancient hipster disposition provided courtesy of Mr. Internet, in other words.

But anyhoo, while my br00tal music binges are mostly a thing of the past, there's no denying how freakin' excellent much of my old favorites still sound today. Therion's mighty debut was actually an album I refrained from even acknowledging until around a year ago (in which case, the entire intro is irrelevant but fuck off - it's poorly edited or sits in my draft box for another month). Therion back in the güüd olde days were a bit of oddity - a Swedish band that neither sissified the death metal sound nor worked within the midrange-laden parameters established by Entombed, Dismember, or Grave. For all intensive purposes, the music captured on ...Of Darkness is pure early American death metal goodness, but with the crunch of Swede-distortion and a few inflections of epic-doom atmospheric keys.

Unfortunately, they quickly got bored with the idea of playing enjoyable music, so their next two are an increasingly uneven mix of the debut's death metal and excessive proggy keys and instances of operatic vocalization which gives way for a temple built around the latter in releases to come. I know how little weight this carries outside of the metallic haven, but when a band enlists a female keyboardist or two, it's typically a sign of trouble. No sexism from me, just a simple correlation.
Of course, that opens up a whole new can 0f worms: sexism in metal. Fortunately, I've got the saran wrap of laziness to stretch over that particular annelid vestibule so to ensure freshness for a further discussion when I pull out a porngrind album. Stay tuned!

(btw, this isn't my link. I'll upload my own later)