“I wanted a black metal/noise hybrid. I figured it was the trvest style out there: the ultimate form of pitch-black atmosphere that could conjure abstractness and bleakness to new heights. While there have been plenty of artists that have tried, like Enbilulugugal, Gnaw Their Tongues, and Abruptum, success has been limited, so I wished upon a star for noisy black metal.” Cut off your noise to spite your face.
“Hysterical bravely sets about to chronicle the worst of nu-metal’s many issues and combine them into a nugget so devoid of anything enjoyable it almost wraps back round to depressive suicidal black metal. Just without the black metal.” 2020 right now.
“It has become all too apparent that I do not learn from my mistakes. People warned me since childhood never to trust a snake, and yet Python will mark the second time I picked promo based solely on my love for those slithery danger noodles. I’ve learned my lesson this time for sure, though. Never in my life have I encountered a shit-tastrophe as rank as Astrological Warfare, the band’s ill-conceived sophomore record.” Twice bitten.
“It’s funny how bands try to embellish their true nature through genre tags sometimes. Metalcore often tries to lay claim to melodic death metal, probably because it causes less out-of-hand rejection. Progressive metal promos are a minefield of djent bands, which can be progressive but are often anything but. Another one to be wary of is groove metal. Groove metal doesn’t have a great reputation in and of itself, and it’s bound to degrade further with the amount of nu-metal bands co-opting the term. Blacklist-9 (written randomly with or without hyphen even on the band’s own sources) ostensibly play groove metal.” Adding to the list.
The last transmissions of a Wvrmy mind contains a review of a dangerous album. Wrist, meet razor.
“Sometimes we get what we want, and sometimes we get what we deserve. Here I am, trudging towards the end of the year, relying on headmistress Madam X to dole out the review rewards and punishments as she sees fit – except for this week. This week, she forgot about little old me, and what did I see lurking in the promo bin? Tank. How did Steel Druhm, my cohort in late-middle-age, not grab this? Both of us remember the original Tank from way back in the early 80s, with their punk/proto take on the whole NWOBHM movement briefly endearing them to many.” Tanked.
“In many ways, this collaboration makes perfect sense. The lo-fi, chaotic-noise aesthetic of Gnaw Their Tongues is a very natural direction for the experimental drone of Crowhurst to wander off to, and vice versa. Given the prolific nature of Gnaw Their Tongues’s Maurice de Jong and Crowhurst mastermind Jay Gambit, it’s also pretty much par for the course that these two noise mongers eventually crossed paths and left some tracks in their wake.” Gnawed and miserable.
“Sometimes I only remember the days when I was young, yet nowadays no one else remembers when they were young and stupid. Sure, it’s kvlt and trendy to affect disdain or downright contempt for the genre, but Muppet sees your elitist bullshit and raises you one velvety middle finger: no one’s saying nü-metal was something to be proud of, but there’s a reason you all know how much it matters when one tries so hard and gets so far.” Nancy hates us.
“To paraphrase Jurassic Park’s Ian Malcolm, we were so preoccupied with whether or not we could, we never stopped to think if we should. Yet here it is: a Nashville quartet who bill themselves as a fusion of country and metal, complete with twangy guitars, honkytonk fiddle, rudimentary attempts at extreme metal, and shit-kicking rhythms pulled straight from the Bumfuck County square dance.” Wrong Turn: the Musical.
“The promo selection at AMG is a brutal process. If you are late to the game, all the good stuff has been picked by the vultur- I mean, my colleagues, and your choices are reduced to black metal, metalcore or symphonic metal (which nearly always means Nightwishcore.) I was late this time, and Jorn help me, I picked symphonic power metal album Phoenix Aflame completely blind. I recall my last thought before my own private hell was unleashed: “Can’t be worse than Akoma.” The early bird gets the Wormrot.
