“Though I have no musical ability, back in high school I used to love plucking random strings on my friend’s Stratocaster knockoff and imagining I was composing an avant-garde interlude for some progressive screamo album.” You know, with an intro like that, I’m pretty sure you’ll end up not trusting this guy’s judgement anyway…
![Cult Leader – Lightless Walk [Things You Might Have Missed 2015]](https://www.angrymetalguy.com/wp-content/uploads/2015/12/Cult-Leader-Lightless-Walk.jpg)
“Any fan of Gaza knows the drama. In early 2013, vocalist Jon Parkin became the target of a rape allegation that, though eventually settled out of court by both parties, ultimately led to the remainder of the Utah-based hardcore outfit cutting ties with Parkin and starting anew. The result was Cult Leader: essentially the same lineup, with bassist Anthony Lucero dropping the four-string to take over on vocals.” Join the cult or refuse the Kool Aid?
“First appearances can be and often are misleading. Take Death Mask Replica, for example, the fourth release by Swedish band Bombs of Hades. After noticing the Captain Beefheart-spoofing title and marveling at the tastefully grim and artsy cover, one might expect some kind of experimental blackened death metal in the vein of Chaos Echœs to be hidden within.” Of course, you’d be totally wrong and embarrass yourself.
![Iskra – Ruins [Things You Might Have Missed 2015]](https://www.angrymetalguy.com/wp-content/uploads/2015/12/Iskra_Ruins-768x768.jpg)
“Despite what the general public may think, extreme metal is rarely written by extreme people. For all the songs about devouring maggot-ridden brains and summoning Shub-Niggurath, we all know that Corpsegrinder is really just a huge World of Warcraft nerd, and Trey Azagthoth is actually a closet Sailor Moon fanboy (and occasional emulator of the late Steve Irwin). Canada’s Iskra, however, is different.” Different like Glen Benton?
“Down Among The Dead Men vocalist Dave Ingram has the death metal pedigree of a standard poodle with the roar of a rabid pit bull, widely known for his work with Benediction and a brief yet destructive stint in Bolt Thrower for 2002’s excellent Honour – Valour – Pride. Take one rabid poodle and add some Rogga.
“The pulsating surge of the retro wave has turned music reviewing into what’s essentially the Antiques Roadshow. We listen like the appraiser examines a piece, looking for authenticity, craftsmanship, and the overall condition of the music. We then describe our findings and you lovely folks read about them, some of you coming here every day, some once a week, and some seduced now and again by the masterful and sultry click-baiting some of us excel at.” Just look at that veneer!
“As made blatantly obvious in my first review of 2015, last year left me drained, beaten, and more fucked over than a single person can stand. So, it is only fitting that Hellbastard’s brutally honest and extremely pissed-off Feral allowed me the opportunity to let everything go, smash shit, speed recklessly down the highway, and drop a big “fuck you” to all the bullshit.” Go fookin coconuts!
“Stop me if you’ve heard this one before: in an alternate universe where musical ideas are themselves beings, three idea-beings walk into a bar. The first one is incredibly boring and pretentious yet still quite popular, and his name is Nachtmystium P. Floyd. The second is loud and already drunk, and his name is Rattus Kaaos; upon spying him the bartender mutters “raucous Finnish punk” under his breath. The third is Ornassi Pazuzu, who categorically refuses to stop droning on about anything and everything psychedelic. The nightly cover band got food poisoning, so there was an impromptu call for music. These three all wanted to jam so went up together, played, and wondered if they should keep this gig up. They did, and now we have Abyssion.” Good bar to avoid on cover nights.
“Usurping the Throne of Disease gave me two things: one, a delightfully rotten piece of blackened death-crust (which, typing it out now, actually sounds more like a spicy appetizer than a genre); and two, a reason to move past my failed no-jerking-off New Year’s resolution and slave away at a review that will, inevitably, be given the ‘Quilted Northern’ treatment by my Great Overlord.” I like my crust blackened and radioactive with a side order of cold saw.
“There is one problem I have with punk/crust/D-beat. It encourages me to fuck shit up. When done right, the music tempts me into driving 100 mph to work, marching into my boss’s office and beating the living shit out of him. While I obviously have some serious psychological issues here (particularly being that I am indeed my own boss), music like this sets my skin on fire and the only cure for this uncomfortable burning sensation is revolution, overthrow and apocalyptic destruction.” Apparently we found crust punk for the angry solo practitioner. Work your own hours and burn shit down.
