Scumfuck Tradition

KILL ALLEN WRENCH - My Bitch is a Junky

I can't usually be bothered addressing thee Cult of Personality that surrounds the bands I beat my gums about on here-- particularly where it concerns internet rumor and innuendo. Shee-it, I think unless ya fell outta the womb yesterday, ya know by now the average issue of the Weekly World News is packed with more truth than the drama perpetuated by fucking nerds with too much time to think about trivialities and hammer out groundless diatribes on their stupid little forums and whatnot. However, since some of the same drivel made its way into the mockumentary (at least in my book), "Kurt & Courtney," a few years back, where the late, seemingly pretty wasted, El Duce (of the Mentors) stated that Allen Wrench was paid by Ms. Love to off her hubby, thee tale has taken on a life of mythical proportions. And it gets better: Allegedly, Wrench also threw Duce in front of that train where he took his last drunken stumble as well... to shut him up, I guess. Well, ya know what they say about there being no such thing as bad press...

To be clear, I don't care about Cobain, his band, his followers or his hose-beast wife, so the whole convoluted mess does little more'n warrant a (tiny) smirk on the mug of this motherfucker. For starters, ex-Mentors axeman Dr. Heathen Scum is a member of Kill Allen Wrench, so it stands to reason he wouldn't be particularly thrilled to share stages with his old mate's killer, don't it? I mean, we're not talking Vikernes/Euronymous here, are we? 'Sides, sounds too damn good to be true-- but enough of wasting time with this dreck, onto thee tuneage. Whatcha got here with K.A.W. is a combo picking up where the Mentors left off: Filthy, metal-tinged punk, proudly politically incorrect, that manages to jam every single Satanic and Sleazebag cliché into one deliciously disgusting package. There's guileless tales of heroin, methamphetamine, pot smoking, needles, punk rock, popping pills, heavy metal, prostitution, beating girlfriends/wives, exploitation of groupies, pornography, hidden cameras, public nudity, satanic worship and recruitment, drunk driving, superstardom, and last but not least... alcoholism (borrowed with a few alterations from their website). In short, mindless entertainment for One and All. This video should pretty much sum 'em up for y'all.

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Throw Down the Sword

WISHBONE ASH - Argus (1972)

WARNING: Rant ahead! Something that bugs the fuck outta me about thee scores of "genre-hopping" bands of today is the lack of cohesiveness exhibited by 'em. It's like they build their ditties in little blocks, like, "here's the folky part... next up... a few doom metal riffs, followed by a plunge into a horn-laden ska section... cool, no?" NO!! It's not cool!! It's schizo, contrived, but most of all, smacks of a band without an identity. Even worse, by incorporating this rapid switch of the radio dial style of songwriting, I get the feeling that these combos are worried about defying categorization so that if a new trend rears its fickle head, they can easily jump on board. These hacks would do themselves a gargantuan favor by looking to grandaddies of multi-genre-lization like Wishbone Ash.

Please do note "post-rock" (stupidest term ever-- I don't think anything has come along to replace rock just yet) Shit Band X with a skin-flute player and heads fulla influences thoust hasn't learned how to properly utilize, Wishbone Ash, despite having wide and varied inspirations, combined all of 'em seamlessly. You'll hear echoes of ancient folk hymns, excursions into psychedelia, poppy vocal harmonies... even a sword & sorcery themed "medieval trilogy." And, Lest I Forget, majestic and soaring twin-guitar harmonies that gave boners to everyone from Phil Lynott to Steve Harris. What you hear most of all though, is a band that had an immediately identifable sound. No ironic posing, no cut-and-paste bullshit.

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GOAT HORN - Voyage to Nowhere (2001)

Straight outta Pembroke, Ontario, Kanüda came Metal Warriors Goat Horn. Comprised of Mssrs. Jason Decay (bass/vox), Brandon Wars (Guitars) and Steel Rider (battery), their mission to earn thee crown of "Canada's Drunkest Band" and to ensure many a case of whiplash among headbangers worldwide was a short but successful one (relatively speaking). "Voyage," their self-released first foray into immortalizing their neck-snapping savagery, may have thee most perfect production I've ever heard on a metal record. All the levels are buried deep in the red, and they manage to channel both "Forest of Equillibrium"-era Cathedral with thee immaculately primal deathrash of fellow countrymen, Slaughter. Decay's ragged, "everydude" yelps have a slightly deathly timbre, and project enough attitude to compete with the Thicker Than The Average "American Idol" Fan riffage laid down by Wars (fitting nom de guerre?). One will also detect echoes of NWOBHM stalwarts like Priest and Maiden... in short, these motherfuckers were all about the Metal.

They would release one more full-length ("Storming the Gates"... BUY OR DIE!!) and an EP ("Threatening Force") before hanging up the denim and leather, only to re-emerge as Cauldron a short time later, where they've injected more thrash influences (do check 'em out). For me, though, their 32-minute debut I've ranted 'n' raved about here, imbued as it is with thee genius of boozy idiot-savants, is their finest hour (so far...).

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Alcoholocaust!

BESTIAL WARLUST - Blood & Valour (1994)
GOAT SEMEN VS. ANAL VOMIT - Devotos del Diablo (2004)

Decided to lump all three of these purveyors of cataclysmic scuzz together-- and for good reason: Although hailing from different metallic generations and locales, all of 'em are sub-contractors in Thee House That Sarcófago Built. And they're hardly the only ones-- what has become known as "war metal" has been adopted and bent to thee collective evil wills by the likes of Finland's Beherit, Canada's Blasphemy, Conqueror and Axis of Advance, and the US of Fuckin' A's Order from Chaos (among countless others).

Short-lived Sonic Titans Bestial Warlust hailed from Melbourne, Australia. Originally playing slightly more straightforward death metal as Corpse Molestation, they adopted the BW moniker, as well as their sledgehammer approach to blackened thrashing in 1993. Unlike their Nordic and Scandinavian counterparts, the Beasties had no interest in reciting weather forecasts or hailing the serenity of the local landscape. Nope, in addition to hailing a primitive brand of Goat Worship, their aim was to take you onto thee viscera-fed soil of the battlefield-- whether or not they were speaking metaphorically or literally is best left to the fevered mind of the listener. B&V is their second and final release, and features an endless barrage of blastbeats and blurry riffing that will be a bit overwhelming if ya happen to be a newbie to the style... but be STRONG!! Repeated listens reveal that paradoxically, this is subtle music. That is, you will discover there is some excellent technical fretwork underlying thee chaos. Members of BW would go on to form equally brilliant and intense outfits such as Deströyer 666, Abominator and Gospel of the Horns.

As for Goat Semen and Anal Vomit-- whom undoubtedly enlisted the help of their collective mommas to come up with their names-- both hail from Lima, Peru. They are possessed by Possessed, and enraptured with thee Hellish, primitive deathrash of early Sodom and Kreator. Throw in the maniacal commitment to poser-crushing, raw as fuck blaspheme-spew South American metallers are renowned for-- complete with riffs that seem to collide together harder than Rosie O'Donnell's asscheeks, evil rasp to bloodcurdling shriek vokills and alcohol-fueled, machine gun skinsbash. Guaranteed to terrify bible-thumping neighbors at 100 paces.

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