Tuesday, July 17, 2012

Iron Monkey - Iron Monkey


I used to avoid this band like the plague. Not only do they have one of the gayest names I've ever heard, they looked like a crew of rednecks with an identity crisis as I noticed all of the nigger attire they were sporting. As a rule, rednecks and niggers are both people I do my best to stay away from as I can feel my sanity rapidly oozing from out of my each and every one of my cephalic orifices every time I have to endure any sort of contact from these cretins. I'm no Rhodes scholar by any means, but every time I hear a nigger speak, I am always reminded that they are truly the missing link.

The other thing about this band that kept me at bay is that they are a "sludge" band. Sludge, as I've noticed through the years, seems to be a deliberate attempt to play doom as horrendously inept as possible. It's like letting the retard from 'There's Something about Mary' tune a guitar and "have at it". To further exacerbate the proceedings, a "true" sludge band is usually in the habit of acquiring the services of some frail, crack addicted male prostitute whose only means of communication is by screaming in the most hideously wretched manner, like some nigger loving harpie dopefiend who keeps coming at you despite how many cast iron frying pans she takes to the face.



Iron Monkey stays mighty true to that tradition. In fact, these may be the most whiny and cringe inducing vocals I've heard yet (though Count Grizzled Cock from Burzum is certainly up there as well). The tragedy in all of this is that, against my better judgement, I actually found myself enjoying the riffs. I thoroughly enjoyed Justin Greaves drumming in Electric Wizard's 'We Live' and the Teeth of Lions Rule the Divine ep and he is no less commanding behind the kit here. Again, the one disfigured element that is glaringly out of place are the vocals. I don't know which of the nigger wannabe rednecks in this band thought that it would be "delightful" to let the crackwhore take a shit all over the microphone, but he should be slapped upside his mullet clad dome-piece with a brick. I try and pretend to myself every time the vocals emerge, that this is all part of the masterplan of the band. That they are merely a gathering of merry pranksters and are all back at the clubhouse getting a big laugh out of the fact that all of these "nu" school doomster nerds are actually taking this shit seriously.


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