Yet another album touted as the greatest thing ever by many an "old school" enthusiast.
For such a jerked off over album I'm surprised at how many laughably lame riffs there are on this record. There are some pretty damn good ones as well, but not nearly enough to, at the very least, even it out.
The vocals are the final nail in the coffin. The singer has the sort of haggard rasp that old bar wenches usually acquire after decades of drunkenly blowing great big Santa Claus bikers in the bathroom stall for a pitifully chumped out line of coke in order to cope with the fact that their children were taken away from them by DCYS. Those vocals drenched over the goofy guitar riffs make for an experience that makes my soul cringe.
The fact that so many people drool and stutter when describing the so called "brilliance" of this "essential" album merely confirms my theory that the human race is better off being on the receiving end of a fleet of Tsar bombs. Every time I've listened to this album I cannot wait to throw on some old Crypt of Kerberos or Crematory in order to burn out the memory of the toothless vocalist hacking up gobs of Santa sauce over those awfully goofy riff selections.
Putting this album on is a surefire way to bring a homo out of the closet. If they begin to emit chants of praise, especially any amount of approval given to the vocalist, you know you are dealing with a cock smoker of flame broiled proportions.
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| Santa's lil' "helpers" |
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