Music on the quick #4

by Ben


17. Butcher Babies – Goliath


I’m big enough [penis reference] to admit that I started listening to this band because the two lead singers perform with their tits out. And I don’t that mean metaphorically or as an allegory to mammary size: they literally perform with their boobs exposed. At first I hated the music, but that was only because I wasn’t actively cutting myself any longer. I’m still not actively cutting myself, but I’m still enough of an emotional planewreck to listen to angry music while being angry about things angrily.

And Goliath does a pretty sound (lol) job of that. It’s like a less harmonic version of In This Moment, except instead of one gorgeous blonde singer with enormous breasts, Butcher Babies has one singer with regular boobs and the other has these disgusting plastic footballs attached to her sternum. Thankfully this discussion is about music and not the implications of gluing four pounds of jelly to your titties. Although I do find it amusing that the one with the artificial knockers comes from a Mormon family. Ha ha, nothing like a little heavenly irony to go along with your regretful life decisions. Or wait…………

But really, Goliath is fun to hear. It’s got some interesting mixes of growls with some melodic singing and it creates an interesting……..jux……ta……..FUCK I JUST CAN’T SAY THE WORD IT’S TOO AWFUL…..ition. But instead of the beauty-beast relationship of gothic metal, it’s more an infusion of “fuck da pohlees” with average guitar riffs behind the action. And by “action” I obviously mean “intense lesbian relations backstage while all the roadies jerk off onto each other’s leather biker jackets while stuffing stage mics up their assholes.”

It’s better than painfully basic, but I feel that’s more because its contemporaries (ITM excepted) are lackluster sacks of tampons rather than the skill they possess as a collective. Huntress is embarrassingly bad, and Infected Rain just tries to be The Agonist except their lead singer has her tits out in promo shots too. Well, okay, I’ll admit Infected Rain is not really that bad, but the growls are really there for no reason other than to shout (lol) “GROOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWLLLLLLLL” and then return to the singing as if nothing has happened. Kind of like The Agonist. Except her tits are out. So……..yeah.

Conclusion: I’ve listened to the entire album five times in the last week. I think that means they’ve won. God dammit. 2.5/5.0



18. Lyriel – Skin and Bones


Regression is to Lyriel as expediency is to my prostate vibrator. Skin and Bones is just…I mean…it’s legitimate bullshit. It’s shiny bullshit, like the metal dildo always is before it goes in your butt, but just like that same dildo five minutes later, it’s caked in ass rubble. And you’ll never get the smell out no matter how hard you try, just like getting your dignity back. Don’t worry though, your GF probably wasn’t filming the pegging session so she can laugh with all her GFs about how hairy your bum is.

This album is the basic bitch of folk metal. Except of being metal, it’s far closer to soft rock. The riffs sound like Jessica Thierjung had a baby and the whole band was in her living room trying to rock out without waking the wee little accident from its slumber. It’s all so textbook as to become redundant before it was even released. “Falling Skies” sounds like someone heard a cool song once and took notes on how it succeeded, but instead of improving on the formula they just regurgitated it with different chords and lyrics.

All of this is compounded by how terrific Paranoid Circus was. That album was a great (read: “textbook”) introduction to folk metal (oh I’m sorry, is it folk rock now?) and was even good outside of its genre. The title track has been on my starred list for about two years now and I’m still not tired of hearing it. There is not a single song on Skin and Bones that I would listen to again, unless I was threatened with a good pegging, in which case I’d just sew up my sphincter with some duct tape fibers and fuck off into space.

Conclusion: I don’t actually own a prostate vibrator because I can’t imagine the smell. 0.5/5.0



19. King Charles – LoveBlood


So there was a period of my life wherein indie rock and electronica/synthpunk (anyone remember Alice Glass? me neither) were the predominant force on my…my iP……..nah fuck you I just use my computer. I regularly “purchased” the monthly Indie Rock Playlist and heard its offerings with vigor. There are still CDs in the car (anyone remember CDs? me neither) with King Charles and bands like Crystal Fighters and CSS on it, which every now again I put in only because I forgot my phone and the drive to the hospital is terrifically boring. I actually get way less dirty looks than with the Die Antwoord tracks, which is shocking considering the inner city is about as multiracial as the fucking sun.

LoveBlood is a feature-length ballad to Charles Costa getting it in. I honestly cannot fathom how many times this guy has been balls-deep in the butt pussy after recording this album. I even get hard listening to it. “Mississippi Isabel” and “Lady Percy make me moisturize when I hear them, and that’s particularly intriguing considering that last time I checked I don’t even own a vagina. “Polar Bear is pretty good too.

But every time I listen to this album (and believe me, it’s been a considerable amount) I can only imagine this guy–wispy ‘stache and all–burying his man business doggy style into a someone’s lady business. It’s like he was literally getting laid while he wrote every track, simultaneously with petting a corgi, playing a viola, and conducting a symphony. It’s a real mess because I don’t have room for that bullshit in my head, and yet at the same time I can’t stop listening to it. It would take quantum physics to extract this crap from my ears.


The rest of the album is all right too. Bust just barely. And only because it’s attached to the good stuff.

Conclusion: Stroke me, Charles. 4.5/5.0