Rev's Chronicle of Deterioration

Grumblings in the Wake of an Afternoon at the Gym

2009-06-10T22:36:00Z

It doesn't matter if I'm wearing headphones, tapping my feet, and scowling at the floor...some motherfucker that I don't want to talk to is going to strike up a conversation.
Said "conversation" usually starts with the question,"Where did you get your work done, man? Here in town? I'm thinking of getting a tattoo myself..." and then somehow slides into, "Are you a Metallica fan? Is Death Magnetic any good?" Now, I'm not a total misanthrope. But when I'm catching my breath between sets of reverse curls, tweaking balls on two hits of Nano Vapor, and blasting the piss out of We Own The Mountains, the last fucking thing I want to do is offer up a two-minute critque that pits Lars Ulrich's atrocious drumming against the asskicking merits of "All Nightmare Long." Especially to an over-gregarious, over-tanned MMA enthusiast that will likely be blow-drying his scrotum next to my locker in 20 minutes.
Speaking of scrotums, the AARP crowd is disgustingly blatant about swinging their leathery gear around in the locker room. It's like a haven for the liver-spotted legions of greater Mankato to gather around and give tips on the best techinque for applying talc.
Equally frustrating is their penchant for shaving--totally nude--in the stream room. This wouldn't be so bad if they didn't insist on sitting like Carlton Fisk primed to drop a deuce before stoking the fires of bullshit small-talk. While I find the lack of rain during the month of May to be a truly fascinating subject, my desire to engage in sweaty banter with a man and his wildly unkempt nether-region is practically nil.

This message has been brought to you by your local YMCA.

Eavesdropping on Ignorance

2009-03-09T21:22:00Z

Eavesdropping isn’t exactly my forte. I don’t know if I’m physically incapable of the act due to the hearing loss incurred by a lifetime of abuse via heavy metal, or if I’m simply so disinterested in the conversation of strangers that I subconsciously stonewall the banality. Whatever the case may be, I’m horrible at it, which I suppose has moderate social benefits; by most accounts, the act of eavesdropping is looked upon with scorn.

But an experience I had at work a few weeks ago has managed to fill me with enough derision to warrant a retelling of the experience. Prior to the incident, I had noticed the perpetrator perusing my department. While I bid him a good day, as per custom, I made a conscious effort to avoid his path. The guy has been a regular customer, a contractor that does a decent amount of business with us and is fairly jovial in most instances. Trouble is, he’s extremely talkative -to the degree of annoyance- and he’s strongly opinionated about odd subjects. For example, our last encounter involved a rumor that Cher had been stricken with cancer, and was flying to Europe to receive treatment. Assuming that I actually cared about Cher, her illness, and whatever politics that may be attached to the situation, he went off on a spirited rant, proclaiming that people who make their money in America should do their duty to spend it in America, and facilitate the system that we have in place. This rant lasted upwards of 5 minutes - which, when talking about Cher’s impact on the health care system, is an absolute motherfucking eternity.

I went about my business, with the full intention of avoiding him at all costs. Not out of pure distaste...I had a lot of work to do. I don’t come to work to hammer out mundane social issues with people I don’t know, I come to earn a paycheck. Unfortunately, however, the sound of his voice worked his way towards my ear, and I was unwittingly pulled into its path. I didn’t actively seek to eavesdrop on his proselytizing, but he was ranting in the back aisle at high volume, having cornered my co-workers between a mass of carpet remnants. I inserted myself into the scene mid-sentence.

“…all this Allah and Buddha stuff, it just ain’t gonna work. You start bringing all this different stuff into the country, and you’re going to have problems. This country was founded as a Christian nation. What did Obama say last night? ‘God Bless America.’ Not Allah or Buddha bless America. I mean, it says it on the back of your currency: In God We Trust. I tell ya…if you’re walking around with a dollar bill in your pocket and you don’t believe that God is working in your life, take it out and give it to someone who does!”

I tried giving him the three crumpled dollars that I had jammed into my pocket for purposes of future caffiniation, but typical of those of his ilk, he didn’t have the testicular fortitude to place his words into action.

Maybe this is why I don’t eavesdrop in Southern Minnesota. The people here are so sheltered from the greater whole -so undereducated and fearful of things outside their comfort zone- that most of what is said at higher volume is better left ignored. I don’t feel like trotting out references to Mungo Craig and the origin of the separation of church and state while I’m getting a cup of coffee. I don’t feel like I should have to remind people that the United States Constitution was written nearly 200 years before “In God We Trust” was added to the currency while I’m cutting samples of sheet vinyl. And I don’t think that I should have to spew quotations from George Washington (“…the Government of the United States of America is not, in any sense, founded on the Christian religion…”) and Thomas Jefferson (“Christianity is the most perverted system that ever shone on man”) while I am shopping for a shower curtain liner. This country proudly and expressly awards us freedom of religion, as well as the choice to live as we see fit. This is what separates us from the Middle Eastern countries and ideologies that many in this community seem to revile. Apparently, and quite unfortunately, the irony is lost on many.

Of Matt Birk and a Glimpse of Single Life

2009-03-05T03:38:00Z

I have the house to myself this week. My fiancée, Jen, dipped off to the barren wasteland of Brainerd, Minnesota to attend a conference involving a bunch of drunken lawyers and some amateur sketch comedy. Compared to that, I'm in paradise. Instead of a mini-vacation, though, these days are filled with boredom, longing, and poor decision-making - though the "consequences" are trivial.

As little as three months ago, this situation would find me plastered on Hefeweizen, careening off the walls of our condo and blasting Grand Magus at near-retarded volumes. Or I'd be knocking back overpriced PBRs in some faceless fuckswamp of a college bar, shooting cue balls into corner pockets and making a spectacle of myself. But sobriety brings a calmer, more cerebral vibe to these bouts of pseudo-bachelorhood. Ah, fuck it. Cerebral my ass. I'm chugging bottled water because the assbucket of KFC I foraged for dinner has sucked every bit of moisture from my body. I'm wearing a pair of fucking Master of Puppets boxer shorts and a sleeveless Nailbomb shirt - the only thing missing from my ensemble are the stereotypical Cheeto fingers. And I just spent the last two hours watching Stallone's latest Rambo flick. This was such a waste of my time; I likely would've felt less procrastinatory guilt by curling myself into a fetal position on the hardwood floor and masturbating really, really slowly for the entirety of the evening.

So yeah, without my life partner, shit just kinda falls apart. I'm too lazy to cook a meal for one, so I've been eating nothing but garbage. My level of motivation has plummeted to levels that border on obscenity. And to add insult to the mundane nature of my current predicament, the Minnesota Vikings front office is apparently content to spend their week jamming their fingers in their collective asshole in a furious fashion. Which would be fine, if they didn't keep shoving those empty-handed fingers in my face.

$32 million in cap space, and you lowball TJ Houshmanzadeh? Eh. Whatever. But Matt Birk? Local hero? Cornerstone of your offensive line (a line that laid the foundation for the NFL's best rushing attack)? Madness. I think it boils down to one thing: they didn't want to play for Brad Childress. The back of my dingy white Nailbomb shirt reads, "Feels Good To Be A Punk Loser." I think I'll mail it to Chili. Maybe he can wear it to his mext meeting with Rick Spielman, where they'll salivate over the prospect of a sixth-round draft choice snapping the ball to Sage "My Overall Ranking in Madden 2005 was 43" Rosenfels. Super Bowl, here we come.

Jen...hurry home. I've got unwatched episodes of Dexter burning a hole in our coffee table. I'm dyin' here.

Random Observations

2009-01-16T21:37:00Z

There are many things that I should be doing right now: removing an ugly light fixture from my bathroom, washing dishes, writing about Woe, Bible of the Devil, or Bison B.C., eating an orange, teaching my dog how to lay down and fucking stay there. But I'm kinda fuzzy and warm right now, chilling out after an intense workout and listening to the Red Album. Relaxation.

Brain's moving, though. Some thoughts:

If an album has some variation on the word "resurrect" in it's title, it is guaranteed to suck. Guaran-fucking-teed.
I've been buying cheap things in large quantities at the grocery store, and it's not working out for me. I'm currently stuck with an gigantic tub of Folgers 100% Colombian coffee, and it tastes like syrupy black syrup with no taste. I also purchased a case of bottled water with the dubious label 'Artesian Fresh'. It has a mild aftertaste of frozen carrots. I am not pleased with this situation.
In Bruges is one of the best movies I've seen recently.
Death at a Funeral was not.
Heard a Trivium song on Music Choice today while I was writing a statement of owner's equity. They still sound like sonic dogshit.
I'm sitting down with some friends and some O'Douls Amber (sobriety rules....right?) to watch Ring of Honor's Rising Above PPV tonight. If there are any wrestling fans out there that have yet to give ROH a try, tonight is as good a night as any, with Nigel McGuiness defending his title against Bryan Danielson. 'Tis only fifteen bucks, and the main event is well worth the fee alone. What the original ECW was to hardcore, ROH is to technical wrestling and highspots. Do the damn thing, eh?
Soda Popinski is a fucking asshole.

Later.

The Ten Best Albums of 2008...

2009-01-07T13:59:00Z

...(in this dude's not-so-humble opinion).

To be fair, this list was complied before I heard Woe's A Spell For The Death of Man and Bible of the Devil's Freedom Metal. Those two amazing albums need some time to sink in before any alterations could be considered, and the official U.S. release date for Freedom Metal is January 14th, 2009, anyway. Regardless, at "press" time, this was my list. While this year was not nearly as illustrious as the last, there were certainly a solid handful of amazing albums to be found. The fact nearly all of them were total surprises only served to amplify their coolness.

1. Arsis - We Are The Nightmare

While James Malone and company have yet to recapture the brilliance that encapsulated their classic debut album, A Celebration of Guilt, this beast (their third LP), certainly makes a grand attempt. My initial infatuation with this band was predicated on their manipulation of Heartwork, ...And Justice For All, and Storm of the Light's Bane's DNA into a fresh and exhilarating cocktail of melodic death. This new effort sees Malone and new partner Ryan Knight pick up right where Chuck Schuldiner (prematurely) left progressive DM hanging, and the result is the world's finest blend of death-laden melody, high-octane technicality, and whip-smart anthemry. Simply put, this is a DM guitar-freak's dream, punctuated by some of the most acidic vocal expulsions in the business. A cornerstone of modern death metal, no question.

2. Grand Magus - Iron Will

I've been extremely verbose in professing my appreciation for this monstrous collision of traditional metal aesthetics. An iconic album that combines the band's ingrained, doomy heft with a newfound emphasis on the soaring, rousing songcraft, this is a full-on nutsack punch for all seasons. Remember when we used to listen to songs, not just an exploding clusterfuck of riffs and solos? This is that catapult throwback.

"...With each thundering bassline, each crackling riff...with every smokin', soulful guitar solo and blood-shaking croon that comes out of JB's monitors, Grand Magus chips away at the stone, carving its name into the pantheon of modern icons. Iron Will ROCKS, and it rocks harder than any goddamn record I've heard this year....(read more)"

3. Decrepit Birth - Diminishing Between Worlds

Singlehandedly, lead guitarist/songwriter Matt Sotelo and his band of not-so-merry men have decimated the teched-out/ultra-brutal wing of modern death metal. How, you ask? By wielding something that their sterilized peers wholeheartedly lack: soul. This is the go-to record for sprawling, epic-as-balls shreddery - pure class, pure metal, pure fun.

"...this is the finest DM offering since Behind The Shadows Lie Madness. Diminishing Between Worlds succeeds as not only a necessary reinvention (a point only underscored by the re-recording of "...And Time Begins" included herein), but also a measuring stick by which the veracity of brutal death metal albums shall be judged in the latter part of this decade. Is it perfect? Nope. But it's damn close....(read more)"

4. Warrel Dane - Praises To The War Machine

Somewhat misunderstood by the masses (a judgment based upon it's lukewarm reception, even among Neverheads) , Praises achieves exactly what a solo album should: it succeeds as an introspective, emotionally-charged platform for the unadulterated artistic vision of it's creator. Despite a disappointing effort by guitarist Peter Wichers, who eschews a Chainheart Machine-esque renaissance in favor of a laconic sturdiness that allows Warrel to spread his wings, this is a brutally profound work. From his electrifying covers of The Sisters of Mercy's "Lucretia My Reflection" and Paul Simon's "Patterns", to the somber storytelling of "This Old Man", this is arguably the finest performance to date by one of the genre's most revered and recognizable vocalists. This thing bleeds honesty, avoids pretense, and makes a serious connection.

5. Helrunar - Baldr Ok Íss

There's not much to say about this epic release that I haven't already stated previously. This dynamic, multi-faceted black metal album is of near-flawless execution. Subsequent lineup changes have likely rendered this a mere snapshot of brilliance, but this is definitely not one that should be left to rot in the annals of history. A gem, assuredly.

"...Helrunar disperse moderate helpings of clean singing and acoustic flavoring throughout the course of Baldr Ok Iss, keeping their folk element in play amid their fury. Their usage of these tricks is tasteful and seamless within the context of the album, an attribute associated with the most effective and authentic of bands; the truly elite need not club the listener over the head with their ethos and/or iconography, as it flows naturally through their art....(read more)"

6. Steve Von Till - A Grave Is A Grim Horse

Typically, I have an aversion to including non-metal works in year-end lists, but the impact that this thing has inflicted cannot go unmentioned. Rich and profound, this album wields and projects more raw, heartfelt heaviness than anything 2008 has seen. Achieving this type of soul-melting darkness while still clinging to a wistful glimmer of hope is no small feat; especially when done such a minimalistic fashion. Easily the year's biggest surprise, especially when considering that the man's main outfit, Neurosis, does not rank among my cherished collectives. A stunning piece.

7. Arghoslent - Hornets of the Pogrom

Certainly, it helps to be 'in the zone' in order to make this vile beast click properly, but holy hell - when the guitar/soul/gutpunch cylinders are all firing simultaneously, the beast rolls...and rolls hard. Cutting away some of the adrenaline-killing tempo shifts that sporadically curtailed Incorrigible Bigotry, the result is more even-keeled, but no less homicidal in its pointedness. Arghoslent gallop through the ruins with a clipping ferocity that is matched by few. Piling riff upon riff upon riff, this is a textbook for hellwrecking, melodic death dealing. A must-own for those with the stomach for such unbridled hatred.

8. Elite - We Own The Mountains

Riffs, man. They've been mentioned before (obviously, as they are the spine of our skeleton), but their importance cannot be understated. As evidenced by Helrunar's prominent spot on this list, the heightened profile of bands like Inquisition, and the cemented status of the legendary Immortal, the almighty riff is far from being abolished from black metal's top shelf. Droning dickery is out - proper, crisp, biting-as-fuck chordplay is in. Elite put on a clinic with We Own The Mountains, displaying an awesome knack for precision and punch that Taake and/or Khold would kill for. Elite, indeed.

9. Samothrace - Life's Trade

Solos, man. Last year's champ in this category, Amoral, shined for completely different reasons; their EVH backflip/fireball/machete-juggling is the antithesis of Samothrace's glorious, ascendant fretwork. This is an emotional expulsion of tar-soaked doom, punctuated by violent/delicate crescendoes that punctuate their slow-boiling, sorrow-laden wares. Few albums deliver a similar aortal grip.

"...Samothrace have not just taken surprise by the neck. They've squeezed every drop of vitality from its spinal column for cathartic purposes of their own benefit, not to mention that of the fortunate few that are savvy enough to partake in the poetic carnage....(read more)"

10. Nachtmystium - Assassins: Black Meddle pt. 1

Originally, Daylight Dies was in the cutoff slot here. But as beautifully masterful as their opus was, I have to give my last.fm charts their due. I listened to a veritable fuckton of Nachtmystium this year, and I have no idea why. I am completely indifferent to their back catalog, I usually detest "almost-black" metal, I outright loathe Pink Floyd, and, quite frankly, I think large portions of this record are flat-out lazy and hackish. But there's a weird brilliance at play here; one that I can't quite put my finger on. That, friends, is the mark of a cool album. When description eludes, bullshit drops away (funny, 'cause this album is packed with a lot of it). Fuck. See what I mean?

My ears love this album, but my brain doesn't. "It's on another plane, mannnnn."

"...Blake Judd and Co. have taken the full-on turn toward reinvention here, fully capitalizing on the influences and quirks that they've been cultivating for the past few years. Assassins is their long-brewing cashcrop, a violently potent bathtub gin made of ingredients that, on paper, seemingly go together like machetes and infants. Fortunately for all of us, it works astonishingly well....(read more)"

...and The Rest of the Best:

11. Daylight Dies - Lost to the Living

12. Ayat - Six Years of Dormant Hatred

13. Blaze Bayley - The Man Who Would Not Die

14. Krisiun - Southern Storm

15. Krallice - s/t

16. Volbeat - Guitar Gangsters and Cadillac Blood

17. Coffins - Buried Death

18. Darkthrone - Dark Thrones and Black Flags

19. Torche - Meanderthal

20. Equilibrium - Sagas

Half Killer, Half Filler:

Metallica - Death Magnetic
Septic Flesh - Communion
Satyricon - The Age of Nero

2008's Biggest Disappointments:

Kataklysm - Prevail
Neuraxis - The Thin Line Between
Poisonblack - A Dead Heavy Day

The 11th Hour

2008-11-02T05:49:00Z

I watch cable news. Quite a bit of it, actually - some would argue to a degree of pointlessness.

I talk about politics. Quite often, to be sure - whether it's at work, at home, or over the phone, the subject comes up often.

So when I come to MetalReview with a sweaty PBR in one hand and a fistful of heavy metal in the other, the last thing I want to write about is this seemingly unending presidential contest that has captivated our collective conciousness. The merits of Blaze Bayley's latest solo album? Sure, I'll defend that. The hypnotic awesomeness of Krallice's self-titled disc? Consider it vouched for. However, I tend to avoid the intense-as-all-fuckall Obama/McCain debate, because despite the fact that my mind has been made up for quite awhile, I still feel uneasy/nervous/jittery about pontificating about the damn thing. Besides, it's doubtful that Obama would benefit from another Reverend's endorsement - this time that of a long-haired, tattooed asshole with a long history of inflamatory remarks and general douchebaggery. But here it goes:

I, Reverend Jordan Campbell, wholeheartedly endorse Barack Obama for President of the United States.

There are many reasons for this, and I will go into (moderate) detail as to why I support his candidacy. But first, I need to be clear as to why I do not support Senator John McCain, beyond the fact that I cannot identify - at all - with a 72-year-old man that cannot give an honest answer when asked about the number of homes he owns. This is not a smear-campaign. I am not a wannabe pundit, I'm a voter.

The first area of concern, compounded with his age and history of melanoma (one of the deadliest forms of cancer), is his service and imprisonment during the Vietnam War. There is no way a human being can endure that type of trauma without carrying long-lasting and deeply-carved scars, many of which adversely affect a person's temperament an decisionmaking abilities. My mother's ex-husband was a Vietnam veteran that was employed by the VA as a psychologist. Each day, he administered therapy to countless veterans - veterans that had their brains flame-broiled by the fires of hell and were forced to relive the trauma on a daily basis. Despite his right-wing ideology, Texas-bred authoritarianism, and significant lack of social skills, he was a normal, functional human being that provided a great home and ample financial opportunity to my mother and half-sister. While my personality didn't mesh with theirs (leading to my exit from the household at age 14), he had proven to be, at the very least, a well-respected individual by the estimation of both his family and his peers.

A half-decade after my exit, however, his behavior started to change. He began drinking bourbon with increased frequency - in seclusion from the rest of the family. He started to carry a loaded handgun while letting the poodle out for it's nightly piss, in fear of what may lurk in the backyard. Amidst other issues that shall go unmentioned, his behavior pipebombed their marriage into a mess of distrust, intimidation, violence, and emotional wreckage. After a harrowing and protracted legal battle, my mother finally reached a divorce settlement, as the VA concluded that my stepfather had become 100% mentally ill. This fall from grace - this freefall from the pedestal of a respected professor and psychologist into the throes of a psychotic meltdown - was striking in it's swiftness.

There's no reason believe that the same thing couldn't happen to someone like John McCain, especially as he reaches the twilight of his life. If he had picked a logical running mate - a Tim Pawlenty, a Bobby Jindal, a Richard Lugar - the issue wouldn't be as scary. But this...this...

(Please visit the site to view this media)

...is fucking scary. The fact that he would place someone with such an embarrassing lack of knowledge on basic issues (the Bush doctrine, the First Amendment, etc...) a heartbeat away from the Presidency, simply to energize the uneducated, gun-clutching, God-fearing, starry-eyed philistines that make up the majority of the Red State base, is outright shocking to me. Especially since I have been following McCain's career since his 2000 bid for the Republican nomination. At that time, when I clung to a more fiscally conservative worldview, I had hoped that McCain would secure that nomination and go on to lead our country. But this is not the same man that I admired eight years ago.

No, that man had fully embodied the "Straight Talk" that he claims to espouse, but now wholeheartedly lacks. Back then, he played by his own rules, displayed a steadfast determination, and was a trustworthy anomaly among a sea of swine. Ultimately, he was defeated. A victim of his own design, he was beaten down and smeared by a hateful, win-at-all-cost campaign. To the Senate he slunk, nary making a noise (beyond stirring shit up with Russ Feingold on campaign finance reform...way to make a difference, Johnny) while George W. Bush ran this country into nearly-insurmountable debt, crippling the value of our currency and diminishing our stature among other world leaders.

When McCain re-emerged eight years later to defeat a Jesus-fellating crackpot (Mike Huckabee), a neoconservative warmonger (Rudy Guiliani), and a used-car salesman (Mitt Romney), I thought we were in for a riveting contest, one which I would be debating within myself for months. However, this McCain is different. I don't know if he's letting himself be molded by his handlers (effectively snuffing out his "maverick" tag), or he's just become a desperate old man that will do anything to complete the legacy he feels "entitled" to, but he's become alien to me. Tt's as if a freakish, horrifying creature from another galaxy has donned a rubber McCain mask, and is running around the country spewing baseless attacks at anyone that will listen, flashing an ultra-creepy pedo-smile everytime he says something remotely witty (or avoids walking into an inanimate object). While struggling with my feelings towards McCain and how to verbalize them, Jon Stewart sent me a lightning rod of frankness in the midst of a recent interview with Bill Kristol, basically ripping the words from my throat at the 5:21 mark.

Bottom line: McCain and I have trust issues.

He'll do anything to win, besides come up with a reason why you should vote for him, instead of against Obama. On the issues that I have deemed most important, his positions are, at best, ambiguous. At worst, they simply don't exist. Despite the American public's shift in focus to the ecomony as Issue Numero Uno, my main concern has always been the Iraq War, because only a fool would think that the two issues aren't joined at the arthritic hip. As we spend billions of dollars each month on this war, our national debt rises to astronomical levels. This effectively does three things: First, it weakens our dollar, which tightens the vise on working-class Americans like myself that are geting their asses kicked at the gas pump and the grocery line. Second, it weakens our standing as the world's only "true" superpower; if China is buying all of this debt (which they are), that means that a significant chunk of our country's net worth is in control of teh world's most rapidly-advancing nation - in my eyes, this is a much larger threat to our national security than a bunch of empty aluminum tubes. Lastly, it adversely effects our own citizens, because we don't have the money to spend on our ourselves. We unable to invest in transportation solutions, new job initiatives, and the education that is needed to bolster our workforce and generate revenue. I don't give a FUCK about the Iraqi people. I never have, and I never will. There is absolutely no reason why we should be spending money on them while our own citizens are being fucked, and fucked hard. John McCain has no plans for withdrawal, yet cannot define the term "victory in Iraq". He has no plan for advancement.

Barack Obama has a plan.

And he's consistently laid out his plans in stump speeches, interviews, and debates. Not just on this particular issue (an issue which has been pushed to the wayside by people that refuse to peer their eyes over their paycheck stubs and look at the bigger picture), but on the most important issues we face as a nation. In my eyes, these are our country's infrastructure and health care. While there is absolutely no way we can afford a universal health care program at this juncture (again, due to the wasteful Iraq endeavor) Obama's health care plan is exponentially better than the laughable proposals that McCain has attempted to defend over the course of their 3 debates. Granted, these things will cost money, and it will have to come out of our pockets. The one thing that McCain has done well over the course of his campaign is force Obama to play the numbers game when it comes to taxes.

So the "Joe the Plumber" debate rages, as Obama has played into the trap, forced to defend his tax policies concerning those that make 250k per year (or 200k per year, depending on the day). Thing is, I don't make anywhere near 200k per year, so, quite frankly, I don't give a fuck about what he's going to do to this tax bracket. I'm sure if I was making 225k, I'd be freaking out right now, but it doesn't fucking mattter to me. What does matter to me, is that McCain is spewing the tired "tax and spend liberal" mantra, and is claiming to never raise taxes, but still has no qualms about spending billions of dollars per month on Iraq. Those that are getting upset over a possible 3% tax increase should be even more upset over the fact that this ever-acculumating war debt is in danger of crippling our economy and rendering our currency a lame-ass cousin of the peso.

Barack Obama has sensible, tangible ideas about the direction of this country. Whether all those ideas will be winners? Fuck, time will tell. His... original message of "change", which has since been bastardized to the point of irrelevance, still rings true with me. As a society, we haven't really tried anything new over the course of my lifetime, because the Reagan Era has instilled a "me first" attitude into the majority of our citizens. This is not the time where we should be looking out for Number One, strengthening our individual pockets of land within our country. Our country has seen it's greatest success while functioning as a unified whole, taking care of our fellow citizens and setting the gold standard for democracy across the globe. Now is not the time for selfish quibbling, divisive fear-mongering, xenophobia, and misplaced doubt. We must move forward.

It's painfully obvious that the last eight years have been a disaster, and the economy is in need of adjustment. From health care to the auto industry, we need to tweak the knobs and tighten the screws - in some cases, we need to sledge and rebuild. And we need to do it from as a unified front; one nation, one country of many different people and views that can come together and get shit done. Obama has displayed a centrist, proactive approach thus far, which is in stark contrast to the gridlock I envision from a McCain administration - the communication breakdown between them and arrogant fuckwads like Nancy Pelosi and Harry Reid would result in another four years of inaction. We can't afford that.

We cannot afford more war. We need to take care of our own people. We need to unite.

Barack Obama can be the catalyst.

(Please visit the site to view this media)

Vote on November 4th.

Lucid Interval I: Communion

2008-08-01T14:55:00Z

Now, while MetalReview hasn't significantly contributed to the buzz surrounding Septicflesh's "comeback" album, Communion (okay, we didn't review it, so we haven't contributed at all) this is not because it is undeserving of attention.

Communion is a bombastic, bloated beast that's been pumped full of pomp and spit-polished to high hell. And, frankly, about half of it is pretty uninteresting - the massive death metal elements are too often eschewed in favor of overblown orchestration and iffy atmoshperics. But sometimes -not often enough- they manage to fire their cylinders simultaneously and stir some serious shit. The two greatest examples of this? The absolutely cavernous title track, which, combined with the band's projected artistic identity, encapsulates their intentions perfectly; and the gracefully melodic Sunlight Moonlight, which is one of the best singles that I've stumbled across this year. Unfortunate that the rest of the album ranges from mediocre to merely above-average, but perfection is tough to tackle.

Mixed feelings? Damn right, but Septicflesh has a knack for evil that's pretty damn sexy, despite the flaws.

--This post is the first of a weekly series. I will provide a song or two for weekend jamming, with the intention of drumming up converstation, debate, and interest in bands and music that are both high and low-profile, heavy metal and non.--

Note to Favre: We Don't Care

2008-07-10T15:16:00Z

I don't like Brett Favre.

The source of my derision is fairly simple. I'm a diehard Minnesota Viking fan, and therefore have been bred to loathe anything associated with the Green Bay Packers: their putrid uniforms, the combined arrogance and ignorance of their "my-wife-and-I-have-had-matching-Starter-jackets-since-1997-but-have-only-washed-them-twice" fanbase, and the grossly inflated ego of Brett "Redneck Jesus" Favre, the NFL's Interception King. Now, that last point of frustration is a fairly recent development. Until recently, I (and the majority of Viking fans) have carried a burden of measured respect for the 3-TIme MVP. His talent was undeniable, and he has consistently been one of the most visually exciting players in the league. Favre had been the face of the Packers for as long as I can remember --the Don Majkowski era is a but a hazy flash in the depths of my skull-- and while the rivalry was usually venomous, the play and enthusiasm that Number 4 displayed was usually --usually-- beyond serious criticism.

But recent years have seen his level of respect plummet. After each season would come to a close, the man would hem and haw and piss and twiddle over the subject of his retirement, always pussyfooting around the issue in order to drum up media attention. Everyone aside from the Wisco Faithful and John "The thing I love about Brett Favre..." Madden saw through his charade and grew tired of it quickly, and last year, Packers GM Ted Thompson finally had enough. Ultimatum was given: Fucking Make Up Your Mind Already, Jackass. Dude made up his mind and retired. Thousands of cheeseheads slit their wrists, thousands of Bear and Viking fans shrugged and said "Hmm. This will be kinda strange...", and hundreds of Lion fans didn't give a shit, because they have Jon Kitna and The Guiding Hand of God to lead them to another 5-win season.

But lo and behold, not even three fucking months after seemingly accepting the fact that his indescretions were costing his team victories and that he's simply too goddamn old, Mr. Favre is expressing "interest" in returning to the game, and is expecting everyone --fans, teammates, coaching staff, media-- to fawn over him as he strings everyone along. Again. The latest development is that Favre, seemingly upset that the Milwaukee Journal-Sentinel has been devoting a majority of its coverage to the Brewers' chase for the pennant, sent Ted Thompson a text message stating his desire to return. Thompson's reply? I'll get back to you in a week, when I return from vacation.

So what should that tell you, Brett Favre? Because your perception of the sentiment of those involved is minimal, and because both Ted and the Packer faithful are too brainwashed and vaginalized to tell you, I'll say it: They want you to fuck off and get over yourself. The team has moved on, the state has moved on, and you are not, I repeat, you are not bigger than the team. Take your fucking ball and go home to Mississippi, because the NFC North is over you. Buck up and accept it, and stop pissing all over yourself, your career, and whatever respect your rivals have had for you over the past decade and a half. If you are going to make a big, tearful, bloated pageant about something in public, have the integrity and self-respect to stand by your word. Stay retired, old man.

Is all this vitriol partially due to the fact that I am clamoring to see Jared Allen knock the living shit out of Aaron Rodgers? Sure. But the root of the issue is that everyone is sick of Brett Favre right now...except Brett Favre himself.