I must be out of my mind cuz I was half in guuguu land after getting home from the world's least lively office dinner when the idea came to put on the Heat-Hawks game dvr'd from tonight, yknow the Hawt series. Just in the background whilst I descend into slumberrr. And if you're wondering how long it took for me to get sucked into the game: about 1:03 left in the first. Then came the numerous near-fights and that shitty flagrant foul charged to Wade. World's ugliest game. And here we are. 

Anyway speaking of not lively, jog on over to MetalSucks to feast your eyes on the antiseptic, apologetic language I employ to describe the new Lacuna Coil. I love that shit but it's exactly like writing about a single potato chip: basic. Plus you have to avoid giving too much lip service to Cristina Scabbia's bod (above). Also check the comments that imply there's a direct correlation between the high rating of LC's Shallow Life and the MetalSucks interview granted by the super-dish Scabbia herself a couple weeks ago. Cmonnn am I that easy? Let's just make it official that I don't soft-pedal the review for less than a smooch from Scabbia. In front of my friends. And she'd sign a notarized document describing the event. Tons of pictures. Oh also in the review, I referred to the LC guitarists as vaginas. So yeah. Nighty!



We all love it when an awesome thing is added to an already awesome thing. Awesome + Awesome = Awwwwesome. Awesrageous, even. Examples spring to mind: crunch berries (to Cap'n Crunch), Pau Gasol (Lakers), Heather Graham's tits (Boogie Nights), and the hilarious and electric Bob Odenkirk (Sunday night's Breaking Bad). I'm a worshipper of the latter's work on Mr. Show (with the now-insufferable David Cross plus the broad who, like Adam Sandler, was great in Punch Drunk Love but sucks in everything else) and Seinfeld (the almost-doctor that dated Elaine) which basically means I'm among Odenkirk's biggest fans. Still he blew my fucking mind the other night in his straightest role: a plain-speaking, innocently prickish Nightmare Lawyer. The kind with bald-faced contempt for the law, the kind that causes sweaty freak-outs in Republican chowderheads, the kind that indirectly defends the precepts of real, definable liberty as an end not just means to justify political and social misdeeds (though mainly for selfish reasons). He's a criminal lawyer, to quote one of the show's characters. James Woods in True Believer, if I may. 

Now you're stroking your monogrammed cigarette case, pondering a conspicuous absence from our chocolate-to-peanut butter happiness list. And yes, it's history's biggest fail of all marriages of terrific to superb: former Coroner guitarist Tommy Baron's joining legendary Cherman thrashists Kreator. Man, Kreator sucked at that time, and Baron threw away some killer solos on Endorama. His tone makes my butthole all tingly on the otherwise hideous "Golden Age" (above, worst outro since the "Invisible Touch" 12" dance mix). Kreator frontman Mille Petrozza will probably tell you he has no regrets about going all Megadeth/KMFDM and shit. In some ways, Petrozza and I are very different people.



The whole thing where a past-their-prime band performs one of their classic albums on tour is kinda ugh. For one, some songs are best confined to the album; it's kinda fun that way. My other beef is that my experience is never enhanced by -- nay, usually poisoned by -- prior knowledge of the setlist. But if I had to vote, I'd say do Pump + the outtake ("Deuces Are Wild" above). So far, Joe Perry's pulling for Toys In The Attic. But has he really thought this through? "You See Me Crying"? "Big Ten Inch Record"? Just a suggestion. It's not like I'm gonna take it to court; I'm not from Maui! From Blabbermouth:
According to The Maui News, Aerosmith will perform on Maui and provide free tickets to more than 8,000 ticket buyers to settle a class-action lawsuit over its canceled 2007 concert. An attorney said the new concert date hasn't been determined but will probably be sometime in the fall.

Court papers filed last week against AEROSMITH claimed that the band received almost $400,000 in insurance money for scrapping the September 29, 2007 Maui gig. The papers alleged that AEROSMITH pulled out of the sold-out show in favor of both a larger concert in Chicago and a more lucrative private show at the University of Hawaii.

The suit claimed that the canceled show cost ticketholders anywhere between $500,000 and $3 million in travel costs, ticketing fees and other nonrefundable charges. Lawyers for the fans said that Aerosmith made more money in insurance fees by canceling, getting $394,000 as opposed to the $250,000 the band would have earned for playing the show.
I think Steven Tyler is a god and everything, but even his powers won't be sufficient to save this concert from total awkwardness. The people of greater Maui are in desperate need of Aerosmith, it appears, and will involve the law to get it. Does this mean I get to sue my sophomore year girlfriend, who totally went back on her promise to give it up just as soon as she got back from family vacation? Well look we could bicker and argue about who didn't bang whom and who cancelled what concert but let's just say that the people of Maui are getting their frickin concert already. Or Aerosmith will be arrested, apparently. You're next, Cathy! 



Something kinda occurred to me while listening to Testament's Live In Eindhoven re-issue (MetalSucks review here). The album is a snapshot of  an awesome band at a pre-maturity stage and therefore represents a nagging wish of mine to time-travel to when my girlfriend was still a teenager. Y'know when she was like 18 and hadn't yet been consumed by evil. Back before she fell into the habit of getting a new set of friends every couple years and communicating only in a guttural growl, like Testament around the Demonic era. Back when she was young and as-yet unembittered, and rarely fell from sight for years at a time; Testament disappeared after The Gathering but considerately publicized that they were dealing with singer Chuck Billy's cancer. For all I know my gf was shooting dwarf-bangs in Singapore. Fuck. 



It's bittersweet to wrap up yet another roaring SteveWeek here at HooM! The anniversary of Steve Marriott's death was Monday, and five Humble Pie-packed days later, we bookend nicely with some movie news, seemingly unrelated. Or is it? Cuz director Sam Peckinpah, also prematurely dead, would strangle somebody if he were alive to witness the forthcoming remake of his masterpiece Straw Dogs. Which will be set in the deep South, not rural England like the original and pretty much all creepy, rainy movies. So the connection to Marriott is a similar situation concerning Mr. Big (ack!) and their cover of Humble Pie's "30 Days In The Hole" on their dreadful 1989 debut. Oh sorry I meant dread ... fully great first album. Happy!


I'd been in a bad mood for like 10 years by the time grunge came around, so it felt offensive that bands were suddenly depriving me of gonzo antics and fantastical lyrics about barfing on groupies while having sex with helicopters. Uh you know what I mean: Shit got serious. Feelings, etc. Anyway it's understandable that pop radio whores like Warrant and the newly Vince Neil-less Motley Crue would scramble to kinda shift the emphasis of their outmoded sound. Yep the E word. But this alternative shit was so serious that even Metal bands were all dazed and tentative after the dual concussive blows of The Black Album and Nevermind. Yeah so it took me a minute to see past that to Warrant disavowing themselves fairly well on "The Hole In My Wall" (above) from 1992's Dog Eat Dog. (Remember when that band Dog Eat Dog named their next record Warrant? Good one.) And fuck it, I like "Down Incognito" (omg hilarious video) off Winger's Pull (snicker x10000) album. 



I'm pretty sure we all agree about the existence of certain records that are so awesome as to render you incredulous before detractors. I'm pretty sure we don't agree about what those records actually are (Arise super-yes, Chaos A.D. super-no), but somehow I have the vague sense that one of the most agreed-upon classics is Voivod's masterful Nothingface record. It's so quirky and hi-tech, like Star Trek. Or the 'Pigs In Space' sketch on The Muppet Show. Anyway the point is I'm compelled to neck-punch the first luckless dork who admits to even being indifferent to this record. And I'm not even like that. The last time I punched somebody was years ago and trust me that mail lady had it coming. You've been great!


OK this rumor first popped up on April Fools' Day and I assumed I was being made fun of in a really accurate and cute way but fuckin-A this shit is actually happening. That's according to the rather suspect Deep Purple Appreciation Society. I mean, whom do we count among this society? If we're talking Bruce Dickinson and the other guys from Skunkworks, it deserves credibility. But, just as likely, these appreciators of the deep and purple are grody bald guys with ponytails. Anyway, the good news!
The 20th anniversary re-master of Whitesnake's Slip Of The Tongue is set for release in mid-June. Both are the combined CD/DVD type and come in nice digipacks. The DVD content is a mix of promos and live tracks. 

Slip Of The Tongue:
  •  The original 1989 masterpiece
  • "Now You're Gone" (U.S. Remix)
  • "Fool For Your Loving" (The Vai Voltage Mix)
  • "Slip Of The Tongue" (Live At Donnington 1990)
  • "Kittens Got Claws" (Live At Donnington 1990)
Slip Of The Tongue DVD:
  • "Fool For Your Loving" (promo clip)
  • "Now You're Gone" (promo clip)
  • "The Deeper The Love" (promo clip)
  • "The Deeper The Love" (Live Acoustic 1997 from Starkers In Tokyo)
  • "Sailing Ships" (Live Acoustic 1997 from Starkers In Tokyo)
  • "Judgement Day" (Live 2006 from Live... In The Still Of The Night DVD)
  • "Slip Of The Tongue" (Live At Donnington 1990)
  • "Kittens Got Claws" (Live At Donnington 1990)
So it looks like those countless nights lying on my back with my eyes squeezed shut and this record cranked, praying for a thunderous, cacophonous remaster of the mind-bending guitar orgy that is Slip Of The Tongue have paid off for all of us. Unfortunately, those countless nights lying on my back with my eyes squeezed shut, praying for Slide It In to be wiped from the very annals of history have not paid off. All the same, I'm intoxicated by these newfound powers and have tyrannically deleted any allusion to that chunk of shit in the excerpt up there -- and performed surgery on the cruddy PR copy. Now I gotta invoice frontman David Coverdale for 1.5 hours. Or we could settle right now with a new SotT to play and one to stitch into the lining of my coffin.  



Sunday night's Rock of Love Bus reunion show was omg hilar. To start, host Rikki Rachtman called RoLB star Bret Michaels "a true icon in the world of Rock 'n Roll." Dude. Next, the kooky spiritual belly dancer chick also described the dignity-free rocker, concluding that Michaels is 'distracted by the physical world' before putting some shit on his forehead and urging him to find peace. The tone of good-intentioned but retarded sentiment was shattered when the angry chick ("SIX FIGURES") throttled hot-ass Kelsey. Then the horse-sized stripbot and her partner, a character from a John Waters movie, definitively resolved the origin of RoLB's Blonde-tourage. Then the vagina-shot girl, a Darkest Hour fan, said she's sober now. But most hilariously surreal is that again, Michaels chose as his Rock of Love Bus not the hot whiny chick with the yokel accent but the mindless centerfold with her fake-ass drama. It's all so unbelievable.

In other head-slappingly dumb news, stupid band Kiss is confirmed for Cisco Ottawa Bluesfest. Cuz we all enjoy the distinct bluesy feel of "Love Gun" and "Strutter." What, is Canada like the BizarroWorld now? Maybe they should change the name to Whitesfest. 


Everybody knows John Sykes is the brains behind Whitesnake's 1987 self-titled record and the preposterous/awesome Blue Murder debut. But apparently the brains behind John Sykes is Spinal Tap's Nigel Tufnel, whom Sykes recalls with disturbing ease during a solo onstage in 1984 (above) replete with sudden stops, telltale wind-ups, and aimless, tuneless wanking. Somebody in the crowd should've tossed him a violin



Here's a shocker. Vince Neil is no longer the most cold-blooded murderer of Motley Crue songs. Reel in your monocle, sir, for I insist that even Neil's most breathless, nasally disaster towers over the shrill, cardboard shriekfest being perpetrated on humankind by Carrie Underwood. Plus she's dedicated hers to animal rescue efforts. I've never preferred Motley Crue to anything so this is all so new. I hope Taylor Swift retaliates with a hanky-shredding version of "House of Pain" or "Ballad of Jayne" or some shit. I for one shall avenge my ears with some jugcentric pics of Underwood. 


Like you, I am upset and perplexed by this strange modern world, where the Pistons can't beat the Cavs and isolated losers and celebrity perverts illuminate for each other the profound banality of existence using a website whose name I'm certain is Australian slang for some unspeakably foul and hilarious sex act. But anyway, I can cope with that shit with drugs but yet to exist is a narcotic potent enough to blot from my memory this godless, tumorous endeavor we call Chickenfoot. Great god the stench! From Blabbermouth:
Chickenfoot, the new rock supergroup comprised of drummer Chad Smith (Red Hot Chili Peppers), bassist Michael Anthony (ex-Van Halen), guitarist Joe Satriani and vocalist Sammy Hagar (ex-Van Halen), has issued the following update:

"Beyond our expectations, the nine road-test shows sold out all tickets in record time. The band was blown away by your response and can't wait to take the show on the road!

"Please remember that all shows require photo ID to enter the venue, so we advise you to NOT buy tickets from online ticket brokers.

"Chickenfoot will be back in August and September to play a major North American tour. Due to the size of the venues for these shows, we do not forsee any issues with pre-sale availability."
Wow look at those two screaming ex-Van Halens up there. That shit is loud. Ok my attorneys always encourage me to sidestep oncoming freak-outs by finding the bright side of hideous, soul-mangling super-disasters like a rock band featuring The Red Rocker, beardless Michael Anthony (I know! What the fuck!), the least essential member of earth's most deceptively shitty frat band, and the public relations nightmare Satch. And it's called CHICKENFOOT. More like Dickinbutt

Oh yeah sorry -- something positive K I got it: The band is thwarting ticket resellers by requiring photo ID to match the ticket order. Otherwise, some fatass in his pajamas could be ordering up tickets in Bumfuck, Tennessee before selling them at a profit to TicketsNow or whatever, who in turn sell them at a profit to honest but s.o.l. concertgoers. Well at least that's what this piteous jackass told me a bunch of times. 



Those following the NBA season have been treated to a tragedy fit for Shakespeare concerning Kevin Garnett of reigning champs the Boston Celtics. Since their victory last June -- well before then, in fact -- Garnett and crew have favored a dickish, bully attitude and shamefully unfun conduct on the court. Sure, you're saying the Tics at their worst don't even approach the embarrassing bratery of Lebron James' Cavaliers, with their in-game celebrations and uninterrupted hot-dogging. Fuck them too.

Anyway, Garnett was struck down with a knee injury and now Boston repeat hopes are nowhere. Therefore one must conclude that Garnett defied the gods, arrogantly turned his back on general sportsmanship and class, and is now banished to the locker room. Ok that metaphor got tangled up but the important thing here is HA HA HA. Know what this whole thing reminds me of? Iron Maiden, obviously, and the daffily operatic "Flight of Icarus" (above).  


I spend a lot of time gobbling cookies and reading rock bios, the male counterpart to the housewife jug of ice cream w/romance novel. This is ironclad evidence that I'm a loser, but one benefit of all that pathetic fantacizing is the joy of watching as Steve Marriott of Humble Pie pops up in dozens of rock history tomes, He auditioned for Mick Taylor's spot in The Rolling Stones. AC/DC first thought of him to replace the late Bon Scott. He influenced every muscian who's ever sat for an interview, and they without exception laud him as the greatest white blues rock voice ever ever ever. Not to mention his songwriting, guitar playing, band leadership, totally 'it' personality, and rather corking taste in duds. The first time I typed that taste in dudes. And how wise of me to point that out. 

Marriott died on this day in 1991, when his asshole house caught fire while the rocker slumbered. I hate this fucking expression but here goes Do yourself a favor and take time on Weed Day to gander up at the George Washington on my Mount Stevemore, Steve Marriott, mega-badass. If the monster-riff/screaming tone/godly hooks of Humble Pie cause your wang/wangina to excessively tingle and throb, it's not lame for you to step over to Marriott's barely less awesome band The Small Faces if you're feeling foppish. That was his band from age 18 - 22. He was so cool that he died on 420. 



The 2008-09 NBA season came to a end last night and honestly, one of the highlights was the maturation of rookie commentator Jon Barry. He was downright pithy and amusing in the closing weeks, after four months of Reggie Miller-esque numbskull blathering. But unlike Miller, who every Thursday steals precious years from Marv Albert's life with his retarded shit, Barry has improved! A lot, as it turns out! He's basketball commentary's David Coverdale, whose suckass band Whitesnake sucked ass until 1987, when the pouty singer was forced to ratchet up his game to match John fucking Sykes. (Later, to match Steve Vai on Slip Of The Tongue, a bombastic guitarathon matched only by the Sykes-led Blue Murder's eponymous debut that SAME YEAR!) 

Sykes' work on Whitesnake's self-titled 1987 record was so awesome that Coverdale just sang over it at the MTV Video Music Awards (above), forcing his stooges (looking at you Campbell) to dance around like drunken walruses. Oh and Coverdale rubs the microphone on his cock. Yeah he's good. That Tawny Kitaen is one lucky lady.



HooM! is your supersource for silly rants and the latest casualty was Voivod, whose upcoming record Infini unveiled artwork this week. What I meant to write (before the uh tangent) was that the band is doing an amazing job with this guitarist transition. They completed two albums without Piggy's total participation, and for touring purposes, they quietly acquired a smiley guitarist who plays the parts good. And now that the last of Piggy's work is set to go, it seems perfectly natural that they tour more, and maybe follow that with a greatest hits tour celebration (with Faith No More please please). Then do a record with the new guy. He seems cool. 


Tonight for dinner, I treated myself to some delicious pasta with spicy cod roe. Really minimal, but a flavor explosion. Just try not to acknowledge that your teeth are smashing thousands of little fish babies. It's a genocide. It's like the hugest abortion. On pasta. Yum!

Another thing I was thinking about while working out to Extreme (above) was that with the 76ers' loss against Boston on Tuesday, the Bulls have slithered into the 6 spot! It said in the paper that those chumpknobs are over .500 at 41-40! Ag! Oh and get this Macy's is having a menswear sale, but sigh I already overspent on bath towels and a blender. In other news, some emo dicklesses and Disturbed-apologists don't like hazy, incoherent writing like my recap of the Revolver thing at MetalSucks.  Who wants a smoothie??



Hey the new Voivod record Infini has a release date (early July) and artwork (above, too small guys), but thanks to a decrease in Voivod visibility and a rise in pussy-ass shit, other release date/artwork non-news is taking all the attention. In this case, Killswitch Engage and their forthcoming album produced by a slumming Brenden O'Brian. 

One wonders if -- in their honest moments -- the pleadcore/brocore bands realize they are are post-911 hair rock? It's like Godsmack and Disturbed and Shinedown are the really light stuff, like Slaughter, Poison, Warrant. The scream-scream-whine-whine bands are the next step up, good players who are heavier than the poofs. But they stick to the poof subject matter (girls/partying; broken hearts/you bitch/lifting weights) while attracting the male dollar by being tough and intense. Motley Crue. I guess the Badlands-Junkyard-BulletBoys-Dangerous Toys guys are represented by Warbringer and Municipal Waste, bands informed by the previous era's heaviest. It's like hair rock just got a lot heavier and less fun. 


Goddamn I tell you hhwhat Vinnie Paul is fucking nice as shit. I didn't get a killer black carpet spot at the Revolver Golden Grahams Awards (unlike some big shots with pfft cameras and pssh microphones), but all the same, Vinnie ambled down to have a lively chat like a righteous cat. Dime was murdered, and Vinnie suffered only a slightly better fate, alive and well but chained to the ghost of his bandmate, partner, best friend, and brother. We love you Vinnie. 

That VP was so fit to rap is an astounding feat for someone recently quizzed by a lot of really Red Bulled guys with wack questions (above, e.g.). I suppressed a shudder when he admitted to being a golfer, but he pulled me right back with the hilarious theme hole ideas. (I have a suggestion for the Judass Priest hole.) That shit wasn't ad libbed was it, So either he's serious about this Rock N' Roll Country Club (all rights reserved HooM! 2009) or he's doing material. Either way huuuggggggsssssss.  

Join the embrace. Read the MetalSucks recap of the Revolver Epiphone Honda Fury Golden Gods awards brought to you by MySpace Music, MTV2, Affliction Clothing, Sinful Clothing, Sirius/XM, Century Media Records, Roadrunner Records, Prosthetic Records, E1 Entertainment, Nuclear Blast, Snap Jack, Guitar World, Metal Hammer and Peavey.



Don't be alarmed but Motley Crue plans to play their entire Dr. Feelgood album on the upcoming Crue Fest 2 tour. It's a Motley Crue record, so its dud-riddled and surprisingly pretentious. I mean is it really time for change, Nikki? More like time for you to shut it, dude. Anyway, though a Motley Crue record, three of its songs are outrageously good and it clearly represents their finest hour. Oh by the way have you heard the news? Well, according to unconfirmed reports from the Crue camp, she goes down! She goes down. She goes down down down and down once again. All night long.

Another story we've been following here at HooM! is Vince Neil's brutal attack on melody at a March 13 concert, where the windless blubberpot repeatedly bludgeoned correct pitch and timing before thousands of those willing to part with money and precious time to see that abomination. It's over Motley Crue get the fuck off the stage. Sorry, that's not cool to say that. What I mean is Motley Crue get the motherfuck off the stage, you windbags. Stop swindling people! Sorry again for saying that. Motley Crue really brings out the dick in me. Wait.


Dave Mustaine never fails to make himself sound totally desperate, especially when answering the 20+ year question of whether he's kept pace with his former mates in Metallica, now inducted into the ahem Rock And Roll Hall Of Fame in Ohio. If only Lars Ulrich were asked about Megadeth half as frequently Mustaine is asked about Metallica. Mustaine talks to MTV:
This is one of the most exciting stretches of my life. Shit, I was just talking to Ulrich the other day on the phone, and asking me to go to the Metallica Hall Of Fame [induction] — and although we have differing opinions on what person should be inducted for it or not, and it didn't turn out that he felt that I should be inducted, so I passed — but I talked to him. And people are asking about us doing dates with Slayer again.
While I wouldn't argue if Mustaine were to be inducted, it's fairly obvious that it shouldn't be as a member of Metallica. That would reduce Dave's achievements to those of a early contributor to an immature band. Does that make sense? It's Megadeth for which Mustaine is great; not for contributions to the infancy of the would-be greatest Metal band in history.




I'm a surprising guy and, as such, I often surprise myself. Like when ranking 2008's Metal to find the three best records each belong to styles I don't really dig. (Today on HooM! It's out-of-mode lingo day!) My bag is neither Gojira's march-metal nor the kinda too intense BDM of Hate Eternal. One's too drony and serious while Brutal Death Metal doesn't exactly make gentle love to the ear. BDM kinda just rams it in, usually without so much as a handshake. So, in the end (sorry), my timid and endless love for Fury & Flames, like the subtle but unmistakable lust in the voice of Lacuna Coil's Cristina Sabbia as I interviewed her brains out on MetalSucks, was a pleasant surprise. 

So talking about unexpected shit, we'd have to mention Protest The Hero, of Canada somewhere. I'd look it up but won't. Hearing Protest The Hero for the first time in 2008 for me was like Mom showing up at school, my forgotten lunch in hand. At first I'm like I told you to never call me here! but on the other hand CHEETOS! I'd prefer to look at that lunch as payment, her gift to the village elder in exchange for safe passage through the forbidden zone where parents were intensely unwelcome and powerless. As if at any moment, I would shriek at her No, lady, don't take me for a ride in your nearly-windowless van again! and an angry mob would throw her down a well. In a way, the melodies of Protest The Hero's Fortress are the Cheetos, my mom is five beardos from Canada, and the well is Heavy Metal Prison. I think I fucked up that analogy. 

 Singer Rody Walker is a heavyweight, no bullshit, but he's what we call 'hard to hear.' Too many polysyllables, too obsure, too much background noise. I am able to sing the words to no more than 4-6 complete lines. Like Big Drill Car's -Type Thing and At The Drive-In's Relationship Of Command, Fortress is sung in gibberish, phonics. Fans like me sound all flobbered on lithium when singing along. It's frustrating, especially since the production is so clinically white. No smudges. Everything locked down. These detail-obsessed prog spazzes, my stars.

The irony is that the ultra-perfect sonics are Fortress'sess only real flaw. It's easy to overlook Walker's fondness for whimpering really melodramatically like a post-Bjork Geoff Tate cuz he's awesome. Plus while his peers do nothing but, Walker won't sing hate songs to girlfriends or strength anthems for the bros. Also forgivable are the guitar players' questionable decisions re: 144 straight measures of two-hand tapping.  They wave their wieners a lot, a compulsion as distracting as it is gross. Yet these are all so-called 'good problems.' 

A great problem is that these hooks are so heavy and effecting that they really THUNDER. But, it's all one-night stands cuz Walker doesn't reprise anything; I'm struggling to word this correctly, but I mean he occasionally repeats lines but never non-consecutively. Some parts consist of the same line more than once, but rarely is any verse or chorus revisited. So to get my fix of the super-hooks, I was forced to spend a lot of time with the more elusive moments. Before long, Fortress had developed in me an irksome habit of lunging at the volume knob before awesome parts, and therefore is the direct cause of lots of kicked-over drinks and startled company. That doesn't sound right. I would never have people over to listen to emo-prog. 



It's right that Tool gets lots of respect. But do you what band is Tool's sorta neglected delinquent spiritual step-brother? Type O Negative. Both bands have very identifiable styles that involve repetition and droning and psychedelia. It's just that Tool is up in the brain a bit where Type O struts a bit about the crotchal regions. 

More Lincoln-Kennedy similarities: Both bands pepper their records with little vignettes between songs, sometimes just street noise and heels (Type O) or buzzing (Tool). And what about the inevitable outbursts of vitriol via indigence (Maynard, e.g. "The Pot") and bald immaturity (Peter, e.g. "I Like Goils" ad infinitum)? Spare, integral guitar players huh huh am I right. And Type O has the awesome keyboard guy who's a goddamn genius, whereas Tool's superstar on the virtuosity tip is drummer Danny Carey. It takes a big confident man to bleat 'Why?' (gang vocal: WHY?!) 'Why-ee-ya-ee-ya-ee Why doncha love me-hee? Any! Mo-ho-hoo-whoa-ho-oh?' (Peter) and it's not exactly some kinda lightweight who pulls off a real singable, rocking tune about child sexual abuse (Maynard). Best of all, both bands RULE. The final acts of Lateralus and Life Is Killing Me are like party boats to Boner Town. Where I am mayor.

Great Scott! Those fuckers totally should tour together. Think about it. It'd be the perfect exchange, the soul and the dong. This is my grail. Just imagine the backstage talk, won't you? The cerebral mystics of the higher plane opposite a buncha doorknobs from Queens? This is history in the making; seriously somebody call Scorsese or Demme holy lord. Or how about the little auteur responsible for the Twilight-themed MV featuring Type O's "Nettie" (above, dreamy). Y'know what -- let's really go for it. Get started pestering your local congressman and shit; I'll do an email campaign. I think a good way to generate a buzz is to make the subject line "Don't limp for woman's sex. Your pills are the hardest for her coital arts. FREE SAMPLES!" 



OK this is totally apropos of nothing but holy shit I tell ya what. For your Tuesday dollar, you won't get a better bitchfit than what awful, squeaky Reggie Miller's awful, squeaky sister Cheryl perpetrated to poor effect all over Scot Pollard, late of the Indiana Pacers and Boston Celtics, now with NBA TV. Apparently Pollard was late to the set by about four hours and in the Miller tradition we've come to know and tolerate on TNT Thursday nights (poor Marv Albert poor poor Marv), Cheryl piteously and shrilly lets him have it. And the higher-ups at the network get an earful as well. Chill out, Cher. We kinda thought you were too old to be PMSing. Listen to some Metal. It helps with the raaaaage!


Alright this may be news to some people but I hate hipsters. One particularly irksome tendency of people who wear very snug clothing is to put Power Metal on at the office and then like all ironically rock out. See, Power Metal is silly but it's not funny. OK wait it's both silly and funny, but that doesn't mean that guys with beards can laugh at it. Nope. Not budging on this one. Power Metal is our gay uncle and goddammit call him a queer at peril of getting forkstabbed into a different dimension. 

This particular ditty by Hammerfall, a band found so offensive by some as to spur a surprise broken glass attack, always reminds me of the great Earl Root, host of Root of All Evil on KFAI in Minneapolis. He'd always dip his wings for the Power Metal folks, and the other non-pussies tuned in could occasionally add a galloping glory anthem to their vocab. Word. Good shit is good shit. Keep the ahem flame burning, y'all.


Ok I don't know what sort of Faustian fucking deal The Scorpions have made when I let my guard down for a second but jesus tapdancing christ they are all OVER internet radio bots. I love Pandora's hair rock channel, ditto for the deep cut-heavy AOL radio, and fuck it even the rife-wit-mislabeled-songs Last.fm will surprise ya. I can hang for the occasional Great White miss and ugh live Britny Fox but enough already with those rotten "Winds of Change" motherfuckers! I'm turning into a cartoonish '80s version of The Dude and I hate the fucking Scorps, man! They have like 1200 singles and they're all awful and I would know -- I hear eight or nine of them by lunch. As a kid I hated the guy's voice, but to stop there is so selling short their many, many poor qualities. Like say the pictures of sexy models and vaguely creepy nudity on every album cover. Oh and that hot 'n heavy number "Passion Rules The Game"? That song is why your puppy died. 

Here's a fun fact: Did you know guitarist Rudolph Schenker underwent an costly surgical procedure to prevent his mouth from ever closing? Did you know the band released a live version of the ear-punching dirge "Still Loving You" with strings and shit? It's called "Still Loving You 2000" (above, if you can make it through this shit then please go conquer Mars for HooM! cuz you are a christing superhuman). What's this Love At First Sting went to #4 on the albums chart? And wait a fucking second just what the hell is "Hurricane 2000"? Are you hearing this?? Ok fine right I'll calm down but let me just say that if I go and listen to this "Hurricane 2000" and it has industrial beats or something I'm bombing Mathias Jabs' house. You killed him, Meine. This is on your HANDS!


We self-obsessed druggie types don't always y'know notice when bad shit happens -- and even then we usually get it all mixed up, like when Tom Brady shot Lindsay Lohan's myspace before the Grammys -- but I've been on top of the massive earthquake in Italy cuz man that shit sucks bad. Italy is awesome. And I notice that President Obama hasn't made direct mention of this aspect of the crisis, so I'll be the one to confirm to the people of Italy and the world that yes, Lacuna Coil singer Cristina Scabbia is safe and sound with us. Call off the searches; we've got her. Not a scratch on her (luscious, ravishing) body. Don't even worry, she can crash here until your shit is back together. Nah no worries at all. We have a futon, hardly been used. No actually she can't come to the phone at the moment. She's uh in the shower. Anyway, when we all agree that Italy is back in tip-top shape, we'll put her on a plane. I'll have her call you there's a good lad.