The greatest book as far as I know is Catch-22, and one of its most haunting scenes describes a lonely night-walk through Rome, where the reader is powerless hostage to progressively disturbing scenes of violence and apathy. In the hands of author Joseph Heller, the terror of life during wartime thickens as each successive atrocity is observed first through the eyes of Yossarian, a bombardier both in awe of and in revolt against the bizarre logic wielded by men driving him to his death, and a second time by groups of inert gawkers beneath dim streetlights. His trail ends with a corpse at his feet, a shocking arrest, and Kafka-nightmarish bureaucrats peddling an odious bargain for his survival.

I bring this up because my usually-serene walk from the movies last night was less violent but nearly as gross and terrifying. Strolling along the north wall of Sony Studios, I saw my path ahead was blocked by a caped man pointing a flashlight into a rubbish pile. At midnight on a Sunday. I turned north where after a few steps I was startled by a delivery guy/ninja whom I presume dropped from a tree in order to materialize on my right arm like that. Turning west again, I quickened my pace to get out of spitting distance of those two weird guys who I saw at lunch yelling epithets at the taco place's security guard. Next thing I knew, somebody was barfing to my left. It wasn't polite little heaves either; dude was soul-puking. I scanned the bushes for Mike but they were empty, which meant the barfer was in the lobby of that pressboard law firm. Weirrrd. I again reached civilization (as delineated by the CPK) and was home free from there. Yes it's a glamorous life I've got going here.



It's painful that after achieving my life's mission to reside in Suicidal Tendencies country, I realize that I'm more than a decade too late. This is why it's dangerous to set your life's goals at age 11 and based on an ad in Thrasher. My paradise of young, angry Metal heads strutting around on angel dust with flannels split to the chin, chinos, and hat brims flipped up may be a long-dead memory/hallucination, but it's promising that ST mark III is alive and playing mediocre punk in Europe. Cuz that means the day is drawing near when the Thrash revival penetrates the ST camp, resulting in a full-blown reunion/celebration of How Will I Laugh Tomorrow.../Controlled By Hatred.../Lights...-era material.

For now, new single "Come Alive" at least hints at classic crossover thrash (guitar solos!) which is nice. The next step is to strip singer Mike Muir of that bar league softball team jersey-style ST shirt. On second thought, it's a step up from this blasphemous douche bag action (above).



So it was utter chaos in West L.A. all yesterday afternoon when the shit went down. I hadn't expected the whole neighborhood to go bananas about the rumor (and that's all it is at this point) of a retooled Headbangers Ball on MTV in 2010. Then the hot chick at work told me Michael Jackson stopped moving nearby and the scene outside suddenly made sense. Anyway, the HbB thing may not be such a bad prospect, though I saw a lot of indifference and scorn on the interslice today. Rumored host Jose Mangin is like host of yore Rikki Rachtman: energetic, personable, and a completely hate-able douchebagggg (hair products, fashion t-shirts, complicated jeans = not Metal no discussion). So that makes for spritely interviews, good pacing, and of course a target for derision/condenscension from over-16 viewers. He looks like a hollywood-type rocker, not a Metalhead (god forbid they commit to an actual hesher); chicks probably like him too. What MTV must avoid is any more dungeon programming for 32+, like the physically and emotionally ugly That Metal Show. My vote for host(s) is above.

Either way, this is some cynical programming by a virtually bloodless MTV orgainization. The loud music brand is again potentially profitable for the network, so now they may dive back in, conveniently omitting the fact that they helped bury Metal years ago. There were rumblings beginning back at the Golden Shower Awards in April that Jose's appearance was an audition for the HbB spot; it's wise of him cuz it's hardly an open secret that satellite radio is rank and doomed. But then again, so is MTV.

All the same, the question of post-internet viability for HbB isn’t easily answered. Metal people, as outsiders, crave a meeting place; sure, TV doesn’t have the flexibility or interactivity of online sources. But practically speaking, TV is only one step down in terms of involvement. If done right, HbB could be a primary source like Blabbermouth or Metal Insider, fitting into the info-food chain: From there, online content-makers could draw and cull for their own commentary and shared media.

This would be bolstered by actual metal news; HbB’s moribund, release-pegged guests should be replaced by features and reportage. In this sense, a weekly TV broadcast couldn’t emulate the timeliness of the internet, but MTV surely has the resources to provide depth and revelation as compensation for lateness. That’s how HbB should be packaged, as a news magazine and discussion couched around 80% video content and fine a shitload of commercials, like if The View replaced ill-informed socio-political jabbering with Exodus videos or 20/20 did a full segment on Chuck Billy’s recovery from cancer. We all know what happened to Chuck, but every network has a highly-rated news magazine show and nightly national news because people would like to SEE what happened to Chuck.

Promotion-wise, the first step is to redesign the hideous and pointless HbB website to mirror Blabbermouth-style press release access/reaction. With MTV’s semi-atrophied muscle, it’d then be advisable to partner with internet content-makers (and their readership). Bring Decibel on board every four weeks for their Hall of Fame segment with full production in advance of the issue; promos and contests with MetalSucks, the loudest voice and best all-around source for Metal commentary; hell, even take advantage of our services at HooM! for on-location interviews (replacing the deathly in-studio mumblefests); and of course The Lighter Side of Metal by the Metal Inquisition bastards. MTV may be leery of free advice but that's cool they can just continue to suck balls and free fall. Wow that last bit would make a wicked duet for George Michael and Ozzy.


Most of the time I think Sammy Hagar is a goddamn bimbo but 100 days of the year, his lucky dumbshit routine is either tolerable or endearing. Those are the 100 days I listen to awesome Hagar tripe like 5150 (with ultra-populist Hagar classic "Hot Summer Nights," above), OU812, and at least one solo Hagar song not involving Eddie VH. Hagar deserves way more credit on HooM! especially since "Cabo Wabo" (the song, not the tequila, resort, barbeque sauce, restaurant, cruise ship, or clothing brand) is like my national anthem.

Vote on YOUR national anthem below uh and to the right. That's what Hagar would do.



Nikki Finke is pretty much the best entertainment reporter ever and I rub my balls on her Deadline Hollywood column (monster example here). This press release is way too long but from what I understand, her daily online site Deadline Hollywood Daily is an entity she operated independent of DH's print home at L.A. Weekly. But MMC whatever the shit that is has acquired DHD (that's the online one) and I assume has made Finke a reasonably rich woman. Enough bootlicking here's how we celebrate around these parts, Nikki. Killer Dwarfs (above, still got it).


Like eight awesome records are streaming on shitty, crash-causing MySpace sites and though I got a good look at The Mars Volta's new record at work, I don't really devote valuable office listening hours to anything heavier. To squares, even Voivod sounds like the beating of a baby with a cat. I talk the talk, so my co-workers are exceptionally knowledgeable about The Crown and Testament.

What I'm getting at is I want to crank the new Suffocation, Voivod, and Darkest Hour, and yes even those fruitcakes in Killswish Engayge get their day in court. But I don't cuz sheesh for some people it's hard to work with some guy(s) grunting. Though not rocking out, at least I can get some laughs reading Dino Cazares howlers. It's so disingenuous that he's suddenly all about Fear Factory. And I'd really like to enjoy a metal band with the shapely ass of Strapping Young Lad and the fat boobs of old Fear Factory, now known as Fuck Fucktory. But that's ruined by this sub-moronic public mudslinging.

Look, I get it; with Stroud and Hoglan, FF is supercharged. But this isn't the way to do it. In fact, why not just do FF with Wolbers/Hererra and simultaneously do the all-fatass Stround/Hoglan project, The Stubbly Doublechins. That way we all win and Burton Bell will never again need to bullshit us. And holy shit am I reading this right? did Cazares actually say I could sue [Wolbers] for stealing my riffs? That is fucking baby talk.


Hey if the above image doesn't stir up some action in your junk region, see a balls doctor. It's the cover of Atheist's forthcoming Live At Wacken set (with bonus disc of essential Atheist tracks) and yes it combines elements (wink) of their other covers. This guy Metal Chris is the nicest dude like ever but he insists that Atheist is stealing credit due to Chuck Shuldiner and Death's technical thrash records; sorry no sale. I love Death and those records are killer but from its perch, Unquestionable Presence craps on everything past or present. This coming from a guy who had sex with a Cephalic Carnage CD. And now this coming from Kelly Shaefer, lefty guitarist/pot enthusiast:
It's a very stripped-down, no-overdubs live recording from our appearance at Wacken Open Air in 2006 as part of the reunion dates we did. This was only the fourth show on what would become many. So why record the fourth show? Well, we did not actually ever intend on it, but we found out that Wacken had raw tracks that could be remixed, whereas most recordings we get are from soundboards, and you cannot turn up guitars, vocals etc on those type of recordings. So... we obtained the raw tracks and have mixed eight tunes in Atlanta. The results? A very very live (mistakes and all) and raw set of tracks from the Piece of Time and Unquestionable Presence era of Atheist. It sounds suprisingly warm, and for those who were there in Germany that afternoon to see Atheist on what was probably one of the more 'magical' performances we have ever had as a band, it was really the first time we had played for people who had been around back in the early days of the band, and were now writers, or owned record companies, plus all of the new fans of this strange technical metal genre of music... This will encapsulate that experience for us, you and as well as those who were not there that day... It was a great day!
Huh they should teach a PR class to Metal guys cuz Schaffer should not explain that the error-ridden live record exists as a matter of convenience. But it gets better, as a totally bacackled Schaeffer describes the Wacken audience (which seems older to him), the 'magical' set (which stands among their best to him?) and contextualizes Atheist (too humbly). Hey who left that awesome Atheist song down there? I bet that big gray arrow is a clue!



Those corrupt gossip page celebrity-baiters sure make it hard on us honest, all-American satirists with their bullshit tips and ugly jealousy. Take, say, supreme fuck-up Perez Hilton, who this week discovered one way to make a grown man disregard the rules against violence upon the flamingly gay. Perez suddenly resembles a James Ellroy character but the lesson here is Will.I.Am is a national hero for asking his manager to backhand that tubby slug, and if I were to flatter myself I'd anticipate a nut-kicking from Sharon Osbourne. It's true; many times I've totally stepped over the line by implying she in fact has a penis. And more than once I've portrayed her as an Ozzy-killing drug-peddling tampon face. Wait that wasn't it. Opportunistic hag nobody schooled in the rip-off arts by father Don Arden. That sounds right. Anyway, take your best swing, Shozzy.


I take cheap shots at Chuck Klosterman and Jon Wiederhorn cuz they're successful, wealthy versions of me though neither match my erudite and flip international ladies man/man's man/man about town style. And, let's be honest, one of them absolutely reeks. Seriously though, the subject of my envy for real is that genius geekwad Paul Gilbert. Mr. Big isn't awesome or anything, and Racer X hasn't exactly blown any speakers in my neighborhood, but that's some snazzy guitaring throughout. And you heard it here first (seriously), Mr. Big's "Green-Tinted Sixties Mind" is perfection -- sweetly Marriott-esque, great rotating reprises, absolutely no drills or bass tapping. Anyway, it appears Gilbert is in league with the abovementioned two-headed KlosterHorn and has rendered obsolete my secret dream of making a hooky melody record (called United States, with singer Freddie Nelson) that's a heavy tribute to San Francisco power-poppers Jellyfish -- or Queen, if you're that way -- with hints of The Cult ("Hideaway"), Cheap Trick ("I'm Not Addicted"), and DLR-era John 5 ("Pulsar" not pornstar thank god). What's more, the lucky of us who've read his Guitar Player columns know the bastardface is even a better columnist than me. For six months, Buckethead's column preceded Gilbert's. Changed my life.

I guess if I ever were to interview Paul Gilbert ahem there'd be a lot of questions about those monthly lessons and United States. Like, does he wanna partner with me and Adam on his International House of Cereals idea? Or, say, why the hell did he drop this extremely intimidating record on the eve of a full blown Mr. Big reunion? Wait did that already happen? I'd look it up but y'know it's Mr. Big. Ok actually I'd then apologize for the preceding Mr. Big comment. Oh and for the inestimable number of times I stole his Chicken Heart story. Paul Gilbert call me!



Steven Tyler appeared at a publishing industry event called Book Nerd Sweater Fest 09 or something (shitty footage here). His attendance was probably the result of a pleading literary agent but that doesn't mean Tyler was going to be civil or even acknowledge these bespectacled dorks. Seriously have you ever dealt with book people? They only read books in order to later hold people hostage with their analyses and opinions. That jerk Chuck Klosterman was there hosting. From The Onion's A.V. Club:
Tyler's disregard for Klosterman and the audience wasn’t even particularly entertaining. The Aerosmith frontman couldn’t say when his memoir was coming out, and after taking pains to recount his daily schedule, couldn’t really say when he had worked on it. Maybe I wouldn’t have believed him if he had described sitting down at the same desk where he didn’t write “I Don’t Want To Miss A Thing,” but the performance was unwarranted. Onstage with him was songwriter Mark Hudson; whenever Tyler was lost for words, Hudson swooped in to kiss his ass a little more with insightful comments like “How great is his voice even when he’s not singing?” The first time Tyler perked up was when he realized his jet was about to leave.
Man, Tyler is so modern, like a big corporation outsourcing to Vietnam or some shit. He's on tour, saving his voice, addressing a group of people who openly loathe him, so he hires songwriter Mark Hudson -- whose presence indicates that the fan-mandated forthcoming 'Classic Aerosmith record' is not to be -- as a hype man to baste Tyler in compliments.



Those secretive MetalSucks freejacks haven't shared with me the results of their big fancy poll but Thursday #13 was unveiled as Mastodon's Blood Mountain, which bears critically-acclaimed HooM! reviewage and is the first revealed so far that's found on my ballot (that nobody fucking agrees with apparently). Blood Mountain is near the top of my list, yet quite low on the list list, so I get the feeling some of my dearest treasures aren't gonna get their day.

That feeling is something I share with the wildly butthurt and pedantic MetalSucks comment community, which includes at least fifty narrow elitists seemingly compelled to bicker their way to happiness. It's the same conversation we had in the lunch room (in fifth grade). But it's in no way as annoying as hipsters out-clevering each other at, say, The Onion A.V. Club. But as of last week, the two can commingle on The Onion's new Metal Box feature, a new monthly column which both satisfies my demands for heavy music coverage in the once-great/now-insufferable AVC and allows for preening hipster tourists to become topically conversant in current Metal and thus better-cloaked as impostors. A monthly column online how timely. With nary a longhair pictured. Gosh thanks.



No matter how shitty you find Chinese Democracy (I give it 3 out of 5 turds), it simply must be better than Chickenfoot's debut record. If a Hagar-Anthony-Satriani-Smith project is in any way superior to uh well anything, the world would change shape. And I'd go skittering of the edge of the oval earth. This national shame is a lesson that Best Buy can indeed break a shitty record if so inclined. GNR's display was the size of two stacked suitcases; meanwhile, that wrinkly claw peace sign is wrapped around even the store's security detector thingys. Sammy's pearlies plastered everywhere. Man I did an aboutface right fucking out the door.

The positive thing is that as a result Van Halen is officially challenged to top Dickinbutt. I'm sure Lord David Lee recognizes this, but Eddie's energy is committed to Van Halen bassist FattyDingDongs, to his new wife !shudder!, and to tangling with Nike's legal armada. A company can't openly enslave 10-year olds for three decades without super lawyers, Ed. Get to the studio, rummy.


I admit it I camp out on VH1 Classic sometimes and I'm easily spellbound by the concert films. Oh duh and the Metal Mania videos, though it seems like the same 35 clips and six are Dio. And did anybody know Krokus was this bad? But anyway, back in January I caught Motley Crue's Carnival of Dumb set and this hurts to say, but even Tommy Lee sucked ass. Like it wasn't bad enough that Scott Rockenfield sounds like dingleberries on More Mindcrime In Concert Again or whatever. The Motley Crue show, anyway, opened with a clip from something called Disaster! starring the three bimbos and a ghoul. And how do you like that -- it actually makes the Motley Crue guys look cool. Cheers.



I hear ya when you say that Steel Panther overdid the bald ribaldry on ripping new album Feel The Steel, ultimately landing closer to 2 Live Crew than Spinal Tap. Then again, Steel kicks the shit out of Tap's largely pointless new non-album Back From The Dead (streams here). Anyway, in a very real sense, SPanther's genius is for openly demoralizing hit-grubbers like Bon Jovi ("Party All Day" with Justin Hawkins nice), Van Halen ("Eatin' Ain't Cheatin'"), and Warrant/Whitesnake/Def Leppard ("Fat Girl [Thar She Blows]").

I know that whenever a lame processed pop song infests my soul ("Lay Your Hands On Me", "When It's Love", "Down Boys"/"The Deeper The Love"/"Pour Some Sugar On Me," respectively), I replace the lyrics with sophomoric porno verse. My famous rapper friend is a fucking black belt and ironically, we get to kinda save our oft-imperiled dignity by soiling this cold, calculated anti-music with our upgrades. It shows we can't be controlled by SongBots like Mutt Lange, Desmond Child, and that rat bastard Jack Blades. (Jack call me!) There's occasional collateral damage, like the unfortunate pooper who from her perch overheard our version of "Lick It Up" and likely spent days explaining her lasting look of horrified offense. She learned something about life that day; we were pretty foul. I mean that fucking song is filthy to begin with.


So the Lakers championship celebration was totally surreal yesterday. 90,000 packed into the Colosseum, a cool million lining the streets leading from Staples. So am I out of line in suggesting that the Laker Girls should go at least topless? It's a championship, people. 65 wins, too.

It seems I have quite a skill for being absent from monster crowds assembled to hail awesomeness this week, like the Download Festival/Faith No More lifegasm. I didn't even see the live feed (above, MI rules); I'd sat through Korn and a slightly less painful meeting, but after positively tear-assing back to my desk, I was greeted with Limp Bizkit replay; FNmfM's set was mf gd over! But let's all commend the Download crowd for such copious and day-changing knocker-flaunting. Shoulder-riding top-lifting chicks should open for FNM every night. Right? In a way, Lakers fans could really learn from them.



The new Steel Panther record is amazing in ways that seem impossible or at least improbable in these humorless, whiny times. Sadly, studies show that nobody wants to read about good shit (including me) so here we go with some horrific BulletBoys news. Life's a wacky ride, huh? From some dark place I'd prefer to not contemplate:
BulletBoys will join Faster Pussycat and Bang Tango for the Summer Rock Fest tour in July/August. BulletBoys' long-awaited new album, 10c Billionaire, due July 7, was written by original founding [sic] member and flamboyant frontman Marq Torien and mixed by Brent Woods (Vince Neil, Wildsilde).
Uh. I think we as a society need to rethink the phrase long-awaited. First off, records aren't like buses, getting all delayed because a crazy fat guy is stuck between seats and shitting his pants. Records don't come out because person/persons don't wish it so. Like in this case, not even the world's elite BulletBoys fan (me!) wants to hear wallet-chain Marq Torien's yucky solo shit that was released under the name of his awesome, cuddly old band (above, the beach!). And uh come again with the title? Does it read ten cent billionaire? Possibly tenc billionaire? What's 10c? It takes some solid foresight to title your album with a long-disused symbol unseen on a keyboard since laptops. That helps get the word out.


I might sound hysterical here but that's impossible given my pill intake, so here goes: I cannot fathom how Fear Factory made a classic album cuz they are mega-dumbshits. They were a perfectly good band before shit went all retarded: First, that one record tanks, the big guy leaves, bitterness ensues. Then the bassist is the guitarist, Strapping Young Lad has to book tours carefully, a silly record deal and thoughtless records ensue. Then, the singer takes loud credit for the mixing of clean and growly singing, shut the fuck up ensues. Now the singer reconciles with the big guy, they start a new band, it shares a name with their former band, the two other guys are like what?, legal action ensues. Has the earth folded onto itself? This is like watching people from North Dakota fight over meth. Or like when Scratchy is eating a piece of his own stomach. Or maybe two mirrors exchanging insults. Plus, it adds an extra dimension of lunacy that the sanest one is the drummer, whose comments to Speed Freaks were edited for simplicity:
The bass player and I are actually still in Fear Factory. There's a big legal battle going on right now. Essentially, what's happened is the big guy and the singer have become friends again and they decided to start a new band, and decided to call it Fear Factory. They never communicated with us about it and act like there was never any contract. So it's almost like them two against us two; it's kind of a stalemate. I don't know what's gonna happen with the trademark, so to speak. It's a weird situation.
Hey I can play that way too, fuckfaces. As of now, I'm arbitrarily and without authority renaming the band who recorded 1999's Obsolete, cuz the band itself can't be trusted near something so important and awesome. And now if you'll excuse me, I'm gonna crank some Fuck Fucktory.



Man, some people just don't know how to have fun, huh? Jog over to MetalSucks and check out the ugly reaction to today's installment of 21 Best Metal Albums of the 21st Century... So Far: awful Machine Head's terrible The Blackening at 17. And though I disagree (ahem look up there), I'm rational enough to know that this ranking is determined by a bunch of dudes, none of whom I'd douse with insults given the opportunity. Ok maybe Psychostick. But anyway, I'm not even sure the MetalSucks guys are doing anything beyond satisfying their own curiosity by asking the opinion of everyone they know who knows Metal. It's not like we have to throw away CDs that don't appear on the list. It's not like you don't have the power to start your own damn shit and put fucking Moonsorrowponds or whatever atop the list of 21 Lamest Chunks of Monkeyshit of the Last 21 Minutes sponsored by YoureADickCuzGodForbidSucksAssYouFaggot.net. People I implore you: Chill the fuck out. We're only on 16. And there are like 400 options. The list cannot be wrong. It cannot suck. It can't be bullshit. It's a vote taken in a tavern to settle an imaginary bet. Go ahead: Be surprised that non-retards like Hatebreed. Be irate that one of Robb Flynn's many rip-offs is beloved by so few. Be wowed by MY vote for #16 (above). Just be nice or they won't do 20 Best Metal Albums of the 20th Century. Sheesh.



I know when first hearing of Michael Bay and Steven Spielberg's Transformers project, my first thought was of pop-rock sweetie-pies Cheap Trick, futuristic and drenched in metaphor as they are. Pretty confusing choice all around for theme song duties (above). Conversely, when I think Cheap Trick, it's all sunshine and rainbows, puppy love and the twist. Trick is an isolation of the sweet side of Aerosmith ("Lick And A Promise", "Sick As A Dog", "Rats In The Cellar"). Not the background music for robot wars. Awesome song anyway!


Most of Aerosmith has had mental or physical collapses in the last few years, and it seems guitarist Brad Whitford isn't immune. This is a rich person injury if I've ever heard of one. From Reuters:

Whitford, 57, is recovering from surgery for internal bleeding after he apparently banged his head while getting out of his Ferrari about a week before the tour began last Wednesday in St. Louis.

"It built up pressure and gave him this whoopin' headache," said guitarist Joe Perry. "He's not prone to getting migraines, so knew something was wrong. He went right in, they did what they had to do, and now he's getting better."
What Perry excluded from the story is that, in actuality, Whitford collided with the Ferrari door after slipping on some caviar in diamond shoes. That's why Brad's guitar tech is holding up stage right at $100-cheap seats arena shows. That article goes on to say that Aerosmith will cease performing the filler-speckled Toys In The Attic at tourstops, opting instead for the superior Rocks starting around Cincinatti I guess. According to Perry, singer Steven Tyler isn't able to sing Toys closer "You See Me Cryin'" which is not a good song. Hey it happens. Neither is "Adam's Apple" or "Round And Round." Anyway, I'm going to this shit with my attractive girlfriend cuz at least three of these guys are a viagra overdose away from early retirement and ZZ Top is a quality-ish opener with a really sweet crew. Not like those Harry Connick Jr pricks.



The product of extensive number crunching, our calculations read that at 1pm in L.A., Faith No More's Download Festival set will be webcast here. Not to be all ungrateful but how about more notice next time? Now I have to reschedule with my cake/pie guy who's in town from Tempe with a trunkful of hot Entenmann's. He's gonna screw me on the crullers but it'll be worth it to confirm FNM's level of awesomeness, cuz British reviewers seem so full of shit and I'm sure as hell not taking retarded-ass Joe Elliott's word for it. Iddiott dishes out backhanded compliments to FNM before praising the career, money, and fake longevity provided to his band by Mutt Lange to Metal Hammer:
When Faith No more got together I was raving about them. They were embarrassed, I think because they weren’t Leppard fans! Those guys went through such a meteoric rise that they didn’t know where they were, then they released an album no-one bought and they split up.

Kudos to bands like us and Iron Maiden who’ve managed to avoid all that. Now the band are older and wiser, they’ll probably say, ‘I wish I’d done it differently’ and I can’t help having a wry smile ‘cos we did things differently.
I'm not sure the guys in Faith No More were hanging on your every word in the 90s while they grew into the most interesting band on earth and you were imploring the world's population to join you in getting rokked as the leader of producer Mutt Lange's backing band. The logic at work here is rickety at best, and cloudy enough that I can't make heads or tails of his comments on "an album no-one bought" [sic]. Surely you speak not of Angel Dust (above). And get Iron Maiden's name out your mouth, dingus. There is no "us and Iron Maiden." Maybe "us and Bryan Adams."



I, for one, made poor use of Faith No More's last years and since then have made a lot of wild promises in exchange for even the crummiest FNM reunion. That's basically what we're getting, but all the same I hope no one actually enforces my thoughtless pledge to give up my weekend purse-snatching route or stop picking fights with homeless people cuz it's official: Faith No More is back together. 

The first clips (e.g. above, the opener ffs) from the European tour kick-off at Brixton Academy surfaced last night and Patton sounds great, which probably means he's into it -- good sign. The setlist is brilliant, though topheavy with post-Martin songs; but it's not the same old set of the standards -- another great sign. (It could use "A Small Victory" and "The Perfect Crime" and fewer covers but). Hopefully, they'll engage the media and maybe even cuddle with each other like friends. Then again, it's never been abundantly clear if they ever got along. Probably because no jackass writer has done a full FNM bio. Wow I already wrote the foreword. Get me on the tourbus! Almost Faith-mous.


Yesterday, providence smiled on those needing to cloak a conspicuous boner when What Would Tyler Durden Do? followed a side-by-side of hot-ass Kristin from Laguna Beach 2 and Heather Graham (above, a little more than half-naked). I once spent an afternoon watching Graham's soft porn vehicle Killing Me Softly directed by snoresville Chen Kaige and it was HOT but what I learned today would've served me well that day at Tower Records in Shibuya and all the way back to the station: One way to counteract Graham's powers of erection is to replace images of her, probably the hottest unexotic All-American honky chick ever whose clothes even suggest nudity, with naked David Carradine crime scene pics. That's what went down on WWTDD and frankly I don't need sex and the most depressing image ever commingling. What am I Gacy over here? 

To cheer up, I went to the funniest thing ever no offense. No fuck it lotsa offense. If I were ever beheaded at the Tonys while some she-male belts out "People Who Need People" -- and I'm gunning for it -- I demand that everyone laugh cuz that shit is hilarious. And Bret's kinda good-natured about his wack hair, but is crying like a girl just cuz one lousy piece of scenery tried to decapitate him. Sounds like a wind-up to a lawsuit. Weirder, Dee Snider of Twisted Sister somehow was impelled to make a statement declaring his non-involvement with the incident. Wha? It's my custom to stick a quote here but I'm in a hurry to move on to Faith No More business so let's just leave it at Get a dick, Bret. And it don't get better than this! 



So Kobe Bryant scored like 17 points in the last half of the first quarter sorry that's a confusing way of describing it. Anyhoodle, a play late in the opening period saw Bryant fake his defender into the air to then step in and take the contact, while contorting to get a nice look at a 3, which he hit. It's breathtaking on its face; when you consider his determination to silence the Orlando crowd that only seconds before exploded following a Dwight Howard alley-oop, it's borderline expressionistic. Or whatever's weirder than surreal. Like David Lynch movies when an old lady tells a can of creamed corn to stop speaking in code. 

The point is that Bryant is playing like historic awesome every night. I've been a follower of Bryant's since his first post-Shaq year. Yeah when you wake up one day and Kwame Brown is on your team in exchange for Caron Butler, I say just get injured cuz shit sucks balls. But Bryant pressed on, and I learned what people were talking about when describing him. It's no coincidence that I've been rocking my Testament mix (3 hours great god) while watching the finals. I imagine I'm missing some choice shit since of the six people with access to broadcast mics during the games, two are Van Gundys, but Testament is so Lakers to me. Each was sent each into a decline by a high-profile departure. But this season is the Lakers' return to glory, like The Gathering, the album with which Testament wiped away three increasingly not-cutting-it albums -- four if The Ritual hasn't wormed into and laid eggs all over your heart. It's like heavy Aerosmith, especially on "Troubled Dreams" (above), a furious march that closes the album and prophesies the coming of a benevolent and burdened basketball mega-god named Kobe Bryant.
Thursday is Game 4 and Testament at House of Whites. See?


This week I went looking for a fight with MetalSucks don Axl Rosenberg in the most chickenshit way possible. But let's go back to "All My Heroes Have Failed Me" in Monday's MetalSucks
Eddie Van Halen - turned into a douchebag
David Lee Roth - turned into an even bigger douchebag
Axl Rose - turned into the biggest douchebag
Slash - whore
Izzy Stradlin - iTunes only
Joey Belladonna - dick
Eddie Ojeda - who?
Lars Ulrich - turned into a douchebag
James Hetfield - what the fuck, dude?
Whoa whoa whoa David Lee Roth is a lot of things: a dingbat, a flake, wingnut, doofus, stoner, lecher, selective amnesiac, hedonist, dancer, martial artist, motormouth. But does he wear tight tees with sparkly bone and wing designs? Has he ever endorsed a shoe or energy drink? I don't remember him getting a piercing or tribal tattoo. So after sputtering and harrumphing for a minute, I followed an ancient family tradition of conflict resolution: I emailed a guy Rosenberg and I both know, complaining about the misfired slur on DLR, which, honestly, shattered the boner brought on by last week's cuddlefest on Blabbermouth re: the DLR Band record's online availability. I was feeling shameful about my lame behind-the-back appeal to a guy whose collusion was guaranteed (if past deeds were indication). That's what we call foreshadowing cuz his reply shocked me to my very nads and I quote: "He IS kinda a douche." Son of a BITCH! People are always taking advantage of me!