What a hypocrite to the end. Not even using his own product, but that's them frogs for you, one minute they're kissing a woman's hand, next their chopping off their heads jeans.
"You know --"
Shut up, I'm hoping enough of them won't recognize that all of my best lines were pilfered with love from a certain animated teevee program. Makes this dump more mythique. Now where did I put that viking helmet and broadsword. Oh, bollocks to you, Thor, it's Roman orgy time. Not you, Burt Lancaster, no dudes. You don't need that toga, babe, pass those french fried frog legs.
Speaking of orgies, though this one is less sex and more violence, kudos to you, Anthony Sowell, for two reasons: first, for placing Cleveland back firmly in the national consciousness (we're not just flaming rivers, a pustule of a football team and Elliot Ness' torso any longer, dammit) and second, for helping to dispel the myth that only cracker, clown-painting loners with talking dogs grow up to be serial killing wackos.
"Whaddya think's in the sausage?"
"Probably not sausage."
Speaking of murder and mayhem and crimson streams of misery swathed in musical mystique, Slayer, SLAYER, SLAYER, SLAYER, SLAYER!
World Painted Blood opens with the title track gleefully recalling that of Hell Awaits' turgid crawl up from the abyss, with a guitar harmony or three bleeding in the direction of, surprise surprise, NWOSDM. Speedfreak psalms to man's inhumanity to man are spattered throughout the platter: Snuff; the infamous Unit 731 -- silly Japan, atrocities aren't just for Nazis; Psychopathy Red's the Butcher of Rostov, balanced with the creeping slow burns of Beauty Through Order; the apocalyptic Human Strain -- get your flu shots!; the funeral parlor hijinks of Playing With Dolls; the punky, melodic dash of Americon; Public Display of Dismemberment's political puking; Hate Worldwide's and Not of This God's youthful blasphemy.
Ever since the landmark quartet that every headbanger worth his devil sacrifices blonde virgins to, the band has been plagued -- and plagued themselves -- by a classically poor mixing job, some stupid sonic choices, intermittently uninspired songwriting and trying too hard to recapture past fortune and glory. Shooting yourself in the foot is pretty metal, because a bloody wound is the gruesome result, but even moreso is stomping that torn appendage into the grimy filth and letting it get infected so that raging, uncontrollable violence birthed in excruciating pain returns tenfold. Slayer is long past spearheading musical rebellion, or even being included in the discussion of heaviest and/or fastest acts, but for the first time in a long time, one can shred some vocal cords and fucking mean it.
Humanity, you're so damaged.
Wednesday, November 4, 2009
Les Mythologiques
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23 comments:
Graves, you swine!
You know nothing of the fine art of charcuterie if you think that six corpses and a skull a sausage make. Where was the caul fat? the casings? the pink salt? the herbs and spices?
Dude was clearly making stock.
Regards,
Tengrain
If you had only snuck a poem in this post somewhere, it would have included everything you ever write about.
It's like a Randal casserole.
Monsieur Levi-Straus liked, trees, plants and animals, but not people. Sounds like an OK guy.
tengrain, don't look at me, I didn't kill anyone then try and sell the remains at Ray's Sausage.
übermilf, and a pic of a scantily-clad chick. I'm predictable as a freshman politician coming under the thumb of big money, I know.
holte, amen. A toast, Frenchie.
The text of Les Mythologiques was littered, though hardly illuminated, by all manner of visual aids — diagrams, arrows, charts of the night sky, fragments of algebra, and an array of small boxes shaded with hatchings and cross-hatchings.
Damned French...it's bad enough you can't understand a damned thing they're saying, but then they stuff their books full of diagrams and arrows and shit.
And what the hell is wrong with this page, the Motörhead video keeps playing and I can't turn it off! It's haunted...and it's giving me a headache.
Regarding the killer dude- At first I was shocked that with the smell of rotting bodies in the neighborhood that the police didn't investigate. But then I realized we are talking about Cleveland...which stinks all the time.
Okay so .. do you like the new Slayer album or not? I can't tell. But you know me... DUH!! most of the time anyhow...
That's horrible about those bodies found. I heard about this .. I guess a couple of days ago when I had the news on. (which is odd as I NEVER watch the news).
I too was surprised that no one smelled them!
((Hugs))
Laura
C'mon.... the Dude's house was next to a sausage factory? Oh, wowsers.... too rich... and savory. Past the salt.
Far be it from me to want to listen to some headbanging devil worshiping tunes. If I wanted to feel that bad I'd go to work. Far less painful.
Now if you'll excuse me I have some burgers to make. Seems the local loan shark is wanting to dispose of some delinquent customers.
nunly, not any worse than the US Tax Code. That's the Big Cheese telling you something! The power of Lemmy compels you!
Hey now, some parts don't. Okay, two-thirds of the sports teams do, and the industrial pit makes some sweet perfume.
sunshine, it's an improvement over their last few. You should buy it!
And I'm guessing rotting human smells like certain imported meats, so it's not that surprising.
okjimm, I had to chuckle when I first saw that picture on the teevee.
demeur, are you kidding? Slayer soothes the savage beast. Or puts him in more of a rage and thus making it easier to off the bane of one's existence.
You really ought to cut poor Levi some slacks, uh I mean lighten up dude. That picture obviously was snapped while young Strauss was wooing a much younger Ms Klaudia Khaki during one of their several romantic cruises up the Amazon.
I swear the links you come up with are some interesting. I had not heard of this guy in over 30 years. Not since college when I was being force fed anthropological explanations for why we use zippers instead of buttons.
Um...Mr. Graves, I know you have a macabre last name, and it's just a little past Halloween and all, but isn't this post kind of gruesome? Have you been drinking fermented blood again?
Though bound to Paris, Lévi-Strauss preferred to live in Burgundy. “I like trees, I like plants, I like animals,” he explained. “But I am not very fond of humans.”
Personally, given where I live I can completely understand.
Graves, you swine!
You don't even give us the address for Ray's.
Shame, shame, shame.
Rgds,
Tengrain
New Slayer CD? Thanks for the news. I'm on it.
"Some of the reasons for his popularity are in his rejection of history and humanism, in his refusal to see Western civilization as privileged and unique, in his emphasis on form over content and in his insistence that the savage mind is equal to the civilized mind.
"Levi-Strauss did many things in his life including studying Law and Philosophy. He also did considerable reading among literary masterpieces, and was deeply immersed in classical and contemporary music."
I'm thinking the two of you had a lot in common.
H
Going by your expert assessment, Randal, there's obviously nothing left for the members of Slayer to do but get haircuts, some business-casual attire and seek a new life as retail or telemarketing associates. Probably serves 'em right for all that bad sound processing.
As for Sowell, what he's evidently done makes no statement about Cleveland. The evil insanity is in him, not where he lives.
Are you saying that Levi-Strauss wore French jeans? Le horror!;-)
ya, what Tengrain said...
//You don't even give us the address for Ray's.//
Dude! It's the Holiday season... they may send gift boxes....
mrmacrum, groan and such. What, no love for old-fashioned ties? Between you and Claude, I just don't know.
madam z, all complaints may be directed towards the Bureau of Human Civilization.
BB, just think, in the time it took you to type that comment, ground broke on yet one more golf course.
tengrain, see, no matter how hard you try, you cannot hide your love for Cleveland cuisine.
tom, it's not as good as their prime output (which would be impossible) but it's their best in awhile.
susan, aside from him being real smart and presumably not liking Slayer, you might be right.
SWA, the new stuff sounds positively lovely, I thought I was listening to a lullaby.
As for Sowell, shhhh! I've got a deal with the city so I'm trying to bring in tourist cash.
LBR, do the French even make jeans? That seems pretty non-snooty.
okjimm, that's a great idea, I'll get right on that. As soon as the crime scene is no longer such and Famous Ray's reopens.
Now that's the kind of 'beat music' they had back in my day. I remember a moonlight waltz with a endearing young charmer...we really 'cut a rug' back then and kept it clean, mark you.
You young whippersnappers could learn a trick from those fellers with their snappy ditties.
;>)
Shooting yourself in the foot is pretty metal, because a bloody wound is the gruesome result, but even more so is stomping that torn appendage into the grimy filth and letting it get infected so that raging, uncontrollable violence birthed in excruciating pain returns tenfold.
so self mutilation leads to pain leads to creativity! Why didn't I think of that?
darkblack, that's tempting. ;-)
liberality, be careful, though. You don't want to go too far, like watching the Browns.
I am actually quite fond of funeral parlor hijinks, thank yew.
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