I dunno, my friends; it's springtime, everything is positively peachy … and yet I can't shake an uneasy feeling of unfullfillment (never got the correct amount of “l's” there), almost as if I was in denial about a huge loose end somewhere …
… Oh feces!
This thread is still here, covered in dust like an old turd, ready to stink up the joint as soon as you poke it with a stick. Yeah, cool analogy, thank you very much.
Now, I'm completely out of excuses. The Avengers have successfully completed their endgame, and even D&D have wrapped their – ahem – vision of a certain icy'n'firey song up. Who the fock am I to leave this hanging? Am I going to be slower than focking Brexit? Of course I am, my dear involved readers, dear uninterested readers … and dear Katt.
But I can't ignore my responsibilities anymore; not while The RatPack© is sending this kind of messages:
I'm very glad you asked, Wildranger. According to the greatest living 'philostopher' known to mankind, Quentin Robert DeNameland, time is of affliction.
Well, folks, as you can see for yourself, the way this clock over here is behaving, TIME IS OF AFFLICTION! This may be cause for alarm among a portion of you, as, from a certain experience, I tend to proclaim: 'THE EONS ARE CLOSING!'! Now what does this mean, precisely to the layman? Simply this: 'MOMENTARILY, THE NEED FOR THE CONSTRUCTION OF NEW LIGHT WILL NO LONGER EXIST!'
Of course, some of you will say: "Who is HE to fell me from this light?" But, in all seriousness, ladies and gentlemen, a quick glance at the erratic behavior of the large, precision-built TIME-DELINEATING APPARATUS beside me will show that it is perhaps only a few moments now! Just look how funny it's going around there! Personally, I find mechanical behavior of this nature to be highly suspicious! When such a device doesn't go normal, the implications of such a behavior bodes not well! And, quite naturally, ladies and gentlemen, when the mechanism in question is entrusted with the task of the delineation of time itself, and if such a mechanism goes on the bum, or the fritz... well, it spells trouble!
I trust this helps.
Also, if you want time to slow down for you, simply wait for Indiscipline to post his next episode of Scenes From His Memory.
C'mon, man. You're slower than my roulette, for pete's sake!
Yeah, the one where I kicked your Billy Joel's ass, HA! Beat L.A.! Beat L.A.!
That's it. I'm giving you a 15 days notice. Your presence here is – sigh - tolerated only if you produce. Dare to procrastinate any longer and I couldn't ban your arse faster if you stated that a song is Objectively good.
All right, I got it. After all I live to serve, I really focking do. 3,2,1 …
01 – The Glass Prison:Wait a sec! I kinda need a sort of foreword before unleashing the timestampede. This was the first DT album to catch me “off guard”. I wasn't ready, I felt I still needed time to eviscerate SfaM properly, not to mention the LsfNY DVD. My appetite wasn't at the right stage. Yes, this was my first not-hungry DT album, AND my first DT album bought and enjoyed while not caring for rock music anymore, like a man turning gay but still deeply in love with his wife. I feel like the Picasso of offensive analogies right now.
Now I'm good to go. Tres, dos, uno ...
0:00 – 0:13: Would some caring soul please at least turn Nicholas' stereo off after three focking years? The energy bills we don't pay this time are carried beyond this life.
0:13 – 0:31: Oh, something tells me this ain't gonna be sunshines and lollipops, or sunpops and lollishines. Last album opened with a hypnotic clock ticking and it took me to a wonderful journey inside the subconscious, soul transmigration, and persistence of guilt. This one opens with a knell; where is it gonna take me?
0:31 – 0:49: So far it's taking me to Great Bleak Thrash Intros Land, halfway between Megadeth's Darkest Hour and Overkill's Years of Decay. Lollipops!
0:49 – 1:07: Plus Metallica's gravitas circa '89, no doubt. There's already an astounding amount of mourning in this tune. I think I'm gonna nickname it Alonzo.
1:07 – 1:25: Thank goodness, there's some kind of epic feeling perking up, driven by the snare equivalent of Valyrian steel.
1:25 – 1:45: Gorgeous, and a bit reassuring to say the truth. I am very happy Jordan brought back those simple yet magnificent moogish leads stealing my flaming heart ten years ago. Wait, are we really ten years into this story? Thinking about it, we are almost ten years removed from this thread's very first post! I'm meta as fock.
1:45 – 2:12: Holy aggression, Jason Bateman! That wah opening up is positively snarling. I hereby dub you the Pack of Rabid Dogs Riff. Rise and bring destruction to every mosh pit in the realm.
2:12 – 2:22: Ok, now play with me. Let's say there was a fork in the road just past And Justice for All. I can't say whether the Black Album (which I must admit I learned to love fiercely) was the right or left path, but I'm damn sure this sounds like the path not taken*.
2:22 – 2:52: There are times when Johnny P and Mighty Mike (one of the de facto greatest creative tension couples in rock by now) play off each other like the Hart Foundation, and times when they achieve greatness by actually trying to upstage each other like the British Bulldogs. This time they're just the focking Demolition.
2:52 – 3:04: *And the path not taken sounds like The Frayed Ends of Sanity on steroids, which given this album's title may even make a smidge of sense.
3:04 – 3:21: WHO'S SINGING? WHERE'S JAMES?
3:21 – 3:38: Ok, better now. I guess. Next time a little warning perhaps?
3:38 – 3:57: Yes, Pack of Rabid Dogs Riff, come sooth my anxiety and bring your friend, the Frenzied Berserk Horde Double Bass.
3:57 – 4:37: This is another first. I've never ranted five minutes into a new album, but I focking gotta. Why are we using James' voice this way, seriously? You wanna be metal? Focking hire Phil Anselmo and go hog with it. Kevin James LaBrie has never been, is not, and never will be a heavy metal vocalist. It's like punching yourself in the nuts in order to convince your wife you're virile enough. Forget Picasso, I'm Dalì at this point.
4:37 – 5:24: Ok, this is pretty messy, possibly even ugly. Great drumming though.
5:24 – 5:53: This keyboard lead's function is officially I'm Pulling You Back In and Kinda Restore Your Faith When You're Seconds Away from Sticking a Fork in Us. I might be too much into Bernstein and Sondheim these days, but this isn't a DT I'm prepared for.
5:53 – 6:16: Really? I don't even have a joke here.
6:16 – 6:31: See, honey? My balls are super strong! I won't be able to bang you for three months, but hot damn I feel the masculine he man! Wanna throw a punch?
6:31 – 6:46: Creeping Death live staple chant. Creepy.
6:46 – 7:01: Aren't they hard as marble, sweetheart? I'm the man. A man condemning you to lonely dildoland, but a macho man nonetheless. Magritte, possibly Bacon.
7:01 – 7:16: So, the lesson – as always – is: with the right amount of dick jokes and gross disgusting analogies you CAN convince a confounding song to course correct its vocals approach. Live and learn.
7:16 – 7:50: This part is the coolest, I love it. Everything works better when you dip it in a hot Deep Purple vat. On a sidenote, my dad believed DT was my generation's Yes; I always loved to believe they can be my generation's Deep Purple. I could (and eventually will somewhere else) elaborate, but it would mean at least 32 paragraphs and at this point it would be just rude.
7:50 – 9:42: I can't believe I'm writing this, but … yawn.
9:42 – 9:58: Thanks Johnny M for the caffeine fix. Whatever this opening track is meant to be, fast and furious is working better than low and pounding.
9:58 – 10:58: “Doesn't matter I'm an infinitely superior guitarist and you actually play keyboards, let's pretend we're Kirk Hammett and Dave Mustaine trading senseless flurry of notes at the speed of light!” or some variation of it is definitely been uttered in the studio. I'm focking inverting the onus, you gotta bring proof it wasn't.
10:58 – 11:25: A spruce of Blue/Yellow period King Crimson? I'm feeling a lot better now. I could keep listening past track 01, after all (Who am I kidding? I need 3 to 5 years to establish a solid opinion about a DT album).
11:25 – 12:50: 90 seconds of brutally overpowering and mindboggling Portnoy Show. He's focking amazing. He can really take possession of an entire tune when he feels like, no matter what crazy wonderful shit is happening beyond the drums.
12:50 – 13:50: Wonderful ending section, on par with the beautiful intro. Strange unusual song. You paste together its first and last three minutes, throw away the middle seven, and you've got a great tune. I need an analogy here. Right. You go pick this girl on a date: she opens the door, she's stunning, you're transfixed. Then she starts talking and during the whole ride-dinner-evening until you drive her back she's hideous, you can't stand her. Then she gives you the blowjob of the decade. Goodnight.
Pollock if you ask me.
Coming Next: 02 – Blind Faith.