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Initially I couldn't find the right energy or channel to praise this album with, basically to describe, or more importantly to enamor on the same level the stubborn reader who's never heard it, because I felt it would have come out too straight forward and individual passages start to become skippable. The literal might come out as dribble, so you can instead take everything I'm about to say as the 'opposite' of my true meaning. Saint Vitus is clean, inorganic, not likeable and if someone would happen to describe them as "earthy," they would have the personality of a rock. This album sucks. This recording blows. I can't believe anyone would listen to it PERIOD! No, the antithesis of an exclamation point, the Spaniard one, eh whatever...When I think of this album I want to put ear plugs in and abstain from rubbing one out all over its surface. Dozing is on my mind and staying awake is almost impossible. I can't even feel a single sensation.
Wah pedals are for military-crew-cut-sporting chaps and LSD is for near-sighted feminists. I like my life, does Saint Vitus? Doomed, why even bother with the C of vitamins? Gulp, gulp, gulp, becoming over nutritionalized by this water-soluble wonder popper used as a trippy enhancer. On the other skeletal hand, they play it un-safe and are completely withdrawn from Black Sabbath worship. 'Electric Funeral' huh?, 'Hand of Doom' what?, 'St. Ascorbic Acid's Dance' never heard of it! So barren from The Sab, fast tempos were aflame with burning speed and blazing ambition. The band was the quickest of quickest-ist for its time, trying to beat out all the snooty Lombardos and telling the technical technicolor Lars he was the best thing for the band, no really he was. Seriously. Big time.
Clean singing and holding extended notes with melancholy is for chumps and head-bands are only for the head-wounded and nationalistic Japs. Punch the guy in the back who decided to put the outrageously non-heavy voodoo drums in 'White Magic/Black Magic'; he could be shot for such idiocy. Stand out cleaner bass on 'The Psychopath' is clearly for guys who car pool in Ford Pintos and are ultimately short changed on putting a Har Dav chop in between leather secured legs, with arms raised high by unreasonable handle bars. An irrational bunch, to think it would add extra enhancement and rhythm, and then "psychedelic" innuendos than "psychopathic" tendencies, Hitchcock is turning in his grave. In Manson's cell he snuggled closer to his teddy bear and kissed its similarly X-ed forehead. Someone who's clearly missing a few screws and writes short and to the point songs; total trend jumpers. I hate them, I really do.
Disdain to those un-awesome reverb sound effects that slowly infect and move like dark-colored lava lamps into the music and just plain have the atmosphere of walking hand-and-hand with Mickey at everybody's favorite: Disneyland; instead of zombies, double negatives in 'Buried at Sea,' and looming ambiguous crosses, if they could get any more un-cool they would have embraced crumbling graveyards and curiously pricked themselves on the Reaper's scythe. Darwin would be upset by the breeding that went into the guy who overdid the wah pedal effects, attaching them to every solo, and then some; might as well have the token keyboard/organist. The album would be truly stimulating without pedal effects, such a shame. And I can't believe that palm muted, weight crushing guitar tone where distortion crapped its pants and pissed down it legs into swirled pools of muddle and reeking miasma. Maybe I can, I just truly don't know anymore. 'Tis I know Scott Reagers is meager and the next word I can rhyme is beaver. But his medium tone, his girly voice, ("Skull and Crossboooones!" oh noooooo!) is no where near carrying these songs, he should have been a scream queen with the emotion. Freddy would have loved him back in '84.
Sounding like your music should have come out about a decade or more prior is just retarded. And letting go of the golden period of metal is a piece of cherry topped cake. Who missed it? Did I mention that hand drawn lyrics should have stopped at DIY punk. Yeah, well, I'm mean no, I'm mean yeah, this album is the pits of the pits and anyone who doesn't listen to overt '70's inspired '80's metal should listen to '80's inspired '70's metal or do the right thing and cherish and highly support organic and natural music such as pop, glam, or even un-, nu-, nun-, and other metal derivatives as such. No really, love 'em.