Born to Entertain

Or perhaps not so irregular as ever since their inception these three chefs from Ohio have been a fairly regular presence on the scene, cooking their delectable musical cocktails every two years. And fair play to that since there’s quite a bit to savour from their cuisine whose main ingredient is the technical/progressive death metal one. The latter reigned supreme on the first dish they made, soup that is, but this is jarring dramatic interpretation of the genre, with very seldom a speedy passage played just for the sake of it, with loads of time and tempo shifts, those served in very quick succession due to the compositions’ short duration.

Yep, musical fussing-about isn’t very high on the guys’ list… sorry, recipes, the same templates on which this next offering has been built. Born to entertain? Totally, and also to feed anyone in the vicinity to the brim as these are culinary tunes, first and foremost, the title-track a dense slow-burning miasma with erratic faster-paced jolts leaving stains on the customer’s face, those washed away by a string of more immediate straight-ahead appetizers (“Choice Cuts”, “Coffin Cake”), but not so successfully on the more entangled dishes, “Beef Stroakanoff” alone challenging all the chefs from the Michelin chain with its twisted riff-formulas and completely unexpected mood switches. A carnival of inordinate, both gastronomical and musical heights, not to mention the absolutely ravishing melodic lead sections, this number is nearly matched by the stylized overlapping brutality of “Gluttonous Maximus” and the creepy but very effective melodious minimalism of the near-classical piece “Maxi Pad Thai”. With this grand tryptich serving as the main course, the band unwind with the 2-part “Deconstructed”, a serenity/aggression juxtaposition with quite a few merits as well, but not before putting this tasty “Terrormisu” on the table for dessert, a dizzy psychedelic conglomerate or rhythms and riffs, with alluring puzzling, melodic hooks nodding in quite a few directions, from Atheist (remember the unquestionable schizoid marvel “And the Psychic Saw”) to Anata and vice versa.

The singer assists his colleagues in a subdued but authoritative manner, his intelligible grunts by no means a food spoiler, especially when served with a shriek witch-like accompaniment, this last occurrence even overtaking the whole space behind the mike at times. No complaints from any department whatsoever, the guys very close to producing miracles, both on stage and in the kitchen, with their visionary approach to an already overfilled with artists genre, leaving their signature high up for everyone to see. And they will see, and take notes, and remember… cause who else can provide both contrived moshing to oblivion and the nutrients you need to recuperate from it under the same roof? Exactly.

Now where’s this menu? I’d like to order something a la carte, screw the buffet with all these trite simplistic deathly escapades… so how about this vintage labyrinthine head-spinner with the mazey undecipherable guitars and the abrupt rhythmic melodicisms…

how long will it take?