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Mom! Help! The KKK is naked in my bed!!! - 0%

hells_unicorn, March 13th, 2018
Written based on this version: 2018, CD, Nuclear Blast

Somewhere in the land of metal archetypes is a railway whereupon runs the conspiracy theory train; it's been in service for several decades and is regarded by some as a convenient means of travel whereas many see it as a noisy nuisance that is in dire need of being decommissioned for smoother modes of travel. In contrast to other modes of expression, this one is largely a lyrical pursuit that tends to lend itself to just about every sub-genre resting under the metal umbrella, and even those who crave a world of only the status quo can't help but like a few bands that dabble in tin-foil hat poetry. Thanks in large part to the relatively consistent output of this locomotive's aging engineer Dave Mustaine, younger bands have been showing up of late to purchase their tickets, although the same train's goofy conductor Al Jourgensen hasn't been doing this mode of travel any favors of late with his recent auditory hallucinations under the guise of albums containing music, let alone the questionable friends that he's been giving free passes on board of late to reminisce over his glory days of snorting heroin and insisting the world not think him a moron for doing so.

Whatever level of musical aptitude that existed in Ministry's arsenal following the 1990s died when the band first folded tent in 2008, and the world would not be any different if they'd been content to stay buried. The twisted, incoherent collage of sound resting on top varying drum lines that may as well be looped that is AmeriKKKant is the testament to a zombified corpse that can't even muster the strength to bite into living flesh, let alone catch up with any prospective victim under the age of 90. All of the tired musical ideas that were marched out on Ministry's early industrial metal output and generally mirrored on Fear Factory's Soul Of A New Machine and Sepultura's Chaos A.D. are retreaded in the most banal of fashions, largely at a plodding tempo, and saturated with sampled and manipulated spoken passages from various television and cinematic publications to the point that songs trade blows within themselves between inducing boredom and insufferable annoyance, not to mention the flirtations of nu-metal via the frequent use of DJ record scratches, as if the world needs another formerly respected band swapping bodily fluids with Limp Bizkit.

Deconstructing the moving parts of this thing is a task comparable to sifting through a confetti mixture of rat, hamster and chinchilla turds of various shades and textures in an effort to find a pattern. Occasional chime-in parts by Uncle Al's aged, haggard gruff shouts provide little in the way of anchoring things, and play second fiddle to a host of randomly selected samples and canned instrument sounds that supposedly form the cadence points. Generally the longer things go, the more incoherent they become, though the album's nails on a chalkboard opener "I Know Words" is moderate in scope and takes the cake for incongruousness with an endless, unorganized stream of sampled violin notes with no discernible melody and a royally annoying assortment of manipulated voice samples from the current President of the United States. Nevertheless, plodding slabs of stool-smeared toast like "Twilight Zone" with its bizarre blues harmonica passages and the hyper-redundant "Wargasm" run a pretty close second in terms of turning minutes into hours with hypnotic riff fragments and drum grooves laced with even more redundant spoken samples.

Perhaps one might chalk it up to the pitfall of trying to blend the minimalist tendencies of industrial music with a conceptual album format, but even when discounting the lack of any real hooks or even signs of progression, the atmosphere isn't really utilized effectively, and moments of ball-crushing heaviness are virtually non-existent. The closest things get to a full on metallic attempt is the woefully dumbed down two-riff pony "We're Tired Of It", which is basically a processed rehash of an up tempo Nailbomb song with hip hop trimmings on the side and a gimped out series of gang vocals out of a geriatric Machine Head fan boy's convention, or for those who like to keep their descriptions brief, a parody of the thrash metal style. However, the true coup de grace is this album's first promotional single and homage to America's latest domestic terrorist group "Antifa". Half the time this thing makes extremely sloppy attempts at assimilating Tony Iommi's doom riffing style into their mechanistic formula, whereas the remnant attempts to keep older fans in line with mid-paced retread riffs that ΚΕΦΑΛΗΞΘ borrowed from The Black Album. Though it's a foregone conclusion that this song received a fair bit of hate since its release on the internet a few months back from bereaved fans of Taake and free speech enthusiasts alike, most of it came from this song being an rancid pile of auditory dung that was clearly trying to pander to a highly visible demographic for those NWO approved dead presidents.

The only real way that politically-charged art can be made distinct from commercialized propaganda is if the art itself can stand even when stripped of its lyrical message, and this is the ultimate downfall of AmeriKKKant. Whether one falls under what Ennio Flaiano rightly observed as the two camps of Fascism (Fascism and Anti-Fascism), one would be totally remiss to say that any enjoyment could be had listening to these smatterings of random, disjointed fragments of sound save in the context of some rally by a group of like-minded people who couldn't give a shit about metal or even music in general. There are plenty of extremely well executed right-wing and left-wing albums out there in a whole slew of metal sub-genres that could be enjoyed by anyone who likes good music, this one simply opts to go a very different route and simultaneously smears it in the listener's face. Speaking plainly on the matter, I'd personally prefer a good Hydrochloric enema over having my eardrums raped by this album again.