Riff mark: no
Garbage. It took five years through an eight-year studio
lapse to shamelessly piss out this insulting, irritating mockery. First, the
band’s a mess. Sandoval’s unceremoniously dropped following injury and
Vincent’s back in the fold after a near decade of not, meaning Tucker’s out of
a job, too. Dragging behind Vincent’s black leather-platform heels is all the
industrial muck and residue from his wife’s BDSM sessions, which he lathers
liberally across Illud Divinum Insanus.
This is barely a crossover record more than it is ego masturbation, or just bad
music altogether. Trey passively plays the submissive through motions of maybe-MA
songs like Blades for Baal or Nevermore, but the superimposition of Cavalera-ish
vocals from Evil D ruin everything. He just sucks. Too Extreme sucks, Mea Culpa
sucks, and Radikult is the suckiest
suck to ever suck, a 7-minute black hole of suckage that rips from both Marilyn
Manson and (no, really) Body Count. Awful 90’s backyard goth with unlikable
synths and those annoying over-triggered quarter-note bass beats (a studio
waste of Tim Yeung for half this record). I mean it just floors me that so many
critics and e-zines accepted this shit yet similar one-shot hybrid attempts
like 34.788% Complete and Blackacidevil are universally chastised
(relax, I’m not praising those albums, either). Hurtful. I’m writing this in
2015 and I’m still pissed. Suffering on all levels of hell.
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