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.