Our air-conditioning is working again (hopefully, for good), so I can focus on the task at hand.  The task?  Letting you know about the ripping metallitude of Unleash the Archers, a Canadian power/speed thrash band scorching the earth one listener at a time.  I mentioned these folks a little over a week ago (yes, I hope to compile another edition of Stuff I'm Listening To soon-ish).  I don't know if I sold them properly, though.  The music is cool, but it's cinctured by a righteous, illimitable voice belonging to Brittany Slayes, duchess of badassery.  I probably should have capitalized that.  Fuck it.  That may not be her real name, but it might as well be her given cognomen.  She slays, you see.  SLAYS.

Outside of Floor Jansen, she could be the most gifted female vocalist working in metal today.  What makes her so goddamn gifted?  Slayes can hit full-throat notes that only bats can detect.  That's a lot of zeptohertz!  I think.  I need to beef up on hertz-to-decibel conversions.  She slides in a speck of falsetto here and there, but for the most part, she screams her clit off.  In fact, I suspect that she had balls at one point.  I would single out one tune for you to inspect, but the incogitable truth of the matter is that she shatters glass on every track.  It's awesome.  Well, it's awesome if you dig singers with "holy shit" range.

As I stated earlier, the music keeps up with Miss Slayes.  It's not jaw-dropping, but it doesn't exactly suck either.  There are progressive flirtations.  "Crypt" begins with a death metal dalliance, while "Dreamcrusher" fills nine minutes with an epic arrangement.  Lyrically, we are trotting on Game of Thrones terrain.  I wouldn't say, however, that 2015's Time Stands Still has the trots (oy).  Oh, that's the album I'm writing about, by the way.  It's their third full-length release, their second that I've heard.  I also recommend 2011's Demons of the AstroWaste.  Unleash the Archers are obscure upstarts, but you shouldn't have any problems finding their stuff.

If these motherfuckers weren't metal enough, the video for "Tonight We Ride" is not-so-subtly inspired by Mad Max: Fury Road.  Is there anything I don't care for as it relates to Time Stands Still?  Well, the intro is useless.  I don't get the practice of pasting intro tracks onto each heavy record that hits your local retailer (lol).  Seriously, why bother?  They all sound alike, what with their moody affectations and industrial breedles.  Honestly, I have nothing else to say.  Buy this cassette tape!


Album Cover of the Week

Goddamn AC is busted again.  Fuck.  I can't write when I'm this miserable.  Give me a couple days.  Someone is working on it right now, but who knows?


"Rowdy" Roddy Piper 1954-2015

This has been a shit(ty) year for legendary wrestlers.  Hot Rod got a little senile towards the end, but I still loved him.  Most fans did.  His spat with Stone Cold didn't temper that love, nor did his odd defense of Hulk Hogan.  He was a heatseeker.  Besides, none of the palaver took away from his classic promos or his memorable matches.  Personally, his bout against Bret Hart at Wrestlemania VIII stands out, as does his brawl with Goldust four years later.  I ache...ACHE to see more of his territory stuff.  And I will.

Of course, he also graced the silver screen.  Do I even need to remind you of They Live?  I might need to remind you of Hell Comes to Frogtown, but trust my ass, it's a fun cornball.  Piper led a full career, which is doubly impressive when you consider that it sprouted from squalor.  Baby Jesus!

I was going to review muzak, but it can wait.  I wasn't expecting Roddy to leave us, and I had to write something.  Don't turn that dial.



Poll: Did die you, too?

  • What?
  • Zanks pheta.
  • Probably a review tomorrow.
  • Exhaust pipe miracle.
  • "Clean my fuckin' leg, Bixby."
  • "Bixby!  Nooo!"


Blood Capsule #52


I feel like a criticaster whenever I bash a film that was clearly made with benign intentions.  The cast and crew of Teenage Exorcist are having a blast.  Unfortunately for them, they are the cast and crew of Teenage Exorcist.  Scripted by Brinke Stevens (!), this z-grade horror/comedy alloy pits a nerdy student (Stevens herself) against a random demon in the basement of her new house.  She becomes possessed and kills...nobody.  You read that right.  Aside from a topless corpse in the prologue, the body count is lower than my current blood-alcohol concentration.  HINT: I don't drink.

Mercifully, there are boobs here and there.  Arg.  This is why I'm not partial to comedies.  If the gags flounder, there is nothing else to lean on.  And the gags do flounder.  Why, they flounder harder than...oh, forget it.  Michael Berryman is depredated in a bookend cameo (he's plastered on the goddamn poster), and top-billed Eddie Deezen shows up halfway through the second act.  I did not care for Teenage Exorcist, thank you very much.


Geek Out #118

This column usually shoots for the lovingly absurd, but this time, I'm going for the heady, the cerebral.  I'm going for The Holy Mountain!  It's not just a cool System of a Down song.


The Diva Revolution

Unlike the past several months, I actually made an attempt to watch Raw in its entirety instead of just reading results and relying on word of mouth.  No, I'm not commenting on the Hulk Hogan fiasco.  Pictured above?  The current WWE roster.  I don't know about you, but I don't see any women.  What kind of fucking revolution is this?

Okay, "joke" over.  When NXT-bred badasses Charlotte, champion Sasha Banks and Becky Coccaro finally debuted on Raw, I popped.  I hadn't popped like that in a sustained while.  Was the Diva's division about to undergo a legitimate rhytidectomy (I'll let you look it up)?  Understandably, most fans were cynical, reticent to give WWE too much credit.  In my opinion, tonight was the true beginning of the Diva revolution.  Why?  For starters, there were two matches (that has happened before, yes, but the wrestling was iffy).  Plus, we got a singles match.  That's important.  Thus far, we have only seen feuding between stables, which has progenerated a cluster of tag matches.  Meh.

Perhaps more importantly, the match itself (between Paige and Sasha Banks) was hellacious.  I love how it started on the technical side, and the finish was appropriate.  Sasha going over makes sense, all the sense in the world.  That's how you book your champion.  Of course, in a WWE panorama, the NXT Women's Championship is the Intercontinental Championship of the Diva's division.  Or at least that's how I envision the landscape.

Last.  Paragraph.


I'm melting! I'm meeelllllllting!

Our fucking air-conditioning is busted, so it's hot as shit at the moment.  Ugh.  I'll post something tomorrow, but right now, I need to get naked and cool off in bed.  Fuck.  I usually love summer, but this one has been inadmissible.  On the bright side, I am in possession of mellowcreme pumpkins!