Geek Out #158

I'm still not in reviewing mode, but I did imbibe this weirdo in recent days.  "Atmosphere-forward" is a word that comes to mind, and it's not even a word.

Rassle Inn #34

I ended up watching the lion's share (a most divisive share, to be sure) of Full Gear.  My thoughts?  Remember when Steve Austin was such a convincing heel that Vinnie Mac had to switch him face?  The crowd loved him too much.  Thus, the anti-hero was born (in wrestling anyway).  Well, there is now a new addition to the pro-grappling vernacular - the anti-heel.  I want accreditation for the mint.

I've bitched before about Tony Khan's "inside" style of booking, an approach that invalidates the common fan.  And we've seen the ratings stagnate as a result, not that I'm particularly enthused about being right.  There are a couple of new champions in AEW that seal the deal.  Jamie Hayter!  I've been a fan for years, and you better believe that she deserves gold around her waist.  But she's a heel.  She defeated a babyface Toni Storm and won plaudits from the smarks in attendance.  Heels are simply cheered in 2022, logic be damned.  MJF is facing a similar reaction.

Fans either don't respect the storyline or - and this is the more likely scenario - they don't respect the brass.  Tony is making shit up as he goes along and everyone knows it.  How does this help inveigle the person who just wants something to watch on Wednesday nights?  Y'know, the bloke who could be a prospective member of the rasslin' army?  It doesn't!  Your product needs to make sense, and arenas teeming with dundertwerps (again, accreditation) cheering for a dude nicknamed The Devil Himself doesn't make sense on the surface.

It's frustrating because I still consider myself to be an All Elite advocate.  Stardom and NJPW are hosting a cross-promotional event soon, possibly as I type.  That's going to be sick.

Trip Like I Do

"So has Dom returned from his trip yet?"  Yes.  I have, in all actuality, returned.  Unfortunately, I don't know when I'll be able to write the next proper update.  I am currently dealing with the worst case of anxiety I have ever faced.  I feel gutted and powerless.  And it's so much worse than I could ever strive to describe.

I don't care at all about movies or wrestling, though I've attempted to watch both to dreadful, uninspiring results.  Don't care at all about AEW's Full Gear.  I might order it?  If you're wondering, I am seeing my mental health specialist tomorrow.  I hope to have good news soon.  This is seriously draining me, guys.  All prayers are welcome.

A Band: Witherfall

Bye.  Oopsy-daisy!  I got the order switched around.  Before I announce my imminent departure (road trip...I shouldn't be gone too long), I wanted to jot down an adjective or two about Witherfall.  Maybe a verb?  No, fuck verbs!

I used to be categorically anti-power metal.  What can I say?  If you don't listen to the stuff, you assume the worst.  Y'know, elves and shit.  Then you stumble upon bands such as Control Denied, Spiral Architect, Tad Morose, and Nevermore (yes, they're power-adjacent).  It is at that moment you realize that power metal extends beyond sprites and kobolds.  It can be technical.  Barring musical trivialities, it can also touch on more human sensibilities.  From my perspective, it's easier to headbang if your neck isn't chained to a goddamn unicorn.

Enter Witherfall.  Imagine if Nevermore were fronted by Hansi Kursch.  Better yet, imagine a heavier Demons & Wizards.  Fuck to the yeah!  The California-based coterie currently sits at three long players, each one as strong as the last.  I'm dead serious when I avouch to you, my darling, that I can't pick a favorite.  You could start at the beginning, but I advise sucking down 2021's Curse of Autumn.  The production is full-bodied all around.  So you know it's worth sucking.  Hello.

There is no penultimate ditch...

I'm going to keep this relatively short, partly because I'm tired of repeating myself and don't feel like I should have to.  I've had people ask me how to support the site.  Well, now there's an easier way.  Click HERE.  The minimum donation is $3 per month.  If you can't swing three bucks a month to help...be nice, Dom...be nice.  I'm just saying.  I don't think folks realize (and this isn't necessarily their fault) that this is what I do.  I can't work a regular job.  I collect disability, but...yeah, I'm not going to go there.

Random Reviews needs financial support to stay afloat.  It's like any other website.  It cannot grow without YOU, the reader(s).  But hey, you stand to gain in the long run.  Check out the perks.  You could get a free gift/prize every month!  Woah!

Reviews of Fuck #1 - PORTRAIT!

It's ironic that I decided to tackle this project, even as I concede that I'm blinking several albums out of existence (quiet down, rubes...you know who you are).  On the subject of Marilyn Manson, I am well past the point of discovery, that wild, bracing flux of new emotions you feel when you and your paramour (or honeybunch, if it suits your means) are waist-deep in the dating stage of your relationship.  That's not the only reason why this assiduous endeavor may seem out of step with my current tastes.  Heh, did you see that?  The first three letters of "assiduous" spell a foul invective.  Ass!  Can you believe that?  ASS!

And so this intellectual dissertation continues...these days, I primarily lock myse-ASS!  Man, I guess you had to be there.  Right, so the majority of the music that I jam into my ears is metallic.  To be a tad specific, I've been devouring atmospheric black metal by the shovel load.  We have a mammoth road trip looming next week (truly, it's a commiserable peregrination; it's also a couple of fancy words), and judging by the playlists I've compiled for the occasion, I won't be shaking metal from my bones anytime soon.  Apart from the heaviest moments of Portrait of an American Family and Antichrist Superstar, Manson is an industrial rock act.  What gives?

Outside of being an intriguing discography review, I don't have a gratifying answer.  Ever since eyeballing the video for "Sweet Dreams" at the tender, marbled age of 11, I've been fascinated by the man, the myth, the calculated character that is Marilyn Manson.  I didn't immerse myself in Portrait until I considered myself to be a well-versed fan.  If Antichrist Superstar is the devil himself, then Portrait is a lowly familiar, a menial demon content to pester you, perhaps by pissing on your ornamental rug.  That's not a bad thing, necessarily.  In 1994, this quintet of spooky kids wasn't too far removed from high school, and you can tell.

"Cake and Sodomy" is a forceful track.  I can't think of a more germane way to kick off the record.  Right out of the gate, you'll notice (or at least I did) an electric guitar that yields to the rhythm section and buckles beneath the other instruments during moments of ungainly tension.  "Hardly worth mentioning, Dom."  I beg to differ, hypothetical paper tiger.  Manson himself has such a commanding presence, people forget that there is a guitarist on the payroll.  On Portrait, that guitarist is Daisy Berkowitz.  Next to John 5, he's my favorite Manson axeman.  Would it be going too far to call him the Randy Rhoads to Manson's Ozzy Osbourne?  Yes.  Yes, it would.

Speaking of favorites (and guitars, natch), "Cyclops" is my favorite cut here.  Additionally, it boasts a fantastic solo break.  The song does encompass some of Manson's weaker lyrics ("Cyclops woman can't see nothing at all/She got a pin prick spiral hole"), but it fucking rocks.  That sound you heard was me demolishing your argument, if you had one.  Do I really need to cover the classics?  No, seriously; my vision is beginning to blur.  I will proclaim that "Lunchbox" is just as repetitive as it is catchy.  Sonically, "Get Your Gunn" hints at the album around the corner.  I love the wry focus on soft/loud dynamics.  You can castigate his moral fiber (and trust me, I'm getting there), but the guy knows how to write a chorus.

The first half of Portrait of an American Family walks with purpose.  The second half...eh, it trips and falls over.  I'm not sure what happens exactly, but this set of sparklers loses its momentum as it approaches the finish line.  I can relate.  Ask yourself how many times you have listened to "Misery Machine" in its entirety.  If the number is above zero, you are lying.  Okay, I'll give you one.  ASS!  That's called a theme, kids.

   

Album Cover of the Whatever

This sick puppy hasn't even been released yet.  I just want to point a neon green arrow at it and shriek.  What is it?  It's a split between Abyssal and Tchornobog, the former having prostrated my prostate with their latest long player, 2019's A Beacon in the Husk.  The latter...I'm familiar with the name, but that's about it.  For me, this release simply means we get new Abyssal to gobble up.  And the cover art!  Holy what the shit I can't even right now.

Blood Capsule #130

FULCI FOR FAKE (2019)

Lucio Fulci is my favorite European auteur.  It could be said that he peddled the same brand of lush, prismatic gore as Dario Argento, but for reasons undetermined (and thus unspecified), I always preferred the maestro of Italian horror.  His scares hit with less pretense.  Just my opinion, kids...sure, I'm right, but the tears are a bit much.  At times, Fulci for Fake is a bit much.  I feel like I can speak for all fans when I say that we only wanted a documentary.  We didn't need director Simone Scafidi to interpolate himself into this brocade of genuinely interesting material by virtue of a groundless subplot.  Yes, subplot.

The viewer is asked to go along with the idea that our narrator is grooming actresses to be slaughtered on the side.  If the heart of Fake wasn't so earnest and authentic (the interview segments with a crippled Camilla Fulci will batter your emotions), I don't know that it would be worth recommending.  But here I am recommending it.  Use your own judgment.