Genre : Thrash Metal with Glam Metal affectations
Label : Nuclear Blast Records
Origin : United States
Rating : 6.0 / 10
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The new Overkill LP starts out with a superb, tribal-thrashy introduction, - bouncer thrash guitars on 'roids included - which though is on its way to open up stone-orthodox human growth hormone thrash metal on your awareness. Pinball machine thrash with fast cars and chicks wearing a snarl. Wow. The central character of this album packs the excitement factor of waiting around for the bus at a public bus stop, and that mainly is due - in my opinion - to the shockingly tepid glam metal (!!) chorus work and a submission to road-motorsport metal rhetorics the contribution is an obese, sweaty galore of. What the hell, it still has potato chips charisma. As just noted, Overkill's latest exhibits profound indication of glam metal in - pfff - "traces", and the so called deviation-, - pseudo-complexity it offers are renditions of the thrash metal methods you witnessed serving diligent duty a million times before, only with more vile elegance and inventiveness. This sounds to me as thrash delivered by sheer routine, like they do not even watch. You are free to take the position that I have no clue what I'm talking about, and this is in-your-face badass thrash warfare that emerges
to Destrooooy Eeeeeverything
in its way, and I second the notion that indeed, on OCCASION, the album works pretty well. There are some songs with increased amount of catchy factor and only a mild dosage of (chest)hair metal in them, and the guitar solos are doubtless top of the food chain caliber. But the record's flow suffers legendarily, as result of reoccurring fixations the group can't seem to get rid of during the dire. I mean : ride. Like the favorite note-bending of the singer, which he uses to end 11 out of 10 of his sung lines. Terrible, fucking terrible. Track number 3, "Wish You Were Dead" starts out with a superb intro, - just like as the first song - and then the band practically starts to drown amidst thrash platitudes being raped violently in front of your helpless crying eyes. It is about 15% legit thrash metal with vile intentions and stuff I can take serious, and 85% of Dave Mustaine's trademark cabaret thrash metal that which he plays when there is no musical thought on his mind whatsoever, and cabaret thrash is his method to hide this fact. You know, Inspector Gadget thrash metal. CHUGGA! CHUGGA! - Now! Iiiii! Am! Pretty! Pissed! CHUGGA! CHUGGA! Look! At! The! Kill! You've! Missed! CHUGGA! CHUGGA! GTFO. Pretty hideous thing. Read on to find out more about this release from Overkill, which exactly is just that. (Overkill.)
I personally feel that the members of this veteran ensemble surely must have - arrogant contradiction - decided that they will put out a pulverizing thrash epic weighing in at 50 minutes, no matter what. Guess what : it just mattered what. The album, for the most part, is tired, uninspired and even unfocused routine thrash in traces, and, to validate my claim, I offer you the example of track number 5 : by this time, Overkill is so embarrassed by the fact that there are no thrash platitudes left to assrape without vazelin at the moment, - because they tremble in fear around - that Overkill goes Iron! Fucking! Maiden! on you to administer c-grade Iron Maiden-clone power metal with communist marching song vibe and gang-shouts included. "Save Yourself!"
Good idea.
I do not seek to be especially douchy about this delivery, because the work doubtless is there, only, the exquisite thought-, the aim behind the work canceled the invitation. Instead, the thought simply is "let's thrash like goodol' times boys!", but the premiere ingredient-, the vileness of thrash is substituted by glam metal antics and bicepses, and this, I think, is quite staggering to see and hear. (On a negative register.) I do not deem this release bad by any means, as the complexity is there, but its substance is a towel reeking mansweat. No thank you. Not a bad record though. As the saying goes here at Noise Shaft, it is much worse than that : mediocre. VASTLY - oxymoron? - mediocre. Worth a listen, but don't expect this music to command/tune your psyche in to violent headbanging fueled by the evident desire to submit to the metal. Pinball machine thrash metal with fast cars and chicks wearing a snarl, and the snarl is the sexiest thing of it all. As for this Overkill album, it tries valiantly, but never fucking touches the switch.
Rating : 6.0 / 10
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