Deixo-vos com uma porção da análise feita na Drowned In Sound ao novo álbum de Mastodon, Crack The Skye, e também o link para a sua totalidade. Tem piada e classe. Espero que gostem tanto quanto eu e o meu falido sentido de humor:
«If Mastodon weren’t so astoundingly accomplished on a technical level, as musicians who’ve entirely mastered their heavy metal art, then taking the Atlanta foursome seriously would be very difficult indeed.
Firstly, there’s the name. Apologies to dirty-kneed archaeologists out there, but essentially naming yourselves Fuck-Off Enormous Extinct Elephant doesn’t tick all that many boxes of cool. Black Sabbath it sure ain’t, and everybody knows that if you’re absolutely insistent on naming your band after an animal, make it some variety of tiger. Tigers are way cool, elephants significantly less so – one will eat a sticky bun from your hand, the other the bun and your hand.
Secondly, there are the lyrics. We’ve had a whole album based on Herman Melville’s most-famous tome, and now we’re subjected to wordplay straight from the World Of Warcraft screen: “The demon skin is covered in fine mist / Opened his hand in my hand / Holding my eyes to the future / Hovering above myself.” Some pimpled and bespectacled teenager who won’t get laid for another five years is having a wet dream to lyrics like these, right now. Yes, that is a shiver that just ran down your spine. Mine too.
Yet, we forgive Mastodon these should-be shortcomings, because when every last avenue of critical analysis is extinguished, and every potential failing assessed, the band Still Fucking Rocks – harder, better, and faster than any of their peers. Throughout Crack The Skye they repeatedly deliver the kind of dizzying riff-work that’s designed solely to frustrate the shit out of Guitar Hero worshippers by out-manoeuvring even the fanciest PlayStation fingerwork. Players of said six-string parts, Brent Hinds (who’s also an accomplished banjo player) and Bill Kelliher, build layers of amplification so very thick that listening to portions of this record is akin to being trapped in a tunnel beneath the sea with roaring behemoths at both exits – it’s intoxicating in its beastly beauty, but all the while you feel there’s no way out, that either the walls will crumble or you’ll head towards a to-the-death duel you can’t possibly win.»
«If Mastodon weren’t so astoundingly accomplished on a technical level, as musicians who’ve entirely mastered their heavy metal art, then taking the Atlanta foursome seriously would be very difficult indeed.
Firstly, there’s the name. Apologies to dirty-kneed archaeologists out there, but essentially naming yourselves Fuck-Off Enormous Extinct Elephant doesn’t tick all that many boxes of cool. Black Sabbath it sure ain’t, and everybody knows that if you’re absolutely insistent on naming your band after an animal, make it some variety of tiger. Tigers are way cool, elephants significantly less so – one will eat a sticky bun from your hand, the other the bun and your hand.
Secondly, there are the lyrics. We’ve had a whole album based on Herman Melville’s most-famous tome, and now we’re subjected to wordplay straight from the World Of Warcraft screen: “The demon skin is covered in fine mist / Opened his hand in my hand / Holding my eyes to the future / Hovering above myself.” Some pimpled and bespectacled teenager who won’t get laid for another five years is having a wet dream to lyrics like these, right now. Yes, that is a shiver that just ran down your spine. Mine too.
Yet, we forgive Mastodon these should-be shortcomings, because when every last avenue of critical analysis is extinguished, and every potential failing assessed, the band Still Fucking Rocks – harder, better, and faster than any of their peers. Throughout Crack The Skye they repeatedly deliver the kind of dizzying riff-work that’s designed solely to frustrate the shit out of Guitar Hero worshippers by out-manoeuvring even the fanciest PlayStation fingerwork. Players of said six-string parts, Brent Hinds (who’s also an accomplished banjo player) and Bill Kelliher, build layers of amplification so very thick that listening to portions of this record is akin to being trapped in a tunnel beneath the sea with roaring behemoths at both exits – it’s intoxicating in its beastly beauty, but all the while you feel there’s no way out, that either the walls will crumble or you’ll head towards a to-the-death duel you can’t possibly win.»
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