"On Wings Of Pestilence"

Metal CDs can be spotted at fifty paces, even if they have misleadingly (not a word) soothing covers. The track names give it all away. Death, revulsion and self-mutilation are reoccuring themes in a genre plagued by repetitive bunk. Since the earliest of metal bands, new ideas have hardly been forthcoming. This is due to their status as the products of upper-middle class angry teenagers whose parents let them use the garage and expensive sound equipment to express themselves. I'm not saying, of course, that this is always the case, and many of these boisterous boys come up with plenty of good messages and viable points. But from where I'm sitting, most of it is a wackload of self-pity and juvenile frustration, even amongst the hairiest and midtwentiest of metal bands.