(Season of Mist)
I’m not sure who I’m the most revolted by, to be honest. Is it the idiots who expected an album by the assortment of strong gentlemen pictured above to be worthy of time or attention, and who are now flooding the internet with briny glandular liquids at the revelation, like a buckle-end belt to the chops, that it is not? Or is it the battery of smug self-appointed experts who have rallied behind the record for ???? reason, and who, from atop their high horses, dismiss the ‘bile’ of critics as the virginal hand-flapping of hollow-headed idiots, and even attempt to get airborne ill-conceived comparisons between histrionic metal fans and planet Earth’s greatest newspaper, the Daily Mail? Crikey, what a palaver, eh?
And then there’s us, the lantern-jawed and intrepid pigeonauts who bestride the musical landscape on a timetable determined by our mental disorders, turning our flammable breath and caustic flatulence on fans and critics alike. In the 18 months or so we’ve been going, we’ve ascended so far above it all, we’ve had to don bacofoil suits and goldfish bowl hats just to keep breathing. In the meantime, we’ve ‘pigeoneered’ a brand new strain of criticism, wherein we don’t even need to bother writing reviews. We just sit here, at http colon oblique oblique http://www.demonpigeon.com dot com, seeing all – judging you, silent and malevolent. We’re like a CCTV camera covered in dogshit.
And when we go over a month without updating a sodding thing, you can just look at our homepage and imagine a little picture of the last stupid children’s record you wasted £15 on and think about what words we might have used to excoriate it, if it wasn’t beneath our notice. Some of them would have been swearwords. Those ones are easy to guess.
So where does that leave us with regard to Morbid Angel? Who cares what we think? Who fucking cares what anyone thinks? I haven’t listened to their record, and I have no intention of doing so. They look like idiots, they’ve got an unintelligible spiky logo, and I’m gonna go out on a limb and imagine they sound like a beehive in a biscuit tin booted off a mountainside by a bored adolescent. Also, look at them. Just look.
But from this unassailable position of absolute ignorance, I bet I can say one thing that none of you morons would dare argue with: You either like this kind of nonsense or you don’t. Christ, just shut up and fucking get on with it, would you, whatever ‘it’ is. Is it metal? Is it not? Are they experimenting? Are they progressive? Is it naptime yet? Where’s nanny’s tit gone? Either way, it scarcely fucking matters, does it? It’s like having a stand up argument about which Warhammer 40,000 army is the best.
In conclusion, you’re all fucking virgins and we can’t fucking stand you any more. Don’t come back here because we’ve got a gun.