Hatebreed are the manliest band in the world. Like if Predator (the film not the actual alien, which would just be weird) was crossed with Steak and Chips and farting under duvets. They are the perfect accompaniment to manly pursuits like working on those ripped abs and flexing those guns.
They might even be too manly for me and I drink beer and watch football and everything. Floating through the metal-core ether they are like a giant pair of testes being beaten against ‘the man’ or some such.
So anyway review… Best thing they’ve ever done you say? Well without being too mean that wouldn’t be hard. I love Hatebreed for entirely the wrong reasons. They are my workout band. I have been known to drag myself away occasionally from sitting on my arse and moving my limbs until I get a bit clammy. Sexy, right? As a very general rule the fast stuff is good to run to and the slow stuff for doing “reps”. Yeah “reps”. I know all the lingo.
The album is actually really good for what it is. Let’s not pretend here, Hatebreed are a generic hardcore band that plays generic hardcore songs with generic hardcore lyrics. The gang vocals occasionally make me guffaw and I cringe more than one should at some of the terrible lyrics. The lyrical highlight for me is Jamey Jasta screaming ‘Nothing fucking scars me!’ like he’s fucking Wolverine or Wolverine’s brother with the nails and that. Well done him.
This is a 7/10 album at best if you like this sort of thing but as an aid to getting ‘ripped’ this could push you that extra mile to move your fat arse. So throw away that thigh-master and let Mr Jasta and pals motivate the crap out of you.