Reading: A memoir

Ah, the Reading and Leeds festival. A true staple of the August Bank Holiday. My very first festival experience was way back in 1998 when the Reading Festival didn't have a Leeds bit bolted on. Bro Dude, my sister and I trucked down with our immensley complex tent and set about enjoying a weekend of musical variety.

The highlight of Reading '98 was the Vans Warped Tour. That year saw Bad Religion, Lagwagon and No Fun At All on the same stage which for a 16-year-old MADman was about as exciting as life could get. I spent my hard earned pocket money on a Lagwagon hoody which I wore solidly for the next two years of college and still don to this very day. It's a bit on the grey side and there a large, suspicious burn mark in the front but it's still without doubt my favourite item of clothing.

It was the first time I had gotten well and truly battered with my siblings. Clearly the age restrictions on booze were a little more lax back then as I distinctly emember me and Bro Dude sitting in the middle of the main arena smashing pint after pint of lager in front of Monster Magnet and Rocket from the Crypt. I also treated myself to 20 Silk Cut which I shared with my sister as we sat in front of the tent discussing life, the universe and everything when Bro Dude had drunkenly passed out somewhere. We took that opportunity to imbibe about four litres of Strongbow, resulting in me hanging my head out of the tent and vomitting. The police walked up and asked me if I was okay, I explained it was my first festival, they moved along. They were simple times.

New Order graced the main stage that year and despite my teenage drunken fug I remember being blown away by True Faith, which remains my favourite song of theirs. Peter Hook's short-lived side project Monaco were there that year too so Bro Dude got two slices of his bass hero that weekend.

As a lifelong Prodigy fan watching them destroy the mainstage was pretty bleeding spectacular. I remember little of their set, apart from dancing like a twat in the vain hope that my chubby legs were moving vaguely like Leeroy Thornhill's in the No Good (Start the Dance) video. They weren't. Obviously. And the dancing continued with drum and bass Mercury Music Prize winner Roni Size who played in a tent, and it was loud, and that's all I can remember...

There was also a chap walking around selling hash cigarettes for a pound each and although I didn't partake (I promise, mum) I remember thinking that was a bargain, even then.

So as the crowds descend upon Berkshire and Yorkshire this year, I hope a marvellous time is had by all. The line up isn't setting my groin ablaze but as always with this festival there are some awesome punk and hardcore outfits to be seen.

Still, there's no Lagwagon, so whatever.

M

\m/

A forecast

Today there is a 100% chance of rock, with cold beers approaching from the South. Towards the end of the day, an area of London will be covered in a cloud of Eddies and which may cause flash singalongs in lower regions.

It's the penultimate night of Iron Maiden's Final Frontier tour tonight. I've been awake since 7am wondering when it's appropriate to crack open a beer to get the ball rolling. In t-minus 4 hours me and The House will be on a train to London reliving our monumental Maiden Twickenham 2008 outing and discussing how today will have some shoes to fill but judging from the setlist of the tour so far, it looks extremely possible. The O2 is an excellent venue but it doesn't have the sun-soaked open air vibe of Twickers. We shall see.

DragonForce supporting is a bit disappointing as, although I thought Inhuman Rampage was a belter of an album, they haven't done anything new or exciting for some time. This will be the first time I've seen them since new vocalist Marc Hudson joined after original wailer ZP Theart buggered off so open-minded one is remaining.

Joining the festivities today is Maiden 2008/Metallica 2009 veteran Bandy, Sonisphere compadre Petrovski and work colleague/slightly unhinged former soldier CJZ. In a word, this is going to be a big day. The write up will be on MetalasFuck once I've regained my motor skills.

UP THE IRONS!

M

\m/

You need this stuff

2011 has been full of marvellous albums and everyone loves a list. Hence today's 5 Albums From 2011 Wot You Must Own Or You're Some Sort Of Arsehole list was born.

1. The Bunny The Bear - If You Don't Have Anything Nice To Say...

Mental. Amon Amarth had a child with Savage Garden, raised if for five years, then went onto The Maury Show only to find out that Combichrist or Between The Buried And Me might be the baby-daddy. That's what this album is.

2. Malefice - Awaken The Tides
The latest album from the increasingly excellent British metallers is absolute class. They've taken their sound to a new level with more blasting, harder vocals, and cat's arsehole-tight musicianship throughout. A must have.

3. Agnostic Front - My Life My Way
Hardcore lives. Consistently intense, plenty of singalongs and hundreds of opportunities to rip off your shirt and get stuck the fuck in. So to speak.

4. Joe Bonamassa - Dust Bowl
Smoother than a freshly-sanded pint of Guinness and cooler that a Penguin's ballbag, Bonamassa's solo work is about as good a summer album as you could ever listen to. Pretty much perfect rock and roll blues, it's better than whatever you're currently listening to.

5. Evile - Five Serpent's Teeth
You want thrash? I said do you want THRASH?! Then buy this. Then grow your hair, buy some denim, and play air guitar like you mean it. Evile's return was highly anticipated and rightly so.

If you haven't bought any music this year, start with this lot. If you like metal, that is. And to be honest, if you haven't bought any music this year why are you reading a music blog? What's wrong with you?

With the promise of more musical excellence on the horizon, this is an exciting 12-month period. Either that or everything good has already come out and I've just fucked up my end of year Top Ten.

God speed

M

\m/

Guest review: Leatherface - Viva La Arthouse (Live in Melbourne)

Bro Dude explains why the boys from the North still have it...

As I sit here listening to their latest release Viva La Arthouse – Live in Melbourne I realise it’s nearly 20 years since I first heard Leatherface, courtesy of a DJ at The Venue, a once great (now crap) music club in London’s grotty suburb of New Cross, and it got me reminiscing a bit. That first introduction was the band’s cover of Message in a Bottle, an epic reworking of the Police classic – bigger, faster, harder, growling vocals. I loved it.

I bought their debut EP and, taking aside the Police cover, listening to Not Superstitious and Trenchfoot proved to be a bit of a punk rock epiphany for me. This band was pretty damn special. A copy of Mush was purchased soon after (now widely regarded by fans of the genre as one of the best punk albums of all time) and this cemented my love for Sunderland’s finest.

So, a fair few years down the line and I have another album to add to the collection. Viva La Arthouse..., the second release on the band’s own Big Ugly Fish label, was recorded during their Stormy Petrel world tour in 2010 at the Arthouse, a small, family run music venue that has played host to many bands of many genres for the last 19 years. Sadly, due to the enforcement of new licensing laws and restrictions, their doors closed in May 2011.

Being on the other side of the planet I never got the chance to visit the ‘Arty’ personally, but from what I’ve read it’s definitely held in fond regard by musicians and patrons alike. Indeed, before launching into Not Superstitious, frontman Frankie Stubbs remarks that ‘I’ve never been to a better venue than this’.

Recorded on the spur of the moment, Viva La Arthouse has that intimate feel you can only attain when a band plays a small venue. From the balls-out opener of Not a Day Goes By you can tell that the band is enjoying being there. The set list touches everything from 1990's Fill Your Boots through to 2009’s Stormy Petrel, although it’s pointless to try and categorise old and new Leatherface material in such a way; a new track like My World’s End wouldn't have sounded out of place on 1989’s Cherry Knowle.

The bass and drums are tighter than a camel’s arse in a sandstorm and it’s great to have original guitarist Dickie Hammond back in the line up. There’s something special about the Stubbs/Hammond partnership, something about the song writing and guitar harmonising. Very few punk tunes make my hairs stand on end (or give a ‘reet neck mohican’ as Stubbs once put it in an old NME interview) but Springtime has always had that effect on me, as does the recent track Never Say Goodbye.

A great set continues, the crowd’s call for Springtime is answered, a rowdy rendition of Wat Tyler’s classic Hops and Barley follows, and they finish with an impromptu karaoke style cover of Nine Inch Nails’ Hurt, which, whilst being one of those ‘maybe you had to be there’ moments, has an undeniable charm and poignancy given the fate of the venue.

In short, the new stuff sounds great alongside the old, the band are on top form, and if this album follows the tradition of being as hard to find as all the other ‘live’ Leatherface albums, you’d better hurry up and get a copy.

Viva La Arthouse is out now on Big Ugly Fish Recordings

Sonisphere 2011; how it went down...

There are certain times in your life that you don't mind being called a bastard. I experienced one of these times last week when telling my mates that I'd won Rock Royalty tickets to this year's Sonisphere festival. The added bonus for me, which not everyone appreciated, was that the win included a meet and greet with Limp Bizkit.

Being as my homie Petrovski is a fan of the Bizkit, plus it was his birthday, he was the lucky recipient of ticket two. He couldn't get the day off work but after some strategic truth realignment we were on the road and aiming for as much of the Big 4 as possible.

Tent erected (stop sniggering at the back) we hit the main arena. Unfortunately, traffic fuckaboutery and confusing contraflow meant we'd missed Anthrax and Megadeth but as Slayer pounded their way through a blistering set and the beers flowed steadily down our gullets, it didn't seem to matter. Finishing with Raining Blood and Angel of Death, Slayer played a blinder. But then it was time for the main event and as soon as the Ecstasy of Gold started wafting over the PA the crowd were off.

There have been a few twinges around the music press about Metallica being a bit static and unengaged but clearly the people saying this need their genitals nailed to a moving train. The setlist was:

Hit the Lights

Master of Puppets

The Shortest Straw

Seek and Destroy

Sanitarium

Ride the Lightning

The Memory Remains

All Nightmare Long

Sad But True

The Call of Ktulu

One

For Whom the Bell Tolls

Blackened

Fade to Black

Enter Sandman

Pretty much as good as it gets? Oh no. Not yet. As with their recent Big 4 appearances, Metallica were then joined on stage by Slayer, Megadeth, Anthrax and members of Diamond Head for Am I Evil. Never has a moment been so metal. I assumed the world would implode. Once 60,000 people had finished going mental Metallica chucked Battery and Creeping Death at us and buggered off. Petrovski and I proceeded to drink a million beers, eat some crisps, and bivvy down for the night.

Saturday morning brought with it a stunning hangover, an expensive sausage and egg baguette and a rather pleasant shit in the Rock Royalty cans. With the weather threatening rain, we headed down to the Apollo stage for Sylosis, who's energy for 11:00 was extraordinary and a significant crowd got involved. Beers in hand we wandered across to the opposite Saturn stage for Richard Cheese and Lounge Against the Machine. Having spent the last few years recording lounge music versions of modern pop and metal songs, Mr. Cheese has built up a bit of a cult following and as such, the numbers witnessing his versions of Limp Bizkit's Nookie, Disturbed's The Sickness, Black Eyed Pea's Boom Boom Pow and Weezer's Buddy Holly were huge. It was nonstop laughs and a thoroughly excellent addition to the lineup.

Architects followed with a blistering set that lead nicely into Gallows. The day after Sonisphere, Gallows frontman Frank Carter revealed he would be leaving the band, which came as a huge shock considering the passion and balls out punk rock fury of his delivery on stage. Carter remains one of UK punk's most compelling front men and despite Gallows continuing without him, it will be his new band Pure Love that will get my attentions.

It's not a heavy metal festival without Max Cavalera appearing in some guise. Cavalera Conspiracy brought a refreshing simple slab of chugging metal to the site with Refuse/Resist and Inflikted involving major crowd singalongs. He may look like a stinking cider tramp but Cavalera knows how to work a crowd, particularly with the inevitable inclusion of Sepultura's anthem Roots. My only criticism was that Igor Cavalera's snare sounded like someone hitting a bucket with a tennis racket but you can't have everything I suppose.

With the onset of a) pissing rain and b) Kids in Glass Houses it was time to meander back to Rock Royalty for an expensive beer, some shelter and another sausage baguette. The VIP area was a pretty opulent area for a festival. It even had, in some instances, seats. After another marvellously clean bog experience, we headed back to the tent for more provisions. In true male preparatory style we'd packed 15 cans of beer, 24 bags of crisps, 12 sausage rolls and a bag of dry roasted peanuts (important roughage).

Despite the brutal downpour which started to assault the tent, I waterproofed myself up and headed out into the elements as there was no way on Satan's green Earth that I was missing Bad Religion. The funniest thing about these punk legends is the fact that they are old. It's difficult to imagine that the balding, polo shirt-wearing blokes on stage were the force behind Voice of God is Government and We're Only Gonna Die but by the time they'd pulled out 21st Century Digital Boy and Fuck Armageddon...This is Hell their credentials could never be denied. Bad Religion are one of the bands that I started listening too in my yoof with the rest of the Fat Wreck/Epitaph bands so to finally see them in the flesh was a pretty immense experience.

After another tent/beer/sausage-based product intake the sun found it's way through and with the promise of Paradise Lost and The Sisters of Mercy on the way, we headed down to the Jagermeister stage for Rival Sons. A somewhat erroneous addition to the traditionally brutal Earache Records roster, this quartet sound like a modern day Led Zeppelin, with frontman Jay Buchanan commanding the stage as I would imagine Robert Plant did back in the day. Their blues-tinged rock and roll was absolutely spot on and is vying for a top five slot in terms of performances for the festival.

Saturday started to go a bit wrong after that. As we descended upon the Bohemia stage, which is in a tent, we came across belligerent security guards and metal barriers. Seemingly Gojira had caused such a surge in the crowd that barriers were put in place and in their infinite wisdom, the crowd control staff decided that the tent shouldn't be more than half full for the rest of the night. As a result, we stood in the drizzle for about twenty minutes listening to Paradise Lost before fucking it off completely and heading back to the tent. Saturday came to an inglorious end. In hindsight we should have headed to the Bedroom Jam stage for Watain but the buzzkill of Paradise Lost coupled with the turgid monotony of Weezer and Biffy Clyro headlining the Apollo stage meant we were better off smashing a few cans at the tent and waiting for Sunday whilst discussing pertinent questions such as who would win in a fight between Bruno Brooks and Keith Chegwin.

Dawn broke, as did a great deal of wind thanks to a heroic intake of sausage rolls, and wellington boots were donned. Petrovski also made a sneaky dash to Asda for 24 cans of lager as we'd spent the national debt of Ethiopia on Tuborg over the last 36 hours and were feeling the festival pinch. So with cans in pockets and underpants we strolled into the main arena, unable to avoid the hellish aroma of a broken Rock Royalty toilet block but happy nonetheless. Opening the proceedings was Volbeat, who got a chunky crowd and despite covering Raining Blood with the wrong notes kicked the day off a storm.

Arch Enemy then took the stage and the bizarrely sexy Angela Gossow unleashed her epic lungs upon us (stop it). I've never seen Arch Enemy play a bad set. Michael Amott's guitar pedigree is unrivalled and their delivery is bordering on perfect every time. As I Will Live Again cascaded across the field and we were planning to head over to the Jagermeister stage for hardcore outfit Feed The Rhino I received a call from Steph van Spronsen of The Noise Cartel informing me that the meet and greet with Limp Bizkit would take place at 14:45. I won't lie, I did a bit of a shit. Stop pretending you don't sing along with Rollin' whenever it comes on. I had also told my pal The Red Wizard I would film Fred Durst telling him to fuck off (there's a long history of hatred there) but knew this would be unlikely to come to light.

So back to the tent for a few more cans and some revision on who the fuck the bassist was in Limp Bizkit and off we went a-wandering. Steph met us and walked us into the band area which couldn't have been more different from the place us proles were used to; clean, quiet, cheap beer, free tattoos, and Joel O'Keefe from Airbourne walking frantically in every direction with no obvious purpose. Durst's PR met us and explained he was tired and feeling unwell; at this point I was expecting him to live up to his "being a dick" hype. However, we wandered over, shook hands, and just had a bit of a chat (which apparently was filmed by Scuzz TV, so if you see Durst with a fat bloke in a white vest and an Agnostic Front baseball cap on telly do let me know). He told us how happy he was to be touring with Slipknot again, we spoke about the tragic loss of Paul Gray. He also kindly offered to buy me a blowjob as part of the prize win, which I declined as, although generous, I suspected Hot Chick wouldn't be too pleased. He then offered to fly her in by helicopter but alas, the logistics were just horrendous.

Here's a photo of us thugging out:

Having bumped into the hugely pleasant Mikael Akerfeldt and stood a bit startstruck as a sweaty Arch Enemy walked past, we were ushered back to the main arena, where a series of odd events resulted in my giving the manager of Exit Ten my stock of festival Immodium. But still, we'd met the Durst, we were buzzing (legally) so decided to enjoy a bit of Motorhead. The sad death of original Motorhead bassist Wurzel the day before was a shock to the crowd but it meant that Lemmy and the boys delivered a spot on, emotionally-charged set of songs that spanned 35-odd years.

More rain, more beers, and bin bags fashioned into dresses as the afternoon progressed and before long, Limp Bizkit took the stage and tore it up. The set was everything a fan would have wanted, i.e 90% Chocolate Starfish, plus Break Stuff. The only track from latest album Golden Cobra that they played was Douchebag, which features the eloquent chorus:

"Douchebag, I'mma fuck you up

Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you up"

x4

A searing critique of cultural oppression, I'm sure you'll agree. But fuck it; it's Limp Bizkit. Unless you've stood with 30,000 people during My Generation, Take a Look Around, Rollin, and all the other songs you all know, you really can't say you hate them. To go all Durst on yo' ass, that shit is fuckin' infectious bro.

Bill Bailey followed Bizkit with his absolutely spot-on comedy. From Rammstein to The Wurzels, he was hugely entertaining. But we didn't come here for comedy; Sunday was all about Slipknot. Their first UK show since the death of Paul Gray was second to, if not on a par with the Big 4 in terms of anticipation. There were Slipknot shirts everywhere on people of all ages and despite the onset of the shitting rain, the crowd was immense.

Opening with the traditional 742617000027 and blasting straight into (sic), Slipknot weren't there to piss about. Drawing on over a decade of material, they fused new and old as my personal fave Disasterpiece led into Psychosocial before steaming through The Heretic Anthem and Duality. The lack of Paul Gray hasn't effected the sheer intensity of Slipknot's live performance and as Corey Taylor said, this was a celebration and not a commiseration. Earlier in the day there had been a two-minute silence across the whole site; all the fairground rides shut down and 60,000 people stood facing the stage in memory of the fallen Number 2. Taylor commended the crowd for their respect and tells us it was a truly wonderful thing to see.

There is of course one main reason why Slipknot are so brilliant live and as the main set draws to a close, we're told it's time to "SPIT! IT! OUT!". Most of the crowd know what happens next. Despite the mud, down we sit, and as the song kicks back in, up the fuck we jump. Wonderful stuff.

Coming back on with People = Shit and Surfacing, a giant "2" dominates the backdrop and Gray's boilersuit and mask are brought to the front of the stage. It all comes to an end and it's been a hugely emotional experience for the 'Knot but they couldn't have been on better form.

The music, and indeed the festival, had finished. As the rain continued to pour we headed back to the tent to evaluate the weekend we'd just experienced - the bands, the beers, the toilets, the food, the awesome fat ginger bloke in an army helmet - and there was only really one question on our minds; how the fuck are we going to win Rock Royalty tickets for Sonisphere 2012?

'Appy day...(I should be shot for that pun)

Two of my favourite things are thrash metal and beer. The only thing that makes either better is the prefix 'free'. I spent last night enjoying both courtesy of Earache Records at the first playing of Evile's new album Five Serpents Teeth, scheduled for release on September 26th, and I am quite marvelously hungover as a result. Being as the full report is going on to MetalasFuck imminently I shan't regurgitate the evening here but needless to say that me and Shithouse, posing as our photographer and doing a bloody good job, had a belter.

One of our lengthier Stella-fuelled conversation was about genres and band classification. The beauty of Evile is that they're a thrash band. That's it. Simples. However, according to Heavy Metal Encyclopedia, an Android app available now via Marketplace, there are 86 genres of metal.

86.

Now although the app includes 'Punk' and 'Oi' as two genres, the rest are pretty legit, although what the fuck 'Humppa' is is beyond me. Seemingly that's what Finntroll is. I thought they were folk metal. And herein lies the problem.

I'm pretty sure no two people categorise bands the same. Iron Maiden are heavy metal, Megadeth are thrash, Sonic Syndicate are shit; this much we can all agree on. But I recently came across El Schlong who have been described as prog, post-hardcore, spazcore, all of which are broadly correct. Children of Bodom are, in my opinion, a melodic death metal band but are often referred to as blackened death metal, Opeth are everything from death to prog and back again. So despite being a good app, it's a tad flawed on the basis that the vast majority of us categorise bands differently.

It's worth downloading though, predominantly because it's linked to Spotify and has a vast amount of bands listed, although it doesn't have band bios which is a bit shit. There's also a lack of detail on the nastier genres, such as goregrind (which lists Carcass - I thought they were grindcore?...) I'm sure this will be updated over time though.

Another app worth exploring, particularly for fanboys like me, is the new DevilDriver app - tonnes of music, photos, a fan chat board, merch and band info. Both this and Heavy Metal Encyclopedia are free on Android, which is marvelous.

So now Metal Harmony officially does it all; news, reviews, tours, technology updates; you have to wonder if you'll ever really need another music resource ever again?

M

\m/

A storm is coming...

After a bit of a personal drought, there are finally some hugely exciting gigs on the horizon. Firstly, skate punk legends Strung Out are at the Camden Underworld on July 27th. This pleases me greatly as despite having listened to them for the last 15-odd years, I'm pretty sure I've never seen them live.

At the other end of the spectrum is oriental oddballs Dir En Grey in August, again in Camden. Their unique mashup of industrial-Japancore-Rammsteiny-Slipknotism is rather splendid, plus the lead singer Kyo is completely fucking batshit mental so provided he doesn't set fire to his eyeballs this is likely to be a pretty epic gig.

There's also the Hell on Earth tour in August. Headliners Unearth have a new album to promote (Darkness in the Light, out July 5th) and the fact that Evergreen Terrace are on the tour makes this a proper exciting proposition por moi.

My home town then plays host to much-applauded post-hardcore upstarts Letlive in September, all for the hilariously retarded sum of £6. And who said there's no money in music? The venue has a capacity of 250, so a sell out would be £1,500, plus a bit of merch. Then their support will need paying, and I suppose all final profits once the venue has taken it's cut

will have to be split between all five members of Letlive...they'll be rolling it it...

Finally, Deep Purple are undertaking an arena tour complete with a 38-piece orchestra which will be nothing other than awesome. I've not shelled out the necessary £50 yet so if anyone fancies sending me a gratis ticket I'll be sure to buy you a beer.

These are my planned movements so if anyone is intending to break into the house on the above dates, the PS3 is upstairs and the single malt is in the kitchen. Enjoy.

I'll leave you with this, from Dir En Grey. Feel free to have nightmares:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EUvpMhw5ALw

M

\m/

Download 2012...or not

Normally at this time of year me and Hot Chick would be teeing ourselves up for a massive weekend music of beers and sausage and mash-filled Yorkshire puddings, but this year one of our family has rudely decided to get married thus rendering our Download 2012 attendance impossible.

The line-up this year is nothing too exciting for me personally but it's the weekend itself that I'm going to miss; the endless stream of cold beer, the sitting in the sun applying extensive amounts of factor 50 to my bald head, the chatting to random people whilst laying in the sun and enjoying the mid-afternoon twiddlings of some rock legends. Download is just an amazing experience from start to finish.

I have no more to add this week other than wishing everyone that every one of you bastards has an amazing time and if anyone fancies writing a report of the weekend for Metal Harmony, drop me a line...

Laters homies
M
\m/

An homage to the new champions

Way back when, in the distant annals of 2006, Hot Chick played me a track called Hell and High Water by some unknown Southern rock outfit called Black Stone Cherry. I thought it was an alright tune but it didn't cause any scrotal tightening. She then bought their self-titled debut album and on one particular car journey, she stuck the CD on to my complete unbotheredness.

Opening track Rain Wizard started up and by the time the first verse came in I was hooked. It was without doubt one of the best, pure rock and roll albums I'd heard in years. Despite my initial ambivalence to lead single Hell and High Water, there isn't a single stinker on the album.

Black Stone Cherry played at the well-missed London Astoria in October 2007 (after being moved from smaller venue LA2 due to popular demand), and the set was recorded and pressed on CD on the night. In keeping with their humble roots, the BSC lads took the stage and were so grateful that they promised to come and chat to all the crowd and sign anything that needed signing once they'd come off stage.

Second album Folklore and Superstition was an absolute belter, and BSC continued their theme of opening up with a winning anthem in the shape of Blind Man. The gigs and tours that followed included major slots alongside the likes of Def Leppard and Whitesnake, as well as continually brilliant appearances at the major UK festivals.

Skip to the end, MADman...

The Cherry's latest album has recently hit the shelves. Between the Devil and the Deep Blue Sea had a huge amount of promise based on lead singles Blame it on the Boom Boom and White Trash Millionaire. So Hot Chick dutifully bought it on release day and I sat down to give it a listen.

The infamous "tricky third album".

And they have fucking nailed it once again. They may be a more polished, better looking, older, more mainstream version of their 2006 selves but bugger me sideways if this isn't yet another moment of pure Southern rock and roll excellence. So often a band loses their way and becomes too mainstream, or too generic, but BSC have kept their roots whilst spreading their wings. There's nothing complex about the content and to a degree, a lot of the tracks are quite predictable but sometimes you want to throw on a record, chug a beer, drive round to your buddy's house in a Ford F150 truck and go shoot some animals 'n' shit. This is the soundtrack to that afternoon and it is marvellous.

I could spend a lot of time discussing these legends from Kentucky but I shan't; instead, I politely suggest you buy everything they own, sit in the sun and enjoy the noise of the South. Y'all.

Much love

M

\m/

Being heavy

No, not as in "being a fatty".

I was having a chat with my mate Si-KO this week about heaviness. Not personal heaviness, as that would be odd. I am of course referring to musical heaviness.

In my not-even-slightly-humble opinion, 'heavy' isn't just about insane speed and indecipherable lyrics. If someone asked me to define heavy music I'd probably play them Slayer's Raining Blood and Sabbath's Iron Man. Neil Young's Hey Hey My My is another tune that, despite being thoroughly un-metal, is made indisputably heavy by a distorted, chugging guitar riff and dark as balls vocals.

This isn't to say that deathcore, the very much maligned and misunderstood bastard child of death metal and metalcore, isn't ridiculously heavy; it's just a different sort of heavy. I'm very aware I'm straying dangerously close to the "it's not metulz" line here...

The thing is, it ain't just metal that's heavy. Without sounding like a pretentious arsemonkey, O Fortuna from the opera Carmina Burana by Carl Orff (you all know it) is one of the heaviest, darkest pieces of music I've ever come across. I'd even suggest that The Prodigy's No Good and Voodoo People are pretty fucking heavy tunes, especially bearing in mind the odd videos. Drum and bass also has it's heavy moments outside of Slipknot's Eyeless; the 1999 self-titled album from D&B chappy Aphrodite contains some pretty weighty music.

In a nutshell, heaviness is all around us; it must be embraced.

M

\m/

Metal Harmony: The Heavy Edition

One of the most wonderful, and sometimes annoying, things about metal is the seemingly endless genres and sub-genres that exist. In fact, it's almost a necessity to invent a new classification for any new bands on the scene.

Over the last couple of weeks - actually, first let me apologise for my two-week absence. This is due to public holidays and hangovers, most recently to be blamed on the Royal Wedding. What a visual spectacle it was, eh? I'm not even the slightest bit interested in the Royal family, except for the value they hold for the British tourist industry, but seeing young baldy Prince William and fitter-when-shes-fatter Kate Middleton get their nuptial on was a very pleasant day.

Anyway, the metal. My ears have been abused over the last fortnight by nothing but the heavy. I don't mean headbang heavy; I mean smash your house up with one of your own severed limbs heavy. I've put some links to the brutality at the end, primarily so you have to read all this drivel first.

First up is Wormrot. Some of the nicest chaps I've met but without doubt the most abusive grindcore I've experienced. Stripped down drums, no bass, just pure grind madness. I haven't heard new album Dirge in its entirety but the excerpts I've come across have been insane.

From grindcore to death, Phoenix Amongst the Ashes from death metal titans Hate Eternal is quite simply brutal. I've got a full review on MetalasFuck here but this is the definition of heaviness. And on the subject of heaviness, time to doth a cap to Archspiar, the new kids on the block. They're just horrible. The fastest, most aggressive metal in existence may not be everyone's cup of Bovril but their debut All Shall Align (reviews also available on MetalasFuck her) is an absolutely devastating piece of work.

Moving back to the world of grindcore, Scottish outfit Cerebral Bore released Maniacal Miscreation last month and it is berserk. The vocals sound like Satan gargling landmines in his anus. You will struggle to find much heavier than this.

And finally, Mincing Fury. Yes, Mincing Fury. The most retarded goregrind in history. Samples from TV shows, scratching, a grind version of Korn's Blind, vocals that are pitchshifted beyond all recognition and a song entitled Heterosexual Testosterone Compressor. It's just insane.

So here are some links - enjoy:

Wormrot - Spot a Pathetic

Hate Eternal - Haunting Abound

Archspiar - Deathless Ringing

Mincing Fury (this is the best I could find...)

I shall be drinking heavily to celebrate my birthday this weekend, I suggest you all do the same.

M

\m/

People at gigs are dicks

I get the train to London five times a week and it never excites me. However, last Saturday was a different kettle of salmon as I embarked on my journey, not only because I had two ice cold cans of miscellaneous European beer in hand, but because I knew that at the other end was Amon Amarth, Ensiferum, Children of Bodom, and me old mucker Si Mitchell.

Me and Mitchell have been mates for the best part of twelve years and although we lost touch in the pre-Facebook void of time that no-one under 23 can comprehend, we chat on a regular basis. Normally about complete bollocks. On this occasion though there was something of substance to discuss and after I'd failed to identify about 80% of the band logos he'd tattooed on his own leg (mainly as I'm shit at that game) he told me about his new t-shirt company Zukie. Si's always been an excellent artist and has set this company up with A frontman Jason Perry and quite randomly, Dougie Poynter from boyband popsters McFly. The stuff is good, so buy something here.

Shameless plug aside, we drank a couple of quick pints, I fell down some stairs, we said goodbye, hugged, and Si and his missus went off to see ska punk legends Capdown whilst I made my way to Children of Bodom's headline
affair.

The monumentally long queue outside the HMV Forum was something to behold and frustratingly it meant I missed a big chunk of openers Ensiferum. Still, beer in hand I waded down to the front and caught a few numbers from their arsenal of frankly awesome folk death metal. They left the stage to make way for the mighty Amon Amarth - the main band I wanted to see.

And see them I did, through the view finders of 200 fucking digital cameras.

People: when we go to see bands, we go to see bands and listen to music. We go to enjoy an atmosphere and drink a couple of pints. We go to run around shirtless like retarded poultry. We do not go so we can all take two hours of video and upload it to YouTube. If you want to watch videos of the band, buy a FUCKING DVD. Because I can tell you this right now, my pretty little damp-chinned wonders; the next person who stands in front of me filming whilst I'm trying to get my metal on will be removing said camera/phone in several pieces from their anus.

Once my rage had subsided I got into the Amon Amarth experience and their epic onstage windmilling set the girl next to me off, only every rotation of her head saw her hair dunking into my pint of Tetley and the whipping me
in the face. Rather that than the camera wankers, mind.

Frontman Johan Hegg is an absolute beast who's vocals are deep enough rupture your spleen. These boys are bonafide Viking through and through and the set was everything you would expect; loud, fast, soaring guitar riffs, and Twilight of the Thunder Gods, which set the crowd off. I was buzzing.

When Children of Bodom took the stage, I started to get a wee bit bored. Maybe Amon Amarth were too good but Alexi Laiho et al didn't excite me tonight. I've seen them twice before and remember thinking "I thought they'd have been better". I might be wrong (unlikely) but for me COB are ace on record, a bit uninteresting on stage.

I left about an hour into their set and began the long arduous journey home in my usual post-gig state; ears ringing, completely broke and 100% drunk.

Good times.

M
\m/

Trying hard, getting far, and it the end it not really mattering

Tyranny has, bizarrely, featured quite highly in my listening this week. xTYRANTx on Eulogy Records have a hardcore/metal crossover sound that's pretty raw and incredibly meaty. Then there's Greek symphonic metallers Nightfall's latest offering Astron Black and the Thirty Tyrants. It's a bit of a chugger and has some epic atmospheric moments that combine heavy heavy guitar and vocals with soft orchestral breaks. Decent stuff.

Something else that's been resonating in the ol' ear this week is Linkin Park's Hybrid Theory. When I was in my teens, nu metal was a big deal. Sitting round my mate's house smoking weed and listening to Korn's debut album whilst watching Teletubbies was a staple of the week. Slipknot's self-titled belter, Disturbed's The Sickness, Papa Roach's Infest; I loved them all and still do. And of course you can't ignore Limp Bizkit's Chocolate Starfish... which, whilst indisputably hilarious, is a monster album from the era.

Hybrid Theory was fantastic when it came out. Listening to One Step Closer makes me feel like I've just got my driving licence and I'm gunning around Norfolk in a 1.3 Toyota Starlet (colour: Tropicana) all over again. Every track on the album is quality. But rather than becoming one of my favourite bands (a la Disturbed), Linkin Park decided to release virtually every song on Hybrid Theory as a single, then re-release it as a horrific electro-remix, and it all went downhill. It was all signs that they were lazy; they knew they had a winner and milked the living cock out of it.

I respect what Linkin Park has achieved. They've toured arenas, released four major albums (aside from the bastard remix album) and have got top-billing at some of the world's biggest rock music festivals. But for me they'll always be the band who peaked right at the beginning, got lazy, and ultimately got shit.

And on that note, I'm off to buy some massive jeans, a backwards baseball cap and have a beer with Shifty Shellshock.

M

\m/

Metal Gods

For many years I've been working in Soho which, for those of you who don't know, is the area of London populated by transvestites, predatory homosexuals, prostitutes, tramps, drug dealers, drug addicts, suit wankers (like me) and famous folk. I'm not generally a man who gets excited by celebrities (although I did bump into Lisa Snowdon once which caused a special type of excitement). But yesterday, after a number of fermented apple-based alcoholic beverages, I had a moment of major starstruckism.

There, wandering past the boozer, was the one and only Tony Iommi, accompanied by an attractive lady and a burly minder. I didn't want to be annoying fanboy and run over like a tit; after all, everyone deserves their privacy. However, in my defence I was a bit pissed, so over I went.

In my mind, I was planning to say:

"Tony! Great to meet you. I've been a huge fan for years and truly

consider you to be a pioneer of the genre. Thank you for the Iron Man

riff!"

What I said was:

"Tony! Huvumanashuffaphotoplease??!"

He kindly obliged. As you can see I'm doing a very poor job of playing it

cool:

What a legend.

The funniest part of this whole process was returning to my group of workmates, holding aloft my picture, smiling like a mentalist, and declaring:

"Look! It's Tony Iommi!". This was greeted by a wall of silence and blankexpressions.

"You know, the legendary axe man?"

*Tumbleweed*

"From Black Sabbath?"

A bit of disinterested eyebrow-raising.

This surprised me a wee bit. Even if you're not into metal, surely you know who Tony Iommi and Black Sabbath are? Am I being daft? One of the most important bands in the history of rock and metal? No? Fair enough.

I suppose it's all relative. To me, and I would imagine most people reading this, Iommi is a frickin' deity but to others, he's just an unusually tanned, ageing chap. But quite hilariously I've been with people who've been hugely excited about seeing balding lothario Callum Best, speech impaired controversy monkey Jonathan Ross and hot-but-bland-as-fuck girl band The Saturdays. No, honestly.

It takes all sorts I suppose.

M

\m/

You're the best, around...

A few mates and I used to play a game, normally during working hours whilst we were pretending to be busy and professional. You've probably all done it but the rules are simple; who would be your ultimate super group? You can have as many people as you like provided that combined, they make a cohesive band, so twelve lead guitarists is not acceptable. But if you feel the need to put in a sitar player then it's perfectly acceptable to get yourself a bit of Ravi Shankar in the lineup.

Today I've decided to revisit this high level piece of musical analysis on a genre-specific basis, although I'm not breaking down into 'death metal', 'black metal', 'hardcore' and so on because some total bellend will invariably have a hissy fit about who fits where. So with this in mind:

Punk Supergroup

Vocals - Greg Graffin, Bad Religion

Lead guitar/backing vocals - Frankie Stubbs, Leatherface

Rhythm guitar - Eric Melvin, NoFX

Bass - Matt Freeman, Rancid

Drums - Derrick Plourde, formerly Lagwagon

Metal Supergroup

Vocals - Ryan McCombs Drowning Pool

Lead guitar - Dave Mustaine Megadeth

Rhythm guitar - Dimebag Darrell Abbott formerly Pantera/Damageplan

Bass - Steve Harris Iron Maiden

Drums - John Boeklin DevilDriver

Stadium Rock Ultra Awesome Supergroup

Vocals - David Coverdale, Whitesnake

Lead guitar - Mark Knopfler, Dire Straits

Rhythm guitar - Steve Stills, Crosby, Still and Nash

Bass - Bakithi Kumalo, African bassist, played on Paul Simon's Gracelands album

Drums - Keith Moon, The Who

It's something you can spend a bollock-achingly long time on and it brings out the twat in us all, as no-one agrees. But the beauty of it is there's no right or wrong answer. Unless your line-up includes any members of My Chemical Romance.

If you can be arsed, post your winners on here.

Peace, love and painful intercourse,

M

\m/

Good times are upon us

I have to confess that I'm a little on the excited side. In the next few weeks, new albums from a number of epically awesome bands will be gracing the shelves of your local record store, or however it is people procure music nowadays.

Rise Against's sixth outing Endgame is out on March 15th and lead single Help Is On The Way indicates that yet again, these punk stalwarts have got it spot on. Tim McIlrath's political ire is back and he's been telling the press how Endgame is a warning of how fucked up the world is, and how we need to sort ourselves out before everything goes properly tits up. He may have been a wee bit more eloquent than that, mind.

Children of Bodom returned with Relentless Reckless Forever on March 8th and despite them having detractors amongst the metal elite (who doesn't?) it's impossible to deny the quality of this Finnish mob. Despite numerous people thinking Alexi Laiho is a total dick, as a vocalist/guitarist I think he's shit hot and as this is my blog, my opinion is the only one that matters. Their death/groove/glam/blah metal has just gotten better and better over the last few albums so my expectations are high. I'm also massively excited about their forthcoming double-header tour with Amon Amarth, who are also releasing Sutur Rising on the 29th of this month. I've heard this album (keep an eye on metalasfuck.net for the review) and it is a fucking belter.

And of course, Black Stone Cherry's Between The Devil and the Deep Blue Sea, coming out at the end of May. BSC are easily one of the most authentic rock and roll bands to emerge this century and I'm hoping the notoriously tricky third album follows their trend of producing absolute classics. Me and Hot Chick treasure our limited edition CD from their October 31st, 2007 London show, which they recorded on the night and pressed a thousand copies of. All four of the lads signed it, and drummer John Fred Young is the only man in existence who can get away with writing my wife's name and putting a heart around it. I'm a very, very jealous man.

Finally, let's not forget Whitesnake's latest love song-filled outing, Forevermore (March 25th). David Coverdale's husky vocals continue to deal with the issues of love, romance, loving, being in love and lovers from start to finish and it's pure cheesy class.

I'm already excited about my Top Ten of 2011...

Go drink beers.

M

\m/

How to not win friends or influence people

As some of you probably know, when I'm not hiding behind a daft alias and masquerading as a music scribe, I work as a corporate suitwearer in a suit-wearing corporate organisation. I'm currently attempting to find a junior minion to do my bidding, which means interviews. Obviously.

Most prospective lackeys type their CV into Google Translate and go from 'English' to '80s Wall Street Bollocks' so once people are in front of me, I like to find out more about them as people. I generally ask what their taste in music is in the vain hope that someone will say "I may not fulfill the stereotype but I'm actually into blistering, riff-laden thrash and abusive grindcore". Sadly the answer tends to be "oh, well, I like a bit of everything really". No, you don't.

Earlier this week I interviewed a chap and asked the music question. His reply was "repetitive beat music", which we established meant house, trance, electro, and so on. My colleague mentioned that I should never be asked my taste in music as it's shit, to which the interviewee replied "right, so you like heavy metal?".

Application: DENIED.

Have a beery weekend scummers
M
\m/

The Beast from the East. Of Scotland.

Our man North of the border, The Red Wizard, gives us his take on the new outing from the mighty DevilDriver:

Let me start by saying these days most new metal seems lost on me. The influx of so many new "metal" bands with screamy vocals and Fall Out Boy meets Tim Burton visuals leaves me cold. It takes a lot to get me hot and sweaty for any new metal releases from bands I don't know too well.

Having said that I do posses all the DevilDriver back catalogue but wouldn't consider myself a die hard fan like MADman. So onto Beast, the 5th offering from Dez's boys. From the off this is a ferocious piece of work. Dead To Rights literally sounds like you're having rivets pounded into your head and the offbeat guitar parts work a treat. Everything on Beast sounds incredibly tight and extremely punchy as is often expected of DevilDriver.

Whilst not bulging with tons of shreddy guitars the lead work is very tasteful and never dominates any of the 16 tracks on the special edition version of the album. My main gripe with these songs is the titles themselves. Tracks like Shitlist and You Make Me Sick sound like the angst of a petulant teenager (though if I should ever meet Dez Farfara I'd never tell him as he sounds absolutely demonic). My song title gripe aside the content does have a degree of maturity that lacks from a lot of metal music that's coming out these days.

The special edition of Beast gives us 3 bonus tracks (one being a live version of Grinfucked) and a DVD featuring five music videos. However, the icing on the cake has to be the hour and a half documentary 'You May Know Us From The Stage' chronicling the rise of DevilDriver from day one through to the present day. All in all a package showing how determined DevilDriver are to go down in the history books as a metal band to take notice of.

O Mentalists, where art thou?

I finished reading Dave Mustaine's autobiography A Life In Metal this week, and I still can't decide if he's an under appreciated genius or a complete tit.

In between talking about how hard he is and how much of a arsemonkey Lars Ulrich is, Mustaine is pretty honest about the superficiality of the scene back in the day; you had to dress a certain way, act a certain way...and by 'certain way' I mean Megadave's way.

I joined the Megadeth party pretty late in the day after Shithouse lent me So Far So Good So What in 2003. Since then I've respected what they've done and it's fair to say Endgame was one of the finest musical moments of 2009. I also listened to their greatest hits for about four straight hours on a 10-hour drive and didn't get bored once.

The thing that irked me about Mustaine's autobiography is that I could have been reading Slash's, or Nikki Sixx's, or one of any other rock legends. Tough youth, into drugs, major commercial success, hump a load of women, descent into life threatening addiction, band and marriage dissolve, artist continues, more drugs and bands, get sober, write a book. The rock star blueprint. It becomes a teeny bit predictable after a while.

But amidst all the massive hair and almost-deaths, these autobiographies show one thing; metallers ain't what they used to be. I don't know whether it's a result of more education (highly unlikely) or the fact that being a musician is less lucrative than it was, but the drug-fuelled alcoholic excess of the 80s and 90s seems to have disappeared from rock music. I'm not suggesting bands should go back to being wasted 24/7 and destroying their organs with prescription meds but it seems that the whole scene has mellowed out a bit. You hear the odd story about Oli Sykes and other young upstarts getting in a bit of trouble, but what happened to inserting phones/fish into groupies and driving Rolls Royce into swimming pools? Are there any genuine, bona fide rock and roll legends coming up through the ranks nowadays? I'm not sure. And based on the difference between rockers in the 1980s and metallers today, what does the future hold? Will the 2020 headlines be restricted to *STOP PRESS: Member of A Day To Remember Farts In Church*?

I'm not condoning drugs and debauchery; I've never done anything other than smoked a bit of weed as I'm a pussy and am far too scared. But it does seem to me that the golden era of obscene headlines about ridiculous excess has well and truly passed.

Farewell mofos.

M

\m/

Baby, baby, baby, oooh fuck...

Justin Bieber is the best thing to happen to heavy metal in years. Thanks to the Lego-haired Hilary Swank-a-like, the ridiculously banal crusade by Tipper Gore and the PMRC to censor music has yet again been rendered completely pointless and hideously flawed.

Gore's beef back in the 1980s was that albums marketed towards children should have a warning on them. Call me an overweight big-nosed skinhead but I never really saw the likes of Twisted Sister as something for the kiddies, hence Dee "The Fucking Metal Hero" Snider's stance against ol' Gorey (incidentally, I'm not going into masses of detail about the Parents Music Resource Centre as it's boring and I'm no expert. Google it for more info if you want). Now, music that is categorically marketed to children is the likes of Justin Bieber (and thus the circle completes).

In a recent Rolling Stone interview, the high-bollocked paedo dream suggested that, homosexuality was a lifestyle choice, America (his main source of fans and revenue) is evil and my personal favourite, abortion is wrong, even in cases of rape, as "everything happens for a reason".

Let me pose this question to parents; would you rather have your kids listen to heavy metal music and admire the likes of Scott Ian of Anthrax, a brutal shredder in a genre-defining thrash metal band and a dedicated family man with many years of marriage under his belt. Or Cradle of Filth's Dani Filth, well-documented as being a loving husband and father. Or a plethora of other decent men? No? Perhaps you'd you prefer them to have pictures of an uneducated, teenage imbecile adorning their walls whilst they subscribed to his embarrassingly incorrect right-wing ideals? Well? Tipper? You're a Democrat, what do you think?

I'm not suggesting metal is the wholesome breeding ground of perfect role models; I certainly wouldn't send my kids on a long weekend with Varg Vikernes. But whilst the ongoing debate about what kids should or shouldn't listen to rages on, look behind the music.

How about chart-topping R'n'B star Chris Brown, who enjoys using his martial art skills to kick the shit out of his girlfriend Rhianna?

There are arseholes in every genre, this is undeniable. Bieber is still young and there will no doubt be PR teams worldwide working to correct his monumental fuck up. But unfortunately his opinions are out there now and they matter to millions of tweens worldwide. Rather than being concerned that your kid is listening to Tomb of the Mutilated, which is pure theatre, be concerned that their high-profile role models are in the press attacking women and answering questions like a Fox News stalwart.

Up the Irons.

M
\m/

Set it off

I keep announcing my retirement from the pit at gigs but sure as there's a hole in my arse as soon as the next band comes to town, there I am at the front thrashing around like a total tit. Si-KO and I went to see Terror a couple of weekends back, supported by First Blood; I'd promised myself (and my other half) no pit action but alas, after First Blood warmed the crowd up with beauties such as Next Time I See You, You're Fucking Dead, I couldn't resist getting into the shit.

Terror frontman Scott Vogel is well known for his onstage banter and this gig was no exception. His constant encouragement kicked off a total fucking riot (including a bloke jumping off stage and hanging onto the aircon unit in the ceiling), which resulted in me taking a couple of windmills and a sizable foot to the face...try going into an office on a Monday morning, suited and booted, with eyes that look like Frank Bruno's bollocks. Not ideal but by the beard of Kerry King it was worth it. This gig was the definition of hardcore, pure and simple.

I bumped fists with the chaps from Pay No Respect at the Terror gig and the next weekend, there they were onstage supporting Lower Than Atlantis and Your Demise. There's something epic about seeing true legends of the genre and the new breed of hardcore in a single week. Pay No Respect are authentic and well deserving of the recollection they're starting to get outside the South East of England. Go to their MySpace when you've finished here or they'll stamp on your face.

LTA frontman Mike Duce, with his daft public school hair and padded Barbour jacket, looked completely out of place but when they got on stage all was forgiven. I'd heard nothing but good things about their live prowess and every bit of it is justified. They sounded like a speeded up, more pissed off version of 90s British alt-punks China Drum, and as me and Keef The Yeti stood at the bar pounding bottles of Newcastle Brown like we were about to enter a period of prohibition, LTA tore the venue a new one. Our ability to get served so quickly was primarily due to the fact that we we're clearly the oldest two people there, perhaps with exception of the chap in the Bruce Springsteen denim jacket.

Your Demise kept up the momentum but despite vocalist Ed McRae trying to fire the crowd up, the pit was never more than a bit of a swell. I was comparing it to Terror's crowd the previous week though, which is a bit harsh on a bunch of pubescent teenagers. But nevertheless, the stage got invaded, a couple of lads took their first foray into stage diving, and the theft of McRae's microphone marked the end of a fucking top quality gig.

So after seeing First Blood, Terror, Pay No Respect, Lower Than Atlantis and Your Demise in the space of a week I got hold of the new Agnostic Front album, My Life My Way, (awesomely mixed by Freddy Cricien of Madball) which hits the shelves in March. And it is Fuck. King. Awesome.

All in all, it's been a good couple of weeks for hardcore.

Bonjour,
M
\m/

How does one define "a tool"?

Vince Neil. What a cunt.

I love a bit of Motley Crue; I'd go so far as to say they were one of the greatest rock and roll bands of all time. I've enjoyed Nikki Sixx's Heroin Diaries and found The Dirt to be a compelling albeit ridiculous read. The Crue boys have done some crazy shit in their lives but all the sex, drugs and questionable trouser choices resulted in more than one nasty situation. Obviously Sixx dying a couple of times is one of them. However, more specifically Vince Neil's decision to drive when hugely drunk, resulting in the untimely death of Hanoi Rocks drummer Razzle.

Obviously this isn't breaking news. However, I found out a couple of days back that Neil will be pleading guilty to drink driving charges when he appears in court on January 26th, which has genuinely pissed me off.

"Hey, that's rock and roll, man!" No, it's not. Driving a Rolls Royce into a swimming pool is rock and roll. Throwing a TV out of a window is rock and roll. Getting done for drink driving is what happens to sad old men and teenage idiots. Getting done for drink driving when you've killed someone in the past? What an arsehole. So members of Motley don't have enough money for taxis? Or was he trying to impress yet another big-titted teenager with his vehicular wealth?

He's looking at a custodial sentence of 15 days. 15 days inside? Are you fucking kidding? Even I, with my smooth chest and pert ass could manage that.

Anyone who has grown up in the countryside or a small town, or anything other than a thriving megalopolis with significant transport links knows at least one kid from school who died whilst drunk driving. But to be responsible for the death of another and not learn a lesson from it? You really have to be some sort of cunt.

Have a word with yourself Vince, you ungrateful dick.

Ciao
M
\m/