October 1, 2008

The incidents of good bands going bad seem rather high these days. There is a small but clearly identifiable feeling of dread when my favourite bands release new stuff now. It seems that only the new bands, armed with mystery, fervour and a back pocket full of ideas sans jaded industry ‘tood that manage to release material that isn’t ceremoniously destroyed by critics.

Last week Metallica dished disillusioned music fans everywhere an offering of hope that bands who have been written off as senile cockspanks can return to form in triumphant fashion. I actually think Death Magnetic might be in contention for album of the year and it is a comeback of monumental proportions, AMIRITE?

Anyway, recently I discovered the reverse incident of this phenomenon. When shit bands go good. Doesn’t have the same ring it to it but it’s a donkey-load more enjoyable than the alternative.

Bring Me The Horizon are a band of nubile British lads who, last I checked, were responsible for rubbish metalcore fronted by a vocalist who sounded like Gizmo from Gremlins cracked some bucket bongs, went on a post-midnight munchie-fest and started self harming. They were the product of a ‘core obsessed generation who adored them despite their questionable talents. Their old material was straight up balls and I’d dismissed them as utter fringe-core until I hear their new album Suicide Season. Either these guys’ testes have finally descended or they’ve got a clever producer on board who scraped all their mental ideas together into one tasty concoction not unlike a KFC bowl. It’s hardcore on crack and it’s out October 4.