What the hell am I doing reviewing this album, right? It's not sexy, it's not glamorous and the Napalm boys aren't about to waltz out onto a catwalk and blow kisses at you through a smattering of glitter before sashaying back to the dressing room to bugger the rent boy. I'll tell you why I'm reviewing this album. Because it's GREAT! AWESOME! FACE-SMASHING!
This is the kind of album which rewires your brain circuitry, plugs you into the mains and then leaves you to sizzle, fry and EXPLODE fifteen times over! As an album, it shouldn't work. Why not? First off, it's a tribute album. That luvverly beard stroking concept wheeled out when a band can't do anything else because their imaginations are as vacant as George Dubya without his wire. BUT Napalm Death aren't dead and done because they've released two ear cinerating albums called "ENEMY OF THE MUSIC BUSINESS" and "ORDER OFTHE LEECH". In their collective thirties, they're a rampaging Godzilla compared to the White Stripes' pretty but rubbish Mothra.
Secondly, the tracks are all by the kind of grotty meddle and punkoid bands only an uber under the ground thrash head with gay facial hair would be able to name and explain about. If you're a mainstream partyin' rock and roller who likes to slam to Andrew WK and The Sweet, you're going to feel a little lost here, yes? No problem. Help is at hand with Napalm growler Barney Greenway providing liner notes to say who is who and why they were great in the hardcore speed meddle whatchamacallit etc etc.
BUT, and this is the mega supah important bit; you don't need these notes really because once you plug your fragile ickle girl ears into this album, Napalm Death grabs you by the danglies and you're off! You will never be the same again neither! What Napalm Death do is excise all those bits in Heavy Meddle which are damn well fist chewing in their tedium. The widdlesome solos, the howling castrated monkey singing, the agonising rack like sensation of songs dragging on and on AND on. Most importantly, there are absolutely no elves, vikings or flipping orcs. These choons are distilled with pure hatred, anger and the desire to beat someone to death with a moisthaddock.
Much like Motorhead and Amen, Napalm break everything down to dirty grooves, filthy guitars that go KRUNCH! and drums that blast your ears with the delicacy and finesse of a nuclear blizzard. Music that you can feel and move to rather than music you scratch your chin to. Like Drum and Bass gone really really wrong. Like Hip Hop gone darker, harsher and madder than hell. Like T.Rex and Alvin Stardust with big rottweiler style chompy teeth. Each song erupts, disperses, lets you take in a breath of the fallout and then the next song does the same again and AGAIN before it's all over. Your twitching jellified finger reaches out towards the REPEAT button.You need that hit again! Yes, it's a tribute album. Yes, it's songs by lots of meddle and 'ardcorebands who probably whiff of stale wee. BUT this album ROCKS and for this reason alone, it should be yours or your mother's!
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