The anticipation of death is far worse than death itself

Chimaira - The Impossibility of Reason (2003)
bombcat
Chimaira - The Impossibility of Reason
The destructive premise of The Impossibility of Reason becomes immediately apparent from the blunt force attack of Cleansation, which kicks off with a percussive preamble by drummer Andols Herring. This is a slaying opener that hits with a force of a freight train and just keeps on coming, setting the crushing tone of the album.  
Unforgiving, trouncing grooves form the backbone of The Impossibility of Reason, endowing the album with concussive power that turns it into the musical equivalent of a UFC bout. More variation is present within the songs, ranging from circle pit-inspiring thrash-tinged arrangements to brutally catchy breakdowns. As the emphasis of The Impossibility of Reason is on bludgeoning groove metal assault, it’s comparatively light on melody, with Down Again and Implements of Destruction being the most tuneful songs.
The Impossibility of Reason presents plenty of evidence of ubiquitous improvements of Chimaira as an uncompromising metal outfit. Mark Hunter’s blood-curdling vocal attack has grown in intensity and has all but displaced much of the nu-metal-esque performances heard on the band’s previous album, Pass Out of Existence. Less electronic elements and vocal effects are used, but keysmith Chris Spicuzza is still there to inject haunting electronic touches into the torrent the oppressive drop C riffing. Herring’s drumming is varied, technical and inventive; his chops have evolved to match the ball-tearing string work of guitarists Matt DeVries and Rob Arnold and bassist Jim LaMarca.
Impossibility is an avalanche of raw aggression that neither caters to palatability nor pines for unanimous acceptance; it’s a no-bullshit, forceful and bone-breaking metal album to give your grandma for her 70th.

Killswitch Engage - Disarm the Descent (album review)
bombcat
Disarm the Descent marks Killswitch's blistering return to form after a string of lacklustre offerings, and is easily the band's best work since the legendary Alive Or Just Breathing. This near-perfect album attacks the senses in waves of melodic intensity, never deviating from the signature Killswitch fare yet still managing to bring to the table fresh and engaging material at the same time.

Singer Jesse Leach is back in the fold, injecting visceral vocal power into Killswitch that has been sorely missing during his absence. That's not to insinuate in any way that Howard Jones is a substandard vocalist - I just believe that Leach's vocal style adds more fire to the band's sound. There is an undeniable balls-out honesty that beams through in Leach's delivery; it's this honesty, complemented by the band's real and unbridled passion for crafting excellent heavy music, that has helped Killswitch Engage position themselves worlds apart from other bands in the often half-assed metalcore genre.

Following in the footsteps of Alive Or Just Breathing, Disarm the Descent has no weak tracks - it's top-notch songwriting from top to bottom. In Due Time was stuck in my head for days after I'd first heard it and it still makes plenty of appearances on my internal radio. My personal favourite is the incredible The New Awakening, and I'll go so far as to say that it's arguably the best Killswitch song ever penned. Whilst somewhat rehashed in places, the lyrical content is strong and poignant, dealing with issues of self-empowerment, honour and facing your fears.

Musically, the album shines from start to finish. Leach's multifaceted vocals include screams, guttural growls and clean vocal lines packed with raw emotion. The latter don't take away from the heaviness of the tracks, sitting gracefully atop the abrasively melodic riffage of capable shredders Adam Dutkiewicz and Joel Stroetzel. Disarm the Descent relies on melody more heavily than did its predecessors, however there's still plenty of tight chugging to be found as well as a healthy amount of breakdowns. Killswitch really let loose on this record and show the full power of their outstanding musicianship that has allowed them to mold a distinctive and dominating sound over the past decade.


Disarm the Descent is a truly amazing effort that stands out like a beacon in a tired and overdone genre. It's metalcore of the highest quality, offering enough nostalgic licks to be appreciated by Killswitch fans from the Alive Or Just Breathing era as well as an array of innovative elements to appease the younger generation of metal listeners.

Front Line Assembly - Echogenetic (album review)
bombcat
Each new Front Line Assembly release provides a snapshot of all the freshest sounds and rhythms in the electro-industrial genre at a particular time in its evolution. I am completely certain that Trent Reznor grabs a notepad and listens with bated breath to each new FLA opus in an attempt to remain relevant and appealing in the ever-evolving soundscape of modern industrial music. Echogenetic is no exception; this record is, in a word, phenomenal.

Ever the innovator, Leeb doesn't shy away from introducing tasty tidbits of heavy dubstep to the traditional FLA sound. The dubstep elements mesh seamlessly into the dark aural assault of Echogenetic and serve to embellish it by adding an extra bass dimension to the songs. Leeb effortlessly weaves an intricate and ground-breaking sonic web of extremely well-polished tracks that pack a punch and leave a mark. The only thing missing from Echogenetic that would make it absolutely unbeatable are some well-placed guitar riffs.

The album kicks off with Resonance, a brooding and evocative piece with huge atmospheres, echoing beats and haunting industrial vibe. Killing Grounds is the standout track in my opinion; this pulsating powerhouse unleashes a crushing wall of electronics accentuated by a simple yet tremendously effective old school bass line and a hammering, bass-heavy beat. The energetic club thump makes Exhale a surefire dance floor filler that is both poignant and catchy. Echogenetic has an even mix of slow and fast tracks which arms the album with a magnetic forward momentum.

Echogenetic is a mind-blowing amalgamation of the most relevant and prolific sounds in the electro-industrial underground as it currently stands, and is another blazing 11-track testament to the Leebinator's innovative genius that knows no bounds. Dark, mature and powerful, this record is an absolute must-have for FLA fans old and new.

10/10

Industrial musings
bombcat
The legendary electro-industrial beasts Front Line Assembly are all set to unleash their latest offering, Echogenetic, in July. I, for one, am waiting with bated breath. Quite frankly, Airmech has pissed me off no end and I can't wait to hear some fresh, energetic shit to wash away that disappointment. According to keyboardist Jeremy Inkel, no guitars will be heard on Echogenetic; it's going to be a purely electronic affair. Just the way I like it. I lie; I do enjoy some tasteful licks here and there (think Implode). But I know that where guitars are absent, Mr Leeb will surely compensate by banging out some heavy-duty electronics to maintain FLA's hard-as-nails integrity.

Speaking of integrity, 80s and early 90s electo-industrial songs sounds incredible on modern headphones with a decent bass boost. There's something viscerally real about the unpolished, relentless and raw synth and bass lines from that whole era. Undoubtedly, the writers of the soundtrack for the first Command & Conquer drew at least some of their inspiration from these militaristic and foreboding sounds to create what is, in my opinion, the best PC game soundtrack ever produced. At this moment I am listening to Clock DVA, a band that is one of the best examples of the sound I'm describing.

After all, this music was never meant to be perfected in expensive studios and tweaked and polished into oblivion. Only certain bands in this genre - yes, I am talking about Front Line Assembly - should be allowed the privilege of producing the fuck out of electro-industrial works. All imitators and lesser known outfits should stick to the old school sound quality formula and never deviate - they simply do not deserve to have the quality enjoyed by the greats. To hell with evolution and all that "sound evolves and bands move on" thing - I'm a staunch purist when it comes to this genre and I believe that only a select few acts deserve a big, refined sound.

...Just had the pleasure of hearing a track from Echogenetic dubbed Killing Fields. The song starts off as meat-and-potatoes, no-bullshit FLA, and even reminds one of the Tactical Neural Implant sound. But then - shock, horror - the chorus has a wub. That's right. The first half the chorus features a fully filthee dubstep drop. Argh! But fuck it - FLA have always borrowed elements of popular electronic music and added them to their tunes. This was always done very elegantly and non-forcefully, with the snippets merely serving to enhance FLA's signature sound. To that end, the dubstep elements in Killing Fields are used sparingly and tastefully - they've been ingeniously filtered through the FLA sieve and grafted onto the signature FLA skeleton of driving basslines and catchy strings.

Flipping burgers? Count me in!
bombcat
Each day would cheerfully kick off with with the 1000 step challenge. In order to bring the necessary foodstuffs to the kitchen from the walk-in fridge, which was conveniently located downstairs, I've had to run up and down the steep wooden staircase until everyone was all stocked up with cookshit and I was pouring sweat. I've never been to a kitchen where the walk-in is on a different floor - that's easily the most horrendous logistical abomination a busy commercial kitchen can suffer.

Okay, so there was an elevator one could use to transport cookshit between floors, but that did not alleviate the burden of being stuck in a never-ending stairs loop. Yes, I'd become the ever-present errand boy for the exceptionally rude and painfully unfunny inhabitants of this crude burger factory, who now virtually never visited the walk-in because all they had to do was send me. Every five minutes. And never say an elementary "thank you" for doing their job for them.

The second I'd begin working on a task, a delivery would come in, and guess who had to run downstairs and put away boxes and oil drums and fish and herbs? Correct. Due to this frequent putting away of deliveries and non-stop visits to the walk-in, I could never see a task through to completion without being interrupted. Sure, the ability to multitask is an essential attribute of a commercial kitchen rat, and I can do a few things at once; yeah, I can. But I'm also under the impression that while an apprentice is learning to chop suey, they should at times be left alone to complete a task they have at hand at that particular point in time. How is an apprentice supposed to learn to do anything properly if they're interrupted every fucking minute to do other people's jobs? Gosh! Just let me work on this here new thing I'm learning and get your own fennel and avocados, cunt!

"Crumb the parmas," barks one of the chefs, "And do it over there by the washing machine!"

Space can be a scarce commodity in a commercial kitchen (and especially in this cramped shithole), but I do believe that a chef, and especially an apprentice, should have ample space to learn their craft (read: a proper fucking workbench). Instead, I was continually banished  to the kitchen hand's dominion by some self-entitled dickhead who "needs space" (yeah, and I don't?). This is definitely not sound kitchen practice.

So I'm crumbing away, and then some super-important MasterChef wants me to clear the sink. As you probably guessed, washing dishes becomes c(r)umbersome when the dish tray exit space is taken up by a crumbing station consisting of multiple steel bowls and other bulky implements. "Come on, mate, it's not a busy night, so why is the sink looking like shit?" This motherfucker thinks I possess a superchef ability to do orders, run downstairs to get cookshits (which the lazy fat fucks should get themselves, really) AND wash up at the same time. Somehow, I find it hard to believe that this "premier craft beer bar" is so short on dinero that they cannot hire a dishpig to cover every night of the week (like a proper kitchen; shock! horror!) and let apprentice chefs be apprentice chefs.

In every other kitchen I've had the pleasure of breaking my back, no chef - that's apprentice chefs included - washes the dishes. Ever. Yet in this shithole, it seemed perfectly acceptable to put me on the sink for an entire shift whilst periodically demanding I do a bunch of orders and rush downstairs to get a bunch of apples. It's not rocket science - a chef cooks, a kitchen hand washes up. This simplicity was lost on the herd of pea-brained morons running this particular kitchen.

To that end, o
n Mondays and Tuesdays my job responsibilities did not even remotely resemble the typical tasks of an apprentice chef, but rather those of an errand boy/permanent fixture at the sink. I'd been fortunate enough to have worked in quite a few kitchens, and I'll tell you this - I cannot recall ever witnessing an apprentice wash dishes for their entire shift. I mean, sure, I'll jump on the dish for 10 or so minutes - half an hour max - but a whole shift? Never in my illustrious burger factory career had I seen apprentices become $10-an-hour kitchen hands for the duration of their shift, and I am fairly certain that I never will. Not that I'll ever work in a kitchen again, 'cause fuck that shit.

On comedy nights, the lights in the downstairs washroom (which is home to the elevator) were switched off, presumably to create ambiance - quite an understandable thing to do. Unfortunately, this also meant that I had to operate the elevator in the dark and use my amazing sense of touch and smell to get shit in and out of the thing. I'm quite sure WorkSafe Victoria would raise an eyebrow or two at this idiocy. On busy nights, especially when a band was playing, each time I went downstairs I was forced to wade through a sea of drunk cunts to get to the walk-in, and then get yelled at by the yeti assholes upstairs for not being fast enough.

I hope that during course of reading this short, brutish but nevertheless riveting story, you have discovered for yourself the dark truth about the essence of working in a busy commercial kitchen - it's fucken shit, mate. While your friends are out drinking and enjoying their weekends and public holidays by finding innumerable ways to have fun and forget the week's troubles, you are in a cramped anus of a joint, making burgers and being yelled at by subhuman buttplugs with egos bigger than Jupiter. For 13 hours per day. At approximately 20 quid an hour. Bon appetit!

Re: Непереводимое слово
bombcat
I am cyberpenning this entry at a Paradise Apartments in Lakes Entrance. Between keystrokes I am sipping a cold Johnnie Walker & Coke and munching Arnott’s Country Cheese crackers. At the property across the road there are some sheep and fluffy horse-bears (alpacas). Before gracing this beachy joint with our presence, we spent last night in Bermagui (getting gooey in the ‘Gui), NSW, a typical coastal Strayan town whose stunningly picturesque beauty is rivaled only by the breathtaking views one may enjoy in East Samarkand.
The Lakes Entrance beach has a postcard-worthy appearance, although it doesn’t come close to the Playboy centerfold awesomeness of the ‘Gui beach. One may notice that the sand line of here’s beach is very long and unusually wide (that’s what she said) and the sand makes farting noises when trodden upon. Unfortunately, Lakes Entrance is populated with some rather unsavoury humanoids, in stark contrast to the striking nature surrounding this sunny town.
Needless to say, the much overhyped and overpromised end of the world did not occur at the end of last year, which is a damn shame indeed; such a rare event would have made for some excellent entry fodder. Nevertheless, 2012’s turned out to be very different to that of 2011, which I spent on one of the cold and snowy asteroids of the CIS Planetary System, sinking bitey shots of Nemiroff and enjoying all manner of tastylicious Communist cuisineses prepared by my folks. I enjoyed Xmas/NYE ’12 with my girlfriend and her family in the Blue Mountains, having visited a slew of nifty towns (including the nation’s capital) beforehand. Now that I’m on the subject of cuisineses, please note that the Mexican place in Lakes Entrance serves driveway-flavoured corn chips.
At times, I enjoy good-looking bush and new places and natureful nature as much as the next thingo, but enjoy spending lots of time on the road I do not. In fact, my bitch factor gets turned way up and percolates at the Kanye level when such situations continually present themselves. Yes, I happen to be one of those nasty and grumpy couch potato types who just do not enjoy travelling, no matter how exciting the trip or how exotic (or otherwise) the destination. I struggle to understand the wild-eyed backpackers who willingly place themselves in potential danger by travelling to potentially dangerous faraway shitholes and willingly pay for the pleasure with their hard-earned cash. Getting stuck in the middle of a dark Romanian highway due to a faulty Combie van just isn’t my idea of fun. There goes my travel writing career.
As I write, I realise that my ability to pen a decent entry bears a direct relationship to my inability to access the World Wide Web, which just happens to be the case at the present moment. Shit just doesn’t get done when I’m online, due in large part to the much-maligned F5 syndrome, whereby one just has constantly to refresh Facebook or some forum populated by honourable keyboard warriors to see if new shit dun gots poasted.
In fact, I am convinced that the F5 syndrome is part of the reason it’s difficult nowadays to locate a well-written blog in the big ol’ blogosphere. Like, you know, actual writing – actually producing original and well-crafted prose, not recycling content like a bitch and posting a metric crudtonne of links, pictures and Kim Kardashian’s retweets of Donald Trump’s retweets. So yea, I like deffenantly gots to lvl up this whole entry business a few notches. No matter how messed up my day turns out, it is never a day wasted as long as I’ve written something. I cannot think of anything more therapeutic and cathartic than writing. 

Happy new beer, cunts! 

Writer's Block: The more you know
bombcat
Should websites like Wikileaks be defended for sharing confidential corporate and government information with the public, and why?



Absolutely, because corporations and governments are master schemers whose extensive mindfucking expertise includes even more extensive obscuring of information that may or may not land them in hot water.

Sites like Wikileaks simply force the big dicks to be transparent and accountable for their fuckups, should they occur. The governments want citizens to be accountable, so what makes governments exempt from elementary accountability to the citizens?  

The corporations are even worse than governments - these shifty motherfuckers have egos the size of Jupiter and sincerely believe they can get away with anything and everything.

Also, before you start screaming 'defamation', remember - if the information that is exposed to the public is nothing but the truth, it's not defamation. Defamation is when someone makes false claims to damage an entity's reputation.  

So yeah, like totally bring on that uncovering stuff, it's like awesome.  

munching on the big succulent dick of the system
bombcat
skeeter, the man! dropping off the grid like ain't nothin but a thang.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qRpMAt7Rbv8

the dude is literally my hero. what i wouldn't give to drop off the grid at will, entirely, making al sapone and living like tyler fucking durden. but alas, the system that imprisons us will not allow such heresy to take place. if i'm off the grid, i'm not keeping the banks plump, not feeding the coffers of the energy companies, not paying taxes that line the pockets of corrupt cops and self-entitled politicians who spend $400 a day on food on their overseas trips... really not good for the system, losing another obedient drone.

but hey, instead of just accepting fate like a bitch, why not move towards your goals, bit by bit? no matter how outlandish the said goals, you can chip away at them, one day at a time - and with time, you might just get what you wished for.

i'm not an anarchist, but as i grow older, i observe the system in more detail each day, and i have to say that it's got us by the balls. a very well-engineered, well-oiled machine - an extremely profitable one. kudos to the big dicks who feed off our hard work. you know the drill - school (cash for system), uni (cash for system), job (cash for system), house, wife, kids, tv, cars (cash for system). the big dicks use fear to get us to comply and to buy - because if you don't, you just don't fit in, you see, you don't live up.

march the fuck on, kids :)

It's the return of the... oh wait, no way. You're kidding.
bombcat
and so, after a long leave of absence, the monstrous LJ entity known as bombcat has now returned to this pathetic online community to pen more drivel for a plethora of unknown readers.

let's cut the bullshit and get straight to it, shall we? the first item on the agenda is a gripe about triple j top 100 and the big day out. the only thing that rivals the utter shittiness of these two phenomena is gillar's fucking flood levy. fuck that shit right in its green ass. but back to the gripe. having perused the triple j hottest 100 "songs", i've come to the conclusion that the australian music "industry" is in fact in much deeper and smellier shit than i had previously thought.

whilst i admit that i've never been a fan of australian mainstream-ish alternative "music", there is an undeniable shittiness about the whole top 100 list. fun fact - that god farken awful duck sauce song called barbara streisand has made it to NUMBER 15. simply put, that track is easily the most unlistenable garbage ever to hit radiowaves anywhere. it's the musical equivalent of that dude sitting on a glass jar and having it break inside his butt. triple j listeners, however, have deemed it worthy of the number 15 spot. i don't know whether to laugh or to cry.

the rest of the top 100 list isn't much better than duck sauce's monstrosity. it's permeated with utter hipster shit of galactic proportions. it's a shite state of affairs, tommy. i close my eyes and try to imagine the type of dickhead who actually enjoys anything on that list, and i simply weep for humanity.

now let us take a look at this year's big day out. before i examine this here festival, let's just say i haven't been to a bdo since 2001 - and for good reason. from 2002 onwards, the lineups have gotten progressively shittier, making me wonder how the fest stays in business. the answer to that is simple - if the triple j top 100 list is anything to go by, the logical conclusion is that your average aussie enjoys a vast array of incredibly shitty music, thereby ensuring bdo's success each year.

rammstein are back, only 10 years later, to headline the bdo again - the only redeeming quality of the shithouse fest this year. bdo used to be quite a heavy affair, with lots of grunge, metal and decent alt-rock acts. bdo 2011's lineup, on the other hand, is the reflection of the current shitty state of the music industry as a whole - 80% of the lineup is comprised of terrible indie and emo "acts". it's fucking disgusting. soundwave isn't shaping up much better either - emo and scenecore shit dominates the lineup. welcome to the death of some of the best festivals straya has ever known!

enjoy your heatstroke, bdo kids.

(no subject)
bombcat
it has been ruled by me that this journal is a stupid thing, therefore the decision was made regretfully (not) to cease writing in, or fucking with, this journal in any way, shape or form from this point on. i hereby declare this entry to be my last. stiff shit for those silent fans who will miss my exorbitant writing.

fuck def jam, fuck the world, and most of all fuck YOU.

general mudz over and out.

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