Dead Rebel Society, Blitzkrieg Reviews, Rob Rock

You know what there is almost nothing left of in the world?

Ozone? Who gives a shit? What am I, Swedish? Go snort a can of hairspray and shut the fuck up.

Oil? My car hasn’t had any in decades and the fucker is still running on willpower and death wishes. Fuck the Arabs. Next!

What else is there nothing left of in the world? True love? Color me gay and marry me off to Spain. Honesty? You’re here with me, aren’t you? Good delis? Fucking tell me about it. I haven’t had a decent Godfather in years.

Metal albums with the word “hell” in the title? Close, but no cigar.

How about dark lyrics, combined with pumping riffs, furious guitar solos, and memorable hooks that somehow manages to come served on a damn platter without any fucking disgusting cheese whatsoever?

How about classic motherfucking Metal, period?

It’s, oh, so fucking fashionable to not be metal anymore. Fucking blah blah blah… “We don’t want to call ourselves metal, because we listen to everything.” Cry baby niggah, please. You just don’t want to scare off the labels, while trying to spread yourself so thin, over as many genres as possible, that you could pass for John Holmes’ used condom (if he indeed had used them – which we didn’t have to back in those golden old days). You are either some fucking prog metal wanker, a death metal cookie monster rapist, or a pubertal emo-core asswipe. What do these motherfuckers all have in common, except for the obvious – not getting laid? Yes, they are not METAL! First of all, they’re not metal because they “don’t want to be metal”, but secondly they fucking suck for the most part. Metal wouldn’t touch them with a radio controlled cattle prod either.

Remember when metal was Metal? Remember when the Communist bastards across the sea were the bad guys and when fucking a hot chick didn’t land you on the Maury Show with a DNA test? That was back in the day when things were simple as fuck.

See, it seems that this here guy, Rob Rock, remembers, because he has created a pure and true motherfucking high octane vintage Metal Album. The real deal. No frills, trims or sidings. No bells and whistles. Metal. What the hell more do you want?

First, before we do anything else… I don’t know how the hell this idiot came up with his name: Rob motherfucking Rock. Is he Bob Rock’s brother? Is he Rock’n’Rolf’s cousin, thrice removed? Is he the missing Flintstone episode? Was Cock Gobbles already taken?

No, idiots… Rob Rock was part of that great fucking outfit M.A.R.S. – the first real Super Group in rock - back in those days I was talking about; back when drugs didn’t look like stamps and when guitars came in more than three shapes. That group consisted of MacAlpine, Aldridge, Rock and Sarzo; M – A – R - S = M.A.R.S. Get it? See, stupid shit like that was clever to us happily ignorant metal heads back then. Party like it’s motherfucking 1984, mofo’s!

And maybe that is why this CD fucking rocks… It’s got that Old School motherfucking vibe, that raw innocence, but without sounding dated at all. In a way, I guess it could have been released back then, but the big production and the barely traceable power metal elements give it away as a modern release.

Before you even slap the disc in your player you’re in awe of the cover: a mighty cathedral, besieged by the evil forces of Hell, while bad ass motherfucking axe-wielding avenging angels on winged horses swoop down from the sky. This is the best cover I have seen since Derek Riggs joined the San Francisco movement. The artist’s name is Derek Gores. Is that a pun, or is he just fucking Croatian or something?

Anyway, the opening “Slayer of Souls” is one of the best metal anthems I have heard since fucking forever. Fierce aggressive guitars and killer melodies – pummeling drums and just general metal motherfuckery all around. This is the shit I would cram into the car stereo and mow down little children to, if I could get my car above 45 mph that is – or even over the speed bumps in the school zones.

“First Winds of the End of Time” is likewise pure fucking metal genius. Galloping guitars that make you feel like a drunken Odin on the way to battle on an eight legged horse, or some shit like that. “Beppo, isn’t that what Manowar sounds like?” No, idiot, Manowar is the soundtrack to Siegfried and Roy compared to this. God, I hate my fans.

Before we move on, let me note that this whole bada-bing is produced by Roy Z, who also wrote half the songs, played all the guitars, half the solos, and all the bass parts. Maybe calling the band “Roy Z” would not have been catchy enough for the German-Japanese audience? Too fucking gangsta? The drums are fucking phenomenal and played by the amazing fucking Bobby Jarzombek of Halford-fame and of Spastic Ink non-fame-whatsoever. This guy deserves to be in a real fucking band one day. He seems to be one of those hired guns who are doomed to forever serve some washed up fuck, while getting paid just enough to feed the kids and put gas in the old Dodge. Meanwhile Lars Ulrich drums on… Justice, that’s what there is none left of in the world.

The album goes on with some killer tracks, until we hit the horrible and utterly fucking abominable “I’ll Be Waiting For you”, a ballad sung by Edguy vocalist Tobias Sammet. What in the fuck is an “edguy” anyway? The album just comes to a grinding embarrassing fucking halt here, like a bad ass tank with a broken down belt – the hatch opens and the Teletubbies come cartwheeling out in flying colors. Gayer than that. Uber-gay. That’s German, by the way. Uber… I’m a talented motherfucker. I can curse in five languages. Anyway, here we are subjected to a pathetic sing-along sad sappy shit song about some gay shit I don’t even care enough about to investigate. What the fuck were they thinking? What were they saying to each other in the studio – Rob and Roy? “Rob, we need a track between ‘When Darkness Reigns’ and ‘I’m A Warrior’… something that fucking kicks ass.” – “Eh, OK, Roy… How about that cute song my daughter wrote for the school talent show? That guy from the band with the stupid name has a daughter in her class. Maybe he would sing it?” – “Sure, Rob… it’s your fucking album and your stupid dumbass name on the cover anyway. If you wanna look like a complete ass, go for it!” Rob and Roy… Wasn’t that some fucking Braveheart movie rip-off? Like there ever were some Stoneage Scottish superheroes named Rob & Roy! What was that shit all about?

Where was I? I hate Tuesdays.

Oh, yeah… After that horrible ballad we’re back in Holy Motherfucking Hell again, with great metal songs like "Lion of Judah" and "Calling Angels", until we get to the last song on the disc - the cover song.

I will not mention it by name. I refuse.

Neither will I fucking mention it by adding it to this review. I will not.

It shall be The Song Never To Be Mentioned! Bear with me as I take the fucking CD out and scratch that fucking song off the disc with my fucking Alpo-fork. It’s the last song on here, so it shouldn’t be that tricky to do, right? Hold on… *Screeeeeecccchhh! There. Motherfucker will never be heard again. OK, let me put this fucker back in again, and we can crack out to this otherwise excellent fucking disc. (I have to say, this is one of the best metal CDs I have heard in a long motherfucking time, despite the gay ass band name. Holy Hell, in-fucking-deed.)

There.

Wait…

Why isn’t this shit playing? Play, motherfucker, PLAY!

What?

It reads from the inside out?

Fuck me.

(Note from your editor: Fucken tool. I’m taking the cost of that CD out of your next check.)

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