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| 3.0 good | TheManMachine | March 6th 16 |
Mistakenly purchased under the assumption that this was one of THE Paradise Lost's early works -- that'll teach me to not scrutinize suspiciously uncharacteristic kinked-out 'dos and aglow cover-art. So instead of legendary English doom-metal in primitive form, I've wound up with the one-and-done 1989 debut of a long-evaporated Tennessee outfit whose "little white asses" were "saved" by Bruce Dickinson and rode between the heavy-rocker domains of new wave-gleam and drama-prog lite. Though unafraid to wail or go softie or flirt with hair-cheese sheen and spoken word, they're endearingly rough around the edges, avert garish and/or carnal cock-rock obnox with flying colors, emit effective eventide auras, and keep it remarkably groan-free; at least up until the near-end back-to-back where the 7-minute mark is ineptly verged upon and elevators are metaphorically ridden. "Dream of Love" even sees 'em as seers: how'd they reckon 27 years ago that something called Tinder would be in the hearts of men?
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