Review Summary: Let's hope my review is better than the album, because it's embarrassing if it isn't.
Stereotypes cover a broad spectrum, ranging from praise to utter, nonsensical negativity. Examples of both of these varieties of stereotypes are the ever so infamous: “All Asians are good at math,” and the even more infamous: “All people with blond hair are unintelligent.” Obviously, the latter is the negative stereotype here, and where the manifold stereotypes associated with “metalcore” comes into play. These stereotypes range from the incessant, low-pitched (drop D or C tuning) guitar-based chugging, non-stop breakdowns, the guttural vocals, and the mediocre lyrics that may as well be a harlequinade. And whilst some bands like Job For A Cowboy (although in a different genre) have attempted (and succeeded in their obvious, and appreciated desire to progress) to stray away from their associated stereotypes, others, like Emmure, have not.
Emmure have become the typical metalcore band over the years, and have followed every trend in the metalcore scene short of becoming a Christian band and adding in cheap electronic elements. And, though Frankie Palmeri, the band's arrogant, sloppy, comedic vocalist, stated that this album would be far more experimental than their previous works, it comes out as more cliché, and over all, more hysterical.
But why? Well, first off, nothing has really improved in the slightest. The lyrics are still boasting that Vanilla Ice meets Annotations of an Autopsy feel, and no attempt to change their lyrics has been made. In fact, it's embarrassing. It's embarrassing not to exclusively the band, but their listeners as a whole; things have gone too far when you boast a chorus of “I want you cumming inside me,” especially when Bring Me The Horizon did it first.*
Originality is another major issue here, as none of the tracks boast any originality whatsoever. The breakdowns have been done before, the low, layered guttural vocals have been achieved many times before Emmure came into existence, and they have been done better, just like the use of not-so-inconspicuous breakdowns. And worse yet, the band uses these elements to the extreme. Every song sounds the same, and it's extremely difficult to differentiate between one track, and the next without a lyric booklet. And while the cliché spoken word and high-pitched clean vocals have been replaced with something arguably more “creative,” the replacement is just as big a failure, if not far more immense of one.
Rapping, yes rapping, is attempted extremely poorly by Frankie Palmeri on several tracks on the disc, and is portentous of only two things. One, the listener is bound to be traumatized by the experience of listening to this album; and two, Emmure has reached a new low point, and if they regress any further musically, they will most likely be forgotten, leaving only a legacy of bad music, just as their genre will. This said rapping is not just a focal point of a severe lacking in the originality department (as bands since the days of nu-metal have been combining rap and metal together in a primarily unfortunate mix; and Emmure's contemporary Dr. Acula has performed this combination better, which is quite unfortunate), but it speaks volumes about the fate of their tracks.
“Sunday Bacon” begins with a painfully simplistic drum intro, and begins to meander down that same breakdown-laden path that they have become notorious for over the years, however, the band boast their newfound love of nu-metal styling here, and it fails miserably. The next track, “I Thought You Met Telly And Turned Me Into Casper” boasts those lyrics I mentioned earlier pertaining to sexual intercourse and male ejaculation. The vocals on both tracks are low (again), and it seems that this album will be just another sub-par Emmure record that features nu-metal style. However, this is not the case.
“R2Deepthroat” is an attack towards The Acacia Strain lyrically, and it's one of the more laughable tracks on the album, not because of the music. No, that's just as generic and tedious as usual. The lyrics here are the focal point for the abhorrence displayed here, with the vocals taking a very close second. If you're trying to attack another band lyrically, it's best not to yell out, “ask your girl what my dick tastes like” in vocals with irritating delivery and execution unless you wish for that other band to be proud. Worse vocals can be found on “You Sunk My Battleship” however, as they sport some extremely conspicuous and far too copious displays of rapping. The band reach their former self after a while, and begin their tedious musical deterioration again, breakdowns and all.
However, not all is (that) bad. “Lessons From Nichole” is a step in the right direction, as the guitars shred away, and the bass is noticeable. The drums aren't there only to produce blast-beats and breakdowns, and the vocals are superior than any other vocal display on this album. There isn't a single rap here, which is surely a blessing. And the clean vocals-yes the clean vocals!-on “Don't Be One” are above average, especially if you compare them to the rest of this album.
Overall, this album is a major disappointment. And while I walked into this album with objectivity being my highest priority, I cringed several times (the intro of “You Sunk My Battleship”) and realized that the cons of this album certainly outweigh the pro's. I do not applaud Emmure for this effort (if we can really call it that) for it seems that they are comfortable with being below average at best, and this album (by far their worst) is proof.
FINAL RATING 1.2/5-This album has the lasting value of a Firby; it's boring and harmless at first, but soon it drills holes into your skull, it squeals louder and louder, and suddenly your ears are bleeding and hair is missing from your scalp.
*At the end of “Pray For Plagues” an Asian woman can be heard moaning out the words “cum on my face.”
