Step into the underworld. Follow me. Walk this way. Venture into the domain of low, frenzied, passionate riffs fueled by endless days binging on transcendentally potent acid, bottom shelf whiskey, 40 ounce hellraisers of the foulest malt liquor not even fit for homeless consumption, purest speed of the type enjoyed by Lemmy and Hells Angels, primo hydroponic bud, and ***ed up pills that make horses sleep and elephants drool. The spiritual spirit of Black Sabbath conjoined with the ferocious, raw buzzing intensity of Black Flag, mixed in with Blue Oyster Cult, Blue Cheer, and the oft-neglected yet undeniable influence of 70's Judas Priest - these ***ed up elements made Saint Vitus. A rare form of metal, a rare fixture of brave antiquated modernity, if such a thing ever was to be, it has been, and it has been Saint Vitus, and it still is.
Hallows Victim is a tour de force of mallets hitting you... slowly. No mercy is shown. It hurts a hell of a lot more that way. You're gonna ***ing suffer. Two uptempo fist pumpers launch this loaded cock - "War is Our Destiny" and the faster "White Stallions." "War is Our Destiny" is an anthem taking lyrical cues from the grandmasters of war warnings, and I don't have to tell the seasoned headbangers who I'm ***ing talking about. Musically, it has elements of Judas Priest, but thicker, like the bitch I ***ed last night. Scott Reagers is by far the master of doom vocals, indisputably (no disrespect to Wino, the other great Vitus belter of madness), and "War is Our Destiny" has a soaring yet menacing chorus that sends chills to my dick. "White Stallions" is named thusly due to its encouragement and condoning of the use of speed. Please take this drug. Maybe you will be an amazing metal lord.
Reminding us of the true meaning of doom with the next track, "Mystic Lady" tells the story of a witch being burned, I think. It's menacing, gloomy, mystic, epic, free floating, ecstatic, unnerving, pulsifying, transhumanist. Flip over to side two and another fast-paced track pummels the listener who had just been lulled into a life-changing dream state. The title track hammers the ears. "The Sadist" is a midpaced cock of madness, and it would have been a huge radio hit in a perfect world. How can you not sing that chorus? Scott Reagers says "THE SADIST!" and the whole world melts. The album is rounded off by two more emotional, intellectual, borderline sexual excursions of insanity. Unrequited love has hit us all, and religion is crap.
A hard hitter from the days when doom was pure. For it was. Remember pre-weed doom? The darkest depths were reached. Musical bliss. Actual bell bottoms, not the trendy knockoffs. Endless weed, but no one made a stink about it - it was a part of the fabric, not some gimmick. Booze - getting the shakes. Mysticism. Melancholy wizards. Talking to the dead. Raw emotion. Emotional rawness. Different things. Unrequited love. Doing speed. Insane days. Berated by the close-minded. Not fitting in. In music, in life. Saint Vitus.
Hallow's Victim
