Review Summary: Driving My Fist Through My Headset
Slam death metal is a fascinating little subgenre. It’s full of dumb, meathead riffs broken up by chugging slam breakdowns. How can you mess that up? Let me count the ways.
The biggest problem about this album is the production. It’s super inconsistent. The guitar, the most important element in slam, is typically drowned out. The drums sound like wet cardboard was exchanged for most of the drumset, and the gutturals feel very lazy. The only other element is the samples. Surprisingly, they didn't mess that up around half of the time, but the others are mostly there to reinforce the album’s misogynistic message. Who knows, I might be missing the acute subtlety of tracks such as Beat the *** Out of That Worthless Bitch and Hate, Rape, Mutilate.
Typically, when one problem is fixed with the production, they mess something else up. And it’s only fixed for a brief period of time. But at times they do work with the garbage production well, with that moment being D.C.D.W.N.K.C. The riffs and slams are really good and stand out just enough. As for the riffs on the other tracks, it’s pretty weak most of the time. I can kind of nod my head here and there, but overall it's a slog. You’ll feel it by the end, since this is 45 minutes long. It’s broken up by some clean guitar interludes and an acoustic intro, but it’s not enough to save this album.
I would give this to people who want a greater appreciation for slam. It fumbles the ball on pretty much all of the basic aspects of it that I find it a learning opportunity of what not to do. Keep an eye on production, think about your gutturals, and work on the riffs. Especially the riffs.
