Accept
Too Mean to Die

“YOU….”

Looking towards the window well, I can only say, “damn, but you speak?!”

Let’s take a step back.

I lock myself in my little basement to listen to some Metal and decide to write a review on Too Mean to Die by Accept.

The year is 2021. The latest release from Accept, now without Udo but with Mark Tornillo, who fills in for the legendary Dirkschneider’s raspy voice. The first 2 tracks of the CD are a Metal blast, classic riffs from the only survivor of the original lineup, guitarist Wolf Hoffmann. Having seen them live this winter in Milan, they’re still devastating.

On the heavy riff of Overnight Sensation, I hear a strange noise in the air even though I’m one floor underground. I don’t understand. The noise grows in intensity and I feel a vibration entering me, the eardrums struggle to identify the origin, but it all ends abruptly with a thud towards the window well, the only opening through which air enters. I approach the basement window. I open it. A thick fog envelops me. It’s odorless, like dry ice vapor. I can’t focus. I feel dazed. Then, little by little, a heap of rags takes shape in front of me. Something or someone is moving. It’s a small wrinkled being. It might be Accept still playing, but Udo comes to mind. I get closer and notice that although it’s small, it has a head larger than its body. I don’t know why, but I’m not scared. I’m simply curious. A big head must have a big brain. Here’s my first thought: I have an intelligent being in front of me. Extremely intelligent.

The mass of wrinkled skin, with a dangling head, opens its eyes.

We look at each other. It seems very tired. It takes a breath. And it manages to communicate.

“YOU…”

The “damn, but you speak” comes out instinctively.

“YOUuuu….”

At the second attempt, I avoid responding. I wait. I feel it needs to tell me something important. Within a few seconds, I imagine this alien race must reveal some universal secret to me.

“Te-le-phone”

Oh, crap. Phone? All this effort to say “phone”?

Well, actually, it’s a word with four syllables. Also a Dactyl. Which, by the way, only rhymes with phone. I’ll take it. The start isn’t exactly promising, but it’s better than an unknown word. I don’t know where it’s heading and I don’t interrupt it.

“Te-le-phone Ho-me”

“I can’t believe it. You’re the stereotype of an alien. Come on.”

“Co-me-on”

Maybe it has an extraordinary memory and learns words in a few seconds. So I look at it and say

“Radiator”

“Ra-di-a-tor”

“Oh, screw it….” I slam the window in its face, on that big head, and go to listen to the last track from Accept, Not my problem, where Tornillo alternates his screaming voice with the Band’s choruses.