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Rating: For Breakfast, milk and Tony Iommi.
For lunch, penne alla diavola.
For a snack, bread and bat cream.
For dinner, Ozzy Osbourne stew.
All chewed slowly for good digestion.
With this diet rich in dark carbohydrates and diabolical proteins (the amino acids were little "amino"), these four demonic cupids have come up; those with a cross as big as a palm attached to the chain, long raven-colored hair like their leather coats, bell-bottom pants, tons of marijuana, and a few trips that never hurt; in short, the classic type of son-in-law that all of us in-laws would want sitting next to us at Christmas lunch and as the father of our sweet granddaughters.
If, when you put on a Sabbath CD, you skip the more rocking tracks and put on repeat pieces like "Hand Of Doom" or "Black Sabbath," this group of tender and affectionate boy scouts will sneak into your favorites list. I already see you, you're saying: - "Bah, the usual group of retrograde Kispios clones, all fishing in the Birmingham river... tsk." But no, these teddy bears in question don’t drink holy water, but tasty smoothies of skillfully coagulated red blood cells. As not all (many, but not all) punk bands are clones of their predecessors, not all Doom bands are poor imitations of the Iommi's mafia.
This wicked special edition contains the self-titled debut of the group plus the second work "Come My Fanatics", with only 16 € you will have a prize trip to the Acheron with an overnight stay in the horde of the damned, with a breakfast of moth and owl stew in a lysergic sauce.
Riffs of a heaviness as massive as they are distorted, the wah-wah is abundant like rice in the stultorum hours, the drum will strike like bells at a funeral, but it will be your psyche passing on to a better life. Six tracks per album lasting a maximum of ten minutes to a minimum of six, your stereo will take on the appearance of a steamroller, slow but inexorably effective, you will remain plastered with the ground under the diabolical weight of the Dooooooom (with a capital D and many o’s).
The sonic fusion of Rocky Erickson, Charles Manson, and Josh Homme in the times when he was at the bar giving the welcome in the valley of heaven.
Be careful, according to the state in which you listen to this cell-crushing menhir you might find yourself in a trance in the hardware store under your house while buying a barrel of black paint to redo the plaster of your house, and various purple-red cylinders to draw many beautiful souls dancing possessed around the flames of hell. However, at least your father-in-law will be happy to have you by his side at Christmas lunch, maybe he’ll be a bit scared to see his granddaughters with a black robe and KKK-style hoods, but then you’ll make him hear this devilry and he will change his mind... and away! All together to the hardware store, including Grandma Amelia.
If you’ll excuse me for a moment, I’m now going to detach bat heads around the Transylvanian forest.
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