Epica

I have to quote the definition above. If it weren't for that dead cat Simons, nobody would care. As for the rest, the usual nauseating mega-minestrone of sympho-metal made by Nuclear Plast(ic), seasoned with pompous choirs, misplaced growls, pseudo-heavy riffs, songs lasting fourteen minutes that try to be complex, and assorted kitsch. The guitarist is a full of himself. Better to cover the fanbase with a pitying funeral shroud. Nauseating.