Ministry
"Psalm 69: The Way to Succeed & the Way to Suck Eggs"

An immortal work, an album that if you put it in the player today, still kicks ass exactly like in 1992: same power, same freshness, same audacity. 

The early nineties... years decidedly healthier than those we live in today. Just think about the fact that the video for "N.W.O," the first striking single from this work, could easily be enjoyed on TV even during daylight hours, something inconceivable when compared to today's programming by channels calling themselves musical. But not only that: these were years in which, thanks also to the advent of the much-maligned grunge, a fundamental rejuvenation process took place within the metal scene, where the cushioned sounds inherited from the eighties became tainted with alternative, hardcore, industrial, punk, seventies rock, and stoner elements.

Among the proponents of this revolution, we definitely find Ministry, who have undertaken a truly peculiar journey in the music scene, following a reverse path compared to the common trend that generally sees bands moving away from the unconditional violence of youth to reach the more reasoned and reflective forms of maturity. These crazy ones, on the other hand, start from electronics (just think of the disco from the negligible "Twitch") and, through a progressive hardening of the sounds, they manage to create masterpieces like "The Land of Rape and Honey" and "The Mind is a Terrible Thing to Taste," becoming standard-bearers for an explosive fusion of industrial and heavy metal, like no one had dared before, effectively paving the way for the entire movement. The formula is further perfected with this "Psalm 69: The Way to Succeed & the Way to Suck Eggs," where the metal component seems to prevail, without diminishing the experimental flair that has always distinguished the American duo. A monolith of rampant violence and astute sociological diagnosis (with that touch of irony and sense for provocation that never hurts) that anticipated the alienated and deviant atmospheres of bands like Fear Factory or Strapping Young Lad.

From a conceptual point of view, the proposal differs little from what the group produced previously (they only multiply and intensify the guitars), but the extreme attention to detail and the obsessive focus on particulars (both in terms of arrangement and production) make this work a true formal masterpiece, representing a phase of maturity fully achieved. Al Jourgensen and Paul Barker have, in fact, become fully aware of and in control of their own potential, and despite the entire album exuding an air of anarchy and rebellious protest (let's remember that these are the years of Bush senior and that their music has always targeted the facade of hypocrisy and corruption that characterize the American Way of Life, both socially and politically), everything sounds terribly well-thought-out and calculated: a paradoxical and unique blend of immediacy and reflection, where nothing seems to be left to chance, where every note seems in its place, and the various elements (thrash metal assaults, electronic samples, noise mixtures, more catchy moments) seem better balanced than ever before. A formula so well-calibrated and successful, therefore, that it managed to gain wide acceptance from everyone, from the most uncompromising metalhead to the alternative lover, an aspect that obviously did not go unnoticed by those old foxes in the music business. It's no coincidence, in fact, that three videos were drawn from this album, which certainly cannot be considered commercial in the conventional sense of the term.

Already from the first devastating seconds of the aforementioned "N.W.O.," we realize that they mean business, focusing much, if not all, on impact and groove. This song can be hailed as the true symbol of the album, a violent attack aimed to destabilize the establishment, marching inexorably to the relentless pace of the powerful guitar riffs and speaking with the processed voice (borderline growl) of Al Jourgensen, grotesque and sneering showman, here more than ever furious and theatrical. The following "Just One Fix" confirms the impression by further increasing the dose: a barrage of damned thrash that I still love blasting at inordinate volumes in moments of insane excitement, where Slayer seems to shake hands with Killing Joke; a track that also makes clear where bands like Rammstein sprouted from. "TV II" even ventures into grind, with a drum machine fired at three thousand, continuous stop and go, and a megaphone-grated voice spitting out incomprehensible words at us, but certainly not benevolent towards us. If "Hero" takes us back to the splendor of "The Mind is a Terrible Thing to Taste" (naturally updated with current standards of violence), "Jesus Built My Hotrod" is a pleasant surprise, a fun rock'n'roll song with an irresistible groove, enhanced by the clean, rockabilly voice of Gibby Haynes (from Butthole Surfers), revealing the more ironic and enjoyable side of the group, which was never hidden.

The tone is softened in the second part of the album, as if accessing a more meditative plane of the work, a sort of journey into the dark side of America, aimed at probing the discomfort, the subconscious malaise, often not fully aware, that snakes through society and arises from alienation, continuous brainwashing by the media, forced conformity to certain behavioral models, the hypocrisy of religion, and the difficulties related to real sustenance. "Scarecrow," hypnotic and winding, is a slow and obsessive guitar loop that extends for eight minutes, infused with Jourgensen's scraping and paranoid vocals. The title track is instead the conceptual apex of the album, a song that unfolds in cadenced parts and killer breaks, on the edge of death metal, bombarded by the massive chaos of overlapping samples and pervaded by the apocalyptic atmospheres of church choirs and frenzied preachers. The noisy and martial assault of "Corrosion" takes us back to the primordial chaos of the first side, this time reinterpreted in the dissonant form of guitar noise, samples, and waterfall-programmed drum machines, chaos that is tempered by the disconnected and minimal sounds of "Grace," closing the album under the sign of disquiet and total alienation.

Not as brilliant and innovative as its illustrious predecessors, perhaps a bit ingratiating and charming in its intentions, "Psalm 69" is nonetheless an album so inspired, so well played, so well produced that it can only deserve the highest rating. Unfortunately, it will also be the band's last true artistic hit, a band that managed to change the face of a certain way of understanding and making music. The following "Filthy Pig," if certainly brave enough not to ride on the success of such a winning formula, is undoubtedly a disappointing work and marks the beginning of the group's downward trajectory, culminating in the crass recycling of their last works "House of the Molé" and "Rio Grande Blood," which only manage to recapture the commercial appeal of this indispensable and unrepeatable album.