Pantera
Vulgar Display Of Power

THE REVIEW

Love... A chestnut of flesh that seals a snout. This, the cover, the meaning, and the emotions of the music I wrote 14 years ago; it was the best trash episode despite the full Grunge fury from Seattle. Violent melody and violent melody.

With the words of ex-friend Phill, radiant six-string torpedoes were born like this, light years superior to those of our peers Prong: “Mounth for War”, “Walk”, "By Demons be Driven", that is, three equestrian pillars of trash music. A bit inferior, but still adamantine “A New Level” and “No Good (Attack the Radical)” (although the temptation was strong, the latter wasn't a diatribe against that Italo-Albanian politician named Pannella). And then that vocal iconography of the cover: “FUKIN' HOSTILEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE”; the apotheosis of the feral stadium rendered into music; how many times, oh vile common folk, have you wanted to emulate friend Phill, with that scream? In front of the asshole in a three-piece suit trapped in his velvety noose while twisting your nose at the bank, or maybe at the supermarket when last in a line of 23 people at 7:45 PM, you’re draping on the brink of boiling over, after your boss squeezed you like Sandra Milo's tits. Instead, “This Love” no... "This Love" I wrote it just for you, my love... (even if friend Phill then changed the verses at the last moment with a truthfully not very sincere text...), but in the music... well, in the music there is you, with your sweetness in that claustrophobic arpeggio, which after a while explodes in violence, violence, and VIOLENCE... ("YOU KEEP THIS LOVE, LOVE, LOVE, YOU KEEP THIS LOVE...").

But even there I thought of you, love... when you reminded me of that whore of your mother, well then I really wanted to baptize you with cartoons, you hysterical bastard slut cocksucker... I mean, with all the mothers-in-law around, did it have to be one like your mother to fall to me? That's why I did it love... After all, after the release of "Far Beyond Driven," business was no longer blooming and my new band, the Damageplan, honestly had already bored me... then all those concerts in those lousy places... I really couldn't take it anymore... That's why, after years and years of your mother, envious of my work, begging me to get on stage, finally, taking advantage of her heavy masculine features, I seized the opportunity... and so, a little makeup, soft lights, a little goatee and fake mustache (just had to accentuate them), guitar and me hiding backstage playing, as a (slightly) mobile target... hoping that friend Rex (no, no, not the dog - almost though... given how he played bass... - my ex-colleague in Pantera... even for him it wasn't a good time, since he was forced to work as a baker to round up the bucks) among the audience would find the lunatic du jour to incite against the guitarist who had screwed his wife... And so finally, the much-anticipated day came... BANGBANGBANG!!!!... your mother (alias me) dry as a baked pear, me a free man, Pantera sales skyrocketing and you and I on this semi-unknown Pacific island with a new life...

Friend Zakk dedicating his latest CD to me, and so with the split money, we finally managed to open the rosticceria you always dreamed of... freefreefree and far away... forgive me love if I occasionally pick up the guitar again... but it’s a habit, a damned habit... sometimes deadly...
R.I.P. Darrell Abbott