Monday, April 23, 2007

At The Drive-In - Relationship of Command

You may have noticed that I enjoy being scathing in my reviews. That's because I do not suffer fools, I do not suffer crap music, and I do not suffer my toast going cold before I get my butter on it. One of those is relevant, sometimes two. In this case, "fools" is most definitely the only one relevant. This is my favourite album of all time, co-written and partly performed by one of the worlds biggest penises, Cedric Bixler.

This is the album that is responsible for the screamosplosion that's ruined the last five years of music for me. All of these bands who puke out adrenaline-shot riffs and scream indecipherable lyrics about plankton and shit got their ideas here. All of those bands who would rather jump around the stage and break things than perform got their ideas either here or from Idlewild when they were called iDLEWiLD. And all of those bands who are horribly skinny, wear tight jeans and have wafros... well, I'm glad they're limited to Wolfmother.

It's hard to put into words quite how perfect this record is, and because you've heard it all before, I'm not even going to bother. I think the fact that, six and a half years after its release, it's the only record ever released that I can still listen to, start to finish, and be as excited, captivated and awestruck as the first time we came across one another. It is the yardstick to which all albums are compared, be they hardcore, post-emocore, new prog or country and western. Songs like One Armed Scissor, Cosmonaut and Invalid Litter Dept, three songs that piss all over the combined career output of 99% of bands, are timeless, essential, and examples of sheer, undiluted genius.

Such a shame it is, too, that Cedric and Omar have gone on to form the worst band in the entire world, The Mars Volta, and that Jim isn't getting the press he deserves for releasing three albums, two good and one amazing, with Sparta. Man, I REALLY HOPE THAT THE MARS VOLTA DIE IN A HORRIBLE GAY-SEX RELATED ACCIDENT. Cedric is getting plenty of press, however, for being a complete and utter cuntflap, and writing songs with guitar solos, drum solos and fucking sound-of-farting-caterpillars-solos so long, pointless and destinationless they could aptly soundtrack a disabled dogs attempt to drive around the world in a Reliant Robin just because it can. Whilst Jim makes upward looking rock which seems the logical progression from ATD-I in the mainstream direction, Cedric is content to vomit out discs crammed with musical sewage, pointless 16 minute songs and three minute swirly whooshy sound effects that sound like being lost in the woods at night. And that is definitely NOT something I'd pay £12 for the privilege of doing. Perhaps the biggest travesty of them all is that he is busy creating seventeen minute sonatas for indier than thou spastics and that kid from school who sat in the dark room and said you didn't understand him rather than the kind of visceral, urgent stuff on Relationship of Command. What a waste of fucking talent.


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