by Debra Au
Daily Lobo
My ears, how they bleed.
After listening to a half hour of screaming vocals amid pounding guitar chords, I'm pretty sure I have irreversible hearing loss, fewer brain cells, and as for the 33.5 minutes of my life it took to listen to Spitfire's Self-Help, yeah, I'm never getting that back.
It took me a while to find out who the band is, since no where on the album art did it say, but after another half hour I finally found it on MySpace.com, and apparently, the band actually has fans, much to my chagrin - 4,075 at last count.
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The group's profile boasts that the members play "a hybrid of metal and hardcore ... Fans of frantic, chaotic, technical metalcore should check out this under-rated and underappreciated band."
In one aspect of this excerpt, I have to agree - the music is frantic and chaotic. But that's all it is. The sound consists of one guy screeching out morose lyrics while the other four pound on electric guitars, basses, drums and whatever other instruments can be used aimlessly to create such a cacophony.
Maybe I'm just not pissed off enough at life to actually buy into such songs as "The Suicide Cult is Dead" or "Kings of the Food Chain."
I suppose, however, there is a sweet spot in this Virginia-based band after all. I almost had to grab the Kleenex box when listening to "U.V. I.V": "I will love you until the day I die/ I will be the war-torn nurse clutching your lifeless body." I'm sure if the music business doesn't work out for these guys, with words like those they'll have a career at Hallmark.
If you don't agree, please feel free to buy Self-Help when it hits shelves Feb. 28. I wouldn't pay too much for it, though. That is, unless you like expensive coasters.
There are some things in life that man will never completely understand: tax codes, what Bob Dylan says when he talks, and what prompts people to listen - and actually enjoy - hardcore metal. So what do I say to all those people who have supported Spitfire enough to have them make a new CD? Pass the Tylenol.
