Archive for category Old Skool

Misfits: ‘Dig Up Her Bones’

Oh, like it was going to be anyone else? I don’t give a flying foxfuck that Jerry Only has prostituted, mass marketed and slapped his band’s logo over almost as much merchandise as KISS – the Misfits are legendary for a reason, the reason being they were Fucking Amazing.

Unlike every Camden emo-kid sporting a Misfits t-shirt, I can actually boast that I’ve seen the legendary ghouls play live – albeit by accident. Rewind to June 1999: I was just one of a small gang of teenage metalheads hanging around Reading (yes, as in: Reading Festival), going to any and every gig going. As a commuter satellite of London, Reading didn’t always get gigs, so anything even slightly rock or metal taking place, and we’d go along. Our lives revolved around a venue on Gun Street known as the Alleycat (which would later be re-branded as The Fez Club as part of the Po Na Na Empire, before being re-furbed into the ghastly Sakura). It was a warm Wednesday night in Summer – school had just broken up, and we saw a large queue of skull costumed punks had built up outside the venue. We investigated.

Even as stupid teenagers, we’d heard of the Misfits. They’d just put out Famous Monsters, and had been getting a few column inches in Metal Hammer as a result – Cradle of Filth frontman and then-columnist of the Hammer, Dani Filth, had reviewed it and given it 13 out of 10. We were the only people there without full Misfits make-up, and we only knew about two songs. My abiding memory of the gig is my mate, “Peter Hillbilly”, jokingly slamming me in the mosh pit so I flew into the back of the largest, most obese human I have ever seen. The man made Rik Waller look anorexic, and clad only in a pair of black lycra cycling shorts, with his baby-like skin slick and greasy with sweat. I somehow slid straight up him, and ended up crowdsurfing right into Jerry Only’s ridiculous shoes.

Which is why I’ve gone for a song featuring Michale Graves as frontman, rather than with The Misfits iconic frontman, Glenn Danzig. Because Graves was my Misfits frontman. Standing on the barrier at the Alleycat, shaking his head from side to side like a dog with rabies, he’s my abiding memory of that Misfits gig.

And I didn’t pick ‘Scream’ because it’s too fucking obvious.


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Pantera: ‘Drag The Waters’

We couldn’t call this a Metal Music Blog without getting some Pantera covered pretty damn sharpish. If for some reason your record collection doesn’t already contain all their records, kindly get thee to fuck and buy them immediately.

The middle-finger fuck-you attitude of The Great Southern Trendkill, of which ‘Drag The Waters‘ is taken, is still mind-blowing to this day. Just put it in context: Pantera are looking to follow up their then-most successful commercial album 1994’s Billboard-topping Far Beyond Driven. As a band, they’ve gone from being a word-of-mouth underground smash to sudden MTV-darlings. The pressure on them to make a bigger, even more successful record must’ve been immense.

So what did they do? They went and recorded the nastiest, scuzziest, angriest motherfucking album of their careers. From the moment the record erupts with Phil Anselmo’s hellish scream on the title track, to that point 50 minutes later when the unrepenting riff of ‘Sandblasted Skin (Reprise)’ fading out to cold, black silence, this record hits you harder than a headbutt from a Glaswegian Transformer. It hates you, hates the world, and hates your mother so much it would punch her in the neck if it could.

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