| |
O dear friends!
O comrades and foes alike! On how many levels, in how many ways is this
moment even stranger than, say, the sight of a bearded guy dressed up like
Carmen Miranda walking down the Champs d’Elysee in broad daylight?
Even if we ignore the awkwardness of the singer’s English (hard to
do: he says “interpretated,” though the lyric sheet gets it right),
there’s the sheer discord of it—one moment we’re comfortable
in our willfully chaotic death metal world, and the next, it’s the
eighties only lots louder and faster, and there’s a guy spouting platitudes
that we can’t quite get the sense of. You laugh when you hear it, but
when the song returns just as abruptly to its growling, thrashing point
of departure, it dawns on you: these guys have balls of steel.
|
|
