| |
| There is so much to be angry about when a guy like Chuck
Schuldiner dies at the age of 34. But I suppose the first thing to
do is to tell you who he was, since he was not exactly a household
name. He will not be getting the cover of People magazine this week,
and there will be no candlelight vigils in Central Park for him. He
is rightly venerated by death metal aficionados, though, as the guy
who invented the form. His band, Death, is something that must be
experienced to be believed; I remember hearing them in Rhino Records
around 1989 or ‘90, the guys behind the counter doing double-takes
every thirty seconds or so at the endless outcroppings of insanely
fast guitar solos, psychotic rumbling distorted riffs, or whirlwind
thirteen-piece-kit drum fills. I bought the album, Human, immediately.
In a world ripe with overstatement, it can fairly be said that Death’s
Human is completely incredible. |
|
| 1 2
3 4 5
6 7 8
9 [next] |
| |