Funcore! The Blood Brothers exist in a parallel universe. It’s a wonderfully erudite, horribly Gigeresque place where reality doesn’t apply and every drop of blood is a novel. The trick, of course, is that their world is indistinguishable from ours; like electron spin it’s only different because it simply is different.
Being a bit older, I can appreciate it more now. But at the same time I don’t care as much. Between the catchy parts (and there are many of them) this album is a crazy spinning painting. The lyrics are endlessly amusing and yet they don’t absorb at all when I’m listening. It’s a time and place that is permanently insanely drunk, a step away from whispering and dreaming at the same time. But it’s the opposite of Patrick Bateman’s America; there is a permanent catharsis. Every word is a howl. Or as they once put it themselves, every breath is a bomb. But I’m older now. I’m fucked and I don’t care anymore. That’s a reflection on me, not on the music.
I always liked this album more, because it makes more fucking sense. It’s more music than it is screaming (maybe for the best, because screamy guy sounds really, really gay by this point, and not normal gay, like gay mixed with Pinhead from Hellraiser but the other guy sounds better than ever!), and the songs are more clearly about things. It’s all a spot of genius, like a Burroughs on crank (not a real drug I think) instead of heroin. Depression enough that they fucking talk about it sometimes. I like to talk about it
The problem is the five songs I don’t care about. But the other ones! “Love Rhymes With Hideous Car Wreck” (don’t be too superficial a lover – you might be horribly disfigured in a car crash), “Crimes” (classic rotten lovers tale), “Trash Flavored Trash” (I hate society), “Rats and Rats and Rats for Candy (not sure but it sounds bad for both the title character and the rats not to mention the sheer joy of just saying the name of the song), and “Teen Heat” (= apocalypse) get the point across while keeping me pert with musical interest. Your mileage on the rest varies based on how much you like being yelled obscene poetry at over screamy music. But make no mistake, it’s poetic stuff. There’s even a couple slow songs this time! But menacing, cuddling-after-angry-sex slow; it’s not the way of the record. There’s plenty of getting screamed at too!
So enjoy it, but don’t relax. And I miss the days of taking this totally seriously, but it’s nice for me to know that it’s possible. “Apocalypse Cabaret” indeed – and that song isn’t even very good.
Say. This is the musical equivalent of hot sauce, I think. Good, spicy stuff. Not Insanity Sauce dare crap, but habanero sauce meant for flavour and to be used in moderation. I tried hot sauce on cake recently and it wasn’t very good. But not terrible! I might do it again, because it’s such a lovely idea in theory. You see what the BBros do to me? What was I thinking! I’ve wasted my life! Don’t be surprised that I like a melodic affair; I was only serious because of circumstance.