Fear Before the March of Flames
After a long week of seeing patients, when I need to be alone with my thoughts, there’s no better place than the Mutter Museum’s botched abortion hall of fame. While it could be a little bit depressing being face-to-face with these formaldehyde-filled symbols of not enough love in the world, I’m strangely encouraged as a member of the medical profession. Because it means that parents do the right thing when they might otherwise spawn vomitoriums of nature, or the kind of broken-chromosome freak show of talentlessness that can evolve into a teen metal group called ART DAMAGE.
Seeing my drugged-out, money-sucking wife first thing in the morning is reason enough to scream as hard and loud as David Marion does on this record. So in a way I can connect with his frustration. But then, in a moment of clarity, I realized that the album could have a far more valuable use. I went ahead and locked the bitch in a room upstairs and blasted it right underneath her until she began screaming. And if it wasn’t for the goddamn double-paned glass, she might have thrown herself out the window. Ahhh, so fuckin' close . . .
Unfortunately, old saddle-bag face got out and the aural torture of
Fear Before The March Of Flames didn’t let up. What can I say? She’s smarter than your average starving rodent. Her complaining continued, and so did this sonic hell— for 29 long minutes, making me want to perform open heart surgery on myself with a rusty hacksaw. On the first track, you think the CD’s skipping. But it’s not. The second song "Should Have Stayed In The Shallows" is a continuation of the IV of cyanide seeping into your nervous system. I wanted a feverish malaria-stricken patient to take a wet dump in my mouth so I could forget what I was listening to.
The four guys who make up ART DAMAGE grew up in Denver, Colorado, so if I were any good at psychiatry, I might attribute their malfunctioning artistic gene to the trauma of the Columbine shootings. In fact, this album might actually be a long lost live recording from the Columbine cafeteria on April 20, 1999. (It’s a shame Eric Harris and Dylan Klebold couldn’t have jumped a bus to Denver that day.) With vile excretions like "Consequences David, You’ll Meet Your Fate In The Styx" and "Whiskey Is Alright In Its Place, But Its Place Is In Hell," it’s amazing they were courted by major and independent labels before signing with Equal Vison, but hey, as a doctor I know, there’s plenty of brain-damaged people in the world making decisions every day.
They tour, so I guess they must have some kind of following. My advice? Before listening to them, find some Hollywood dope doctor to prescribe you a year’s supply of Oxycontin. One of the lyrics printed on the jewel case insert says it all: "On the count of three everybody overdose."
Hurry! Hurry!!!
