PLANETS
When I got nothin' left in my member to treat sweet-faced, sea-fresh cod to, it's
time to swim down to the Barrier Reef, pop in ADEMA's
Planets, and watch 15-foot
Great Whites bite surfers in half. If they take out a few faggoty parrot fish in the
process, even better. A snorkeler here and there isn't so bad either, especially if
they're wearing those fluorescent wetsuits. When you're hanging out and a bright
pink leg floats by you, it's a hoot trying to match it back to the body.
You get the same thrill listening to ADEMA's meaty collection of talented and
memorable grunge-metal tracks. Blonde, tan, blue-eyed tourists go in shark mouths
like singer Luke Caraccioli's gritty vocals go with Tim Fluckey's guitar work and
Dave Deroo's bass. Caraccioli could be the second-coming of Aaron Lewis from
STAIND,
only less sad and morbid than a mom watching from shore as the beady-eyed champ I'm
rooting for chomps down on her lil' girl's tender arm.
Caraccioli goes from angry to hopeful as quickly as the bay goes from green to red,
and my hero's stomach goes from empty to 1/4 full. This guy's a natural, and their
debut for a new label should put them back on stage with the best of 'em (they've
already toured with LINKIN PARK and KORN).
The album goes for the jugular right from the start with four killer tracks: "Shoot
The Arrows," "Barricades In Time," "Tornado" (the single they've released), and
"Sevenfold." Each has a line or two that'll stick in your head during a feeding
frenzy, like "the hand that feeds cut off at the wrist" and "holding on to what you
feel is true- and it's killing you." Only thing's missing is a yellowtail to bang
amid the carnage.
They do get a little over-sentimental in ballads like "Remember" and in "Planets"
where Caraccioli sings "to leave it all behind, I won't cry wolf." Too much of that
syrupy crap and you'll be dying to watch someone's nuts drop out of a shark's
stomach, as it's carved open on a shitty dock somewhere.
The slow spots are pretty few, and if I was a bettin' salmon, I'd say these guys
were headed for a lot of hot roadie ass (Big Dick just might have to hang out
backstage at one of their shows). Then, maybe all of us can jump on a private jet to
Australia and bet on which happy tourist gets mutilated next.
Twenty or thirty dumb fuckin' watersport nuts in the water, a couple starved Great
Whites, ADEMA, some hot-scaled nymphos, some blow, and you got one hell of a spring
break.
