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THE SECOND GREAT AWAKENING
Judging by this debut album for Nuclear Blast Records (their third album
overall), FIREBALL MINISTRY has a long promising career at the top of
the metal music genre, unlike me in my chosen profession. What do you
expect, I guess, when you bang all your hot young patients and choke the
annoying ones to death, dumping them like yesterday’s trash in the park?
Trust the doc, those cows are much happier as fertilizer. Sometimes for
kicks I decorate them with pig intestines from the local medical
school’s anatomical archives.
This MINISTRY doesn’t have that kind of psychopathic killer instinct.
You know, the kind you see with a lot of B-grade acts out there, who try
to make up for a lack of talent by coming across as complete maniacs.
You know, the same way I get after smoking four blunts laced with
embalming fluid and when, despite my wife’s crying, I go around the
house branding myself with a cauterizing gun I borrowed from the
hospital. Nope, these three guys just sit back and rock solidly and
confidently for all 10 songs on an album produced by a Grammy
award-winner (their slick polished sound backs up this website claim).
You didn't know the doc loves the Internet, did you? At night, when I
get tired of watching horse gag videos with hot teens dressed up as
nurses, I surf around to check out bands’ music sites, which are usually
far better than that big pack of lies called WebMD.
I hate praising anyone, especially myself after I successfully cut open
a woman’s stomach to get her baby out, usually hitting pay dirt on my
fourth incision (practice makes perfect, right?). However, I have to
give kudos to the nearly flawless deep-cutting guitar work of James Rota
and Emily Burton. They’re so in synch with drummer John Oreshnik,
hitting every single change dead on cue, you’d think they shared the
same blood supply. That, or Oreshnik and Rota were nailing that sickly
talented, chubby blonde Emily in studio. Hey, talk about a good idea for
a concert-closer. If they rigged it up right, it could be Cirque Du
Soleil meets BLACK SABBATH meets a Big Dick Salmon video. There aren’t
too many chicks in metal groups, thank god. What fun spoilers they are.
But when you hear one that shreds like Emily, you know she must have
sucked off all her guitar teachers to get free lessons, which would be
no big deal, I’m sure, for that Million Dollar Porker.
Maybe when I look at her, I’m picturing my soon-to-be poisoned and
horse-gagged wife, which is very unprofessional, I admit. If FIREBALL
MINISTRY has one weakness on their album, it’s that Rota sounds a little
too much like OZZY and songs like "In The Mourning" and "He Who Kills"
can be a bit on the boring and safe side. At these moments on the album,
I turn on the TV and check out E.R.’s Noah Wyle and imagine his smooth
chin rubbing against my inner thigh. Gee, I hope my wife doesn’t find
out about it. Don’t want the Chihuahua snooping through my hard drive
while I’m off making rounds. The less evidence the prosecutors have
after the forensic experts get done matching the hag’s remains with her
dental records, the better off I’ll be.
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