Meads of Asphodel – The Murder Of Jesus The Jew 2011

I hate this album.  Really hate it.  Forget the grandiose manner with which they pretend to be serious musicians with something to say. No.  It is the very fact that this feels like rock opera created by an autistic petrol garage sales assistant that still listens to cassettes of obscure black metal bands that were obscure for a reason: they were shit.  The intro piece really sealed my hate before I had even managed to listen to any of the other songs.  Wildly proclaiming, “.. this is his story” it sounded more like the intro to the worst TV show ever created in the eighties.  There is nothing shocking about telling a story about a fictional character whose cult has spanned over two thousands years.  The only shocking thing is the band’s lack of perspective inthinking that anyone would care about this work of such a low standard, Top Gear’s producers now have a reason to live knowing that there are human beings still alive with even less self-worth than themselves.

Let’s get this straight.  You want to write about Jesus, then do so, but the angle needs to come from the fact that this story is merely a repetition of so many god-man myths that were touring the region for thousands of years before the figurehead of the forgivers ever supposedly surfaced.  Plus there is the little matter of the decades of Biblical scholarship that has been frankly ignored.  Enlighten the idiots of Metal with real scholarship, a knowledge that the idiocy they rail against is exactly that.  Provide them with tools of philosophical argument with which to beat down the fundamentalist attitude of the enemy of reason.

Thematic rant over, it is depressing to scan over the words already written to notice that barely a word has been mentioned about the music.  Proudly stating middle eastern and medieval unfluences, it must be brought to the attention to whoever reads this that you must not listen to the album.  It would be a waste of the mere eighty years you have left on this miserable rock.

Forgetting the terrible production values for a moment, listening to the vocals is like listening to the sound of your parents having sex: contrived and utterly without spark or feeling.  With the added sprinkling of female vocals it just makes the rest of the aural vomit that much more vile.  This album is so terrible that it is incredibly difficult to find anything of value in it whatsoever.  It lacks structure, direction and talent.  Do not waste the money you stole of your step-dad or earned from sucking the cock of Kerrang emo-readers.  If this band is not a joke, then they should be locked in Broadmoor Hospital with the rest of the peadophiles and sickos because if they believe they are serious musicians then such delusions are not safe for the rest of humanity to gaze upon lest the sides of intellegent humans split in hilarity.