I’m at work far too early this morning because some fart-knocking network engineer (less of an engineer than a hapless offspring of Booji Boy, created in a tube from genetic material scrapped off the wall outside Booji’s crib) made me get up at this unholy hour just to stab a console cable into a firewall server. I’ve spent 15 years in this industry aggressively resisting any learning opportunity but I came dangerously close to “figuring some shit out” this morning. Couple that with a cup of coffee that tastes slightly worse than boiling the liners out of last seasons cleats and I’m in a foul fucking mood.
I could listen to Katy Perry singing “Bicycle Built For Two” to complete the Trifecta of Enduring Misery but I’m not quite ready to suck down a red Solo cup of hemlock so instead I dialed up some Cannibal Corpse: specifically the first album, Eaten Back to Life.
C. Corpse! Controversy! Gruesome album art! Censorship! Tipper Gore, Mistress of Foul Crotch Rot! Actually, I can’t find any correlation between the PMRC and the Corpse Boys, but everyone else in the world seems to have had an issue of some sort with the band, the lyrics, album art, and what size shoes they wore. How cool is it to be held responsible for undermining the national character of the USA? Fucking cool! And here I thought it was the Evil Brotherhood of the Koch in league with the Pismo Beach Illuminati.
Eaten Back to Life is surprisingly thrashy for a death metal album. It’s got the staccato feel of Teutonic thrash gods Kreator. Barnes’ vocals, which on later albums would approach the flesh gobbling incomprehensibility of Mortician, are slightly less subhuman grave grunts. Great drums and bass from Paul Mazurkiewicz and Alex Webster, which isn’t surprising given that they have both proven, over the years, to be master craftsmen. Jack Owen’s guitar work and song writing is excellent, killer riffs that bridge the gap between 80’s thrash and the deadly onslaught of 90’s death metal. “Shredded Humans” in particular gives me the warm feeling of drowning in a puddle of piddle. “Mangled” is something the Mama Doof Warrior would have played for Baby Doof Warrior while he strangled rats in his crib. “Born in a Casket”, well sir, that there is just a classic bit of death-thrash goodness. “Bloody Chunks” and “Skull Full of Maggots” are just perfect, thank you very much.
If this album were mummified, you’d still be able to squeeze the wet guts, that’s how well this one has held up. A murderous spawn of Scott Burns / Morrisound and a great way to start off a day filled with decay and dread.