Yeah, actually I did not know what was going to await me and to be honest the evening in the northern finnish student pinhole was not that horrible than I expected. Throes of Dawn with their Trentemøller frontsinger hooked on quite deep and emotive parts where the more black metalish drops were nice. After all, it was not _that_ gay…
After spending almost a month traveling through space with my Shepard chick, setting her up to be the next Darth Vader, fighting off Collectors, Geth, scrapmetal stapler zombies and other weird alien dudes, my emotional attachment towards my crew grew up to a point I haven’t felt in a videogame since the Metal Gear Solid series.
Jaga Jazzist is a nine-headed hydra, nine people, each one playing quite possibly nine instruments. And as a matter of fact that there was no opening act Jaga Jazzist played through 110 minutes of the whole “One-armed bandit” and a best-of of their whole discography. And it was worth it.
This flashy Klaus Bürglesque retrofuturism, the collective optimism, the economical miracle and the fascination of the upcoming space travel that ushered in a spirit of untarnished technological progress and certainty of the future, still radiates a fascinating atmosphere.
By watching this documentary it’d be so tempting to damn jews once again as reckless fascist fucktards who first mistakenly shoot a victimized Palestinian kid, then “take” his organs and act rude towards his family. What remains is an unsatisfying feeling…
Dante’s Inferno has a very poor cute factor. A crusader dude travels to hell to get his girl back, snaffles a giant scythe from Death, gets the Holy Cross from his beloved chick Beatrice and hacks and slays himself through myriads of vile polygon clusters.
As I’m more enslaved by pop culture than being a grad of decent music socialization, listening to Alicate’s (supposedly uplifting) epic power metal makes me rather think of laser-eyed panthers than Valhalla or Dungeons & Dragons.
She, a Chinese is a coming of age drama about a random girl, emotionally detached and psychologically isolated from her surroundings, who merely depicts a vessel gently flowing through beautiful imageries of richly absurd scenarios.
Damage Threshold is raw, crude and somewhat loutish and barely listenable. But they have something worth noticing and making you donate their record to the local hardcore/punk distro with good conscience: integrity. This is just pure violent fun, pure hardcore.