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Cattivo. Ecco cosa ho pensato subito dopo che è finita la prima traccia di New American Gospel (N.A.G). E dopo è stato ancora peggio. La cosa "buffa" è che ritenevo già sufficientemente incazzoso l'ultimo album, quell' "Ashes Of The Wake" che ancora adesso, a distanza di un anno dall'uscita, non mi stanco di ascoltare. E invece... invece qui la rabbia è più diretta, più malata, fatta di sfuriate pazzesche, penalizzate a mio parere da una qualità di registrazione non eccelsa (il suono della batteria mi sembra un po' piatto...) e da un cantato a tratti ancora inesperto, ma con potenzialità che verranno efficacemente messe in luce nei successivi lavori.
Non ci sono troppi passaggi tecnici, a cui ci hanno abituato già dal secondo studio-album (basta sentire "Ruin", la prima cartuccia slayeriana che spareranno in "As The Palaces Burn" per rendersene conto), anche se il batterista di certo non scherza. Infatti le pelli sono messe in primo piano, forti di passaggi tecnici e originali ("Confessional" inizia proprio con un curioso ritmo a cui si lega poco dopo il basso e infine le chitarre).
Una cosa che ho sempre apprezzato dei Lamb of God e che ora posso constatare quanto fosse una loro caratteristica sin già dagli esordi, è il continuo cambiamento ritmico e "melodico" all'interno di un singolo brano in modo, a volte, imprevisto: tale "marchio di fabbrica" si ritrova bene o male in tutti i pezzi di N.A.G, in particolare in "In The Absence Of The Sacred", "Terror And Hubris In The House Of Frank Pollard, "Pariah" e "O.D.H.G.A.B.F.E." (fantasiosi i titoli, eh?!).
Nel voler cercare un'influenza per il suono di questo gruppo si finisce inevitabilmente coll'indicare i Maestri della cattiveria (qualcuno ha detto Slayer?) ma sarebbe ingiusto, e diavolo se non lo è, ridurli a cloni o scialbi imitatori di Tom Araya e soci. Magari in questo primo album le differenze non sono così marcate (escluso il fatto che qui urla squillanti non se ne sentono, ma solo growl catarrosi) perciò l'unico consiglio che posso darvi è ascoltare i lavori successivi per prendere atto della notevole evoluzione stilistica di una band (purtroppo poco conosciuta in Italia) giovane e senza niente di meno di altri gruppi, magari più blasonati ma che hanno dimenticato per strada la coerenza (Metallica, Slipknot ecc.)
Elenco tracce testi e video
01 Black Label (04:52)
The human confrontation, I've build a phobia.
It takes my essence somewhere,
Somewhere to take control.
I may be far from rocking.
I am the one alone.
I may be far behind lines.
And made them turn away.
I want to know, hey you, watch out!
I've made them turn to cripple, hey you, watch out!
When i will know, who'll know, back fight!
Why time would let me die to control.
I fear nothing, why don't you know!?
I rip my mind and why don't you bleed!?
I fear no one, why you turn back!?
I may not stop.
My freedom can't contain but tell me,
The pain I liberate,
Riff hostility to anyone
Has made us so much hate.
I made them turn from hate but tell me
The pain and suffering
I made them turn from hate but tell me
The pain and suffering
I... know.
02 A Warning (02:23)
I'm a monster so don't walk my way.
Don't trust my smile my teeth are like knives.
I'll drag you down & suck you dry.
Don't laugh at my jokes- the punchline is murder.
Don't enjoy my touch, every caress hides a chokehold.
I'm only happy when I've ruined everything I see.
Believe everything you've ever heard about me- suck it up.
If you see me coming don't stop, just turn & walk the other way.
I will not lie about what I have done, I will not lie about what I will do to you, the sweat of
my exertion is pure poison, I'm hell.
03 In the Absence of the Sacred (04:36)
Violence a natural reaction in a society whose advances are limited to its new technology;
different only in the current mode of destructive intent.
Date has replaced real life in this world, no hope for the stop of "progress."
Inevitable bio-link implant will replace the feel of human touch.
All memory surrogates downloaded bought and sold, no true sense
of self. Impending sensory death looming near.
A number, this is what you've become. Life digitized itemized commodified.
Ha, ha, ha, this is what you work for...
04 Letter to the Unborn (02:56)
Lyrics have never been released, as they are highly personal.
R.I.P.
06 Terror and Hubris in the House of Frank Pollard (05:37)
All the fucked up things trap & punish me I cannot explain my problem.
Kill my hopeless life I cannot be hypnotized. You owe me.
Push aside the veil to welcome in the visitors.
Eyes like halogen illuminate the soma peering out of spherical night mask.
Paleolithic subconscious icons lumber through dreamscape archetype of archangel.
Topside its far worse- infants painted gauze peer through murky jars; soon I'm wearing the skin
of the morning star.
Green locks my name fills an empty banner. Frank, what have you gotten me into now?
I am not afraid to speak my heart & mind it cannot be saved sell me over. Fuck your hopeless
world, I am blacker than the sun. Tragedy. Have you seen the speedy, yes?
Bleeds through the sleep onto the page. I'm sailin'...
07 The Subtle Arts of Murder and Persuasion (04:10)
The dark crow man sits and stares into the oblivion into cold into nothingness;
it's snowing in his mind.
He's created himself in his own image.
Lust held for him means naught,
a knock on the door brings no smile to his cruel lips;
the welcome in a woman's eyes holds nothing for him.
Alone on his haunches the hair raises on the back of his neck.
His dead eyes pierce the night.
As his gaze falls down on the city it fills him the method ascertained, conviction.
He knows what to do and moves to commit the deed.
08 Pariah (04:24)
The sore on the edge of your mouth
it mirrors the ones on your arm of black tar
you've known the ripping.
And I've seen you pissing your condition into the dirt.
I know you don't want to live in the dirt you want to know nothing but dirt you know you can't
beat weakness.
Kill the flux. Stretched to breaking an obscene canvas on a stretcher of parasitism.
You piece of shit I won'y say your name but I will say this- Fuck off and die (sooner the better).
You've shot out your eyes but I'm seeing that you cannot feel anything of worth.
Know that you've pissed life away, lost in your narcotic dreams.
Heart pumping futile shit through your veins.
Why does it bother? I want to punch in your sunken face and see your dusty blood smear through
the air in a polluted crimson arc,
splattering in a useless pattern on the concrete. Moribund.
09 Confessional (04:01)
Intrinsic rot. Traces of future.
Your past will rise haunting you again.
Tounging the glue stamp seal of your fold.
Cased in forests of black steel rod.
Vines of nerve float downstream.
Sections of horror.
This is something you must never do again.
Falling spiral down.
You know not what you are looking for but it will find you anyway.
I've confessed this disease to you.
Handed you a key to control.
Fuel for your malicious intent.
Punish me for my failure.
Dissect my faith.
Twisting my trust.
Never, no more, I'm alone.
10 O.D.H.G.A.B.F.E. (05:14)
Hate. Falling three feet to the ground.
Face down on the cold floor of a well-oiled SF pigsty I met my one true love.
Feel youth crushed somewhere between concrete & boot, another victim of the lower hate.
You are not my god. You think this is funny don't you pig?
How the helpless freak squirms beneath our state sanctioned soles, but what is he laughing at?
There was nothing padded about a wagon full of mace.
Rotator cuff hyper extends behind my back ribs cracking beneath a rain of sticks & heels
falling down like the rain outside.
Oh yeah bitch, I'm gonna remember your face your name your number;
and when I crawl out of this hole I'm going to make you all mine.
Auschwitz Kent State Chi-Town 68 Tianamen Waco.
Carico i commenti... con calma
