Part 6 of a series from my co-blogger (T) and myself (M).
Today we take on Hellacopters' Supershitty to the Max.
What is it? The rock fueled guitar licks? The ear splitting distortion? The heavy metal vocals trudging over punk rock simplicity? I don’t know what dragged me into this album so hard, but all I can tell you is once it got a hold of me, I was stuck on it. Still am. It’s blistering music that’s not for the faint of heart. Yea, sure, you can bang your head to your Pantera or whatever, but that will never match the roar that comes from your speakers when you crank this thing up. It’s mean, it’s evil, it’s fun, it’s something you listen to while you are doing shots of some illegal liquor you set on fire before throwing down your throat. And then you rip your shirt off and get up on top of the speakers and shake your tits and scream FIREFIREFIRE! Or maybe that’s just me.
So down another glass of alcohol-on-fire and maybe take a second or two to puke it up all over your shoes and by the time "Random Riot" comes on, you don’t even care if you are standing in your own vomit. Yea, this is music to puke up alcohol by. It’s dirty, distorted, fast as hell, and will make you wish you were 17 years old again just so you could get in a car with this blasting and go knock over some garbage cans and leave tire tracks and empty bottles on your teacher’s lawn. And maybe puke in the bushes. — M
A scream, a yell, a start, a "what the fuck is this style" thought. From a band from where? What part of the world is that? Who the fuck are they? Who the fuck do they think they are? This is fucking cock rock that makes no apologies Usually I have to pay to get my balls rocked this hard. But this was for free. And the balls were knocking. You think, well maybe they will slow down after the intro. Well, I guess not. Fuck me. I'm wrong. This thing does not fucking stop and doesn't let you breath. Cause every god damn song in there pulls a part of you out. This is something that asks for nothing, gives you everything and just says "Fuck you, I'm here"
Set it for a six pack and a fast car. Fuck. That was my middle fucking name back then. As long as I could put back a warm Pabst and start the car, times must be good. Cause I never cared about you and I just wanna drive. And if I'm gonna fucking drive, it's sure as shit gonna be faster than you. Fire Fire Fire my ass as I burn past you.
This is garage rock. Bad recording, moving fast and sounding like they had a car outside that could fucking shake the hearing aids out of old peoples ears. Some asshole is yelling for them to get in the car. 'Cause the car ain't moving till he had beer money. Speed the shit up cause there is a liquor store that's calling you and you gotta beat the last drag strip time to the liquor store. 'Cause you know you can. This is your time. Burn this motherfucker, crank this up cause Montel is on and you need to find out who the baby's daddy is. -TPowered by Sidelines