loaded coil

horrible blooping noise. no talent leeches on the moist backs of a society gone humid. humid as a wet napkin in the rain when the weeping willows can no longer offer shelter to innanimate objects because of the rape and pillage of modern civilization. weak and childish, often perverse, and certainly inhumane lyrics and melody arrangements sugar-coat this album like flies on strawberry shit-cakes. get it very far away from you. If you have the choice between sucking on every major oil company executive's toes and listening to loaded coil's album, choose death. immediately. i've been listening to music all my life and the only thing i've ever heard worse then this was something i do not need to talk about, to this day or any day for that matter. anyway, if you want to hear real music, go to any other band page possible and you'll have more of a chance. loaded coil's album is such watered-down garbage the cd needs to be dressed in a raincoat and booties just to be played. go out and start a band. maybe you are already in one or maybe one is already in you? sing. do whatever you need to so that you are never tempted to play this awful dreck, and maybe this abomination of music can slowly and quietly retreat back to whatever rotting crater or orifice it derived from. are you alright? well then, listen, look, and learn because if you think that i've wasted my life doing music reviews, playing poker, and watching "driving miss daisy" and "what's happening" re-runs, and dreaming about a better life, then listen to this crep. it's crep! it validates anything and anyone who's ever twitched an arm muscle, once. not a person alive can hear loaded coil for more then a cheap nanosecond and not be revolted. I'd bet dick cheney's testicles on it and raise free plastic surgery in tiajuana, but don't expect a miracle unless your definition of miracles is finding gum on the floor. i had both the displeasure and the dishonor of meeting the face behind the music, and let me tell you, that is one pre-madonna that knows nothing outside of his love for fine cognacs and his shiny new car that keeps getting broken into, for tax reasons. in the end, i smacked that bitch with a fat and totally incredulous expense bill for writing this stupid band bio, heh, stupid. included, was imported brie, and maine lobsters, and hookers, and coke. the dough, which was pony'd up eventually, wasn't without extravagant stipulations. i had to drive to the beach and let the lobsters go, in a leopard print zebra-monkey suit, that i had only 24 hours to come up with, and really only 12 if you consider the time i recieved notice, and the time a reputable fabric shop closes. and, i guess, the two things the world really doesn't need are fabric shops that hold deviant vampire hours and some pretensious jerk who has an affinity for lobsters and writes really bad music, and i mean, its bad. generally i have a very even-keeled perspective as a listener. hell, when the band is paying me to write they're bio i'm usually exceptionally complimentary, but after having writers block for nearly three hours, i couldn't think of a pre-thought, a sub-thought, or even an appropiate lie of something nice to say. you think it's easy writing a band bio when you can't even get past the first song? it's not, people, i assure you. it's hard work and only constructive if you plan to get into politics working some job pumping up the votes for some ass-monkey for big business and war-time economies. if you don't believe me, try making a speech sometime in the mirror about how you support the w.t.o.'s lack of concern for ten year old indonesian children working in sweatshops in unsanitary conditions for a wage that a duck would scoff at and a pigeon, at the slightest provocation, would peck your eyes out after hearing, and then registering, the non-negotiable value of its labor. after all, they are street birds of the highest order with nothing to lose and willing to roll the dice when the odds feels intuitively right. for this reason and others not yet explored, a pigeon might also poke your eyes out at the slightest notion of playing loaded coil's music either through speakers or headphones, if within pecking distance or in the vicinity and not caught up in bizzare mating rituals or fighting for a piece of pretzel, as the pigeon is known to do, should pretzel particles appear in the general locale of a pigeon's awareness. are you still reading this? what's wrong with you? i was taught by my very first professor that alienation and deep depression is the secret to good literature. but enough about me... loaded coil's paying me good money to have this finished in a timely manner, and way to many philly cheese-steaks and 1000 year old eggs have been put on my itemized expense sheet to not have something tangeable, or at least legible, to be glazed over by some dumb stoner and tell me how far out it is. i mean really, who gets balls-out excited about reading a band bio. do you? i'd wager that there are threefold more internet chat forums on the exotic songs of wild chickens. in the entire career i've made of dry-humping the dollar writing inaffectual words, not even the most narcistic pretty-boy band has gotten excited about reading their own bio. the secrets been out for a long time. band bios are lame and everyone knows it.