The album, which is essentially a 9 track rip into every genre of metal thus far (its a shame this came out before screamo crunk), and showing the world how silly and easy it is to make metal, is the creation of messieurs Slippery Jim, Fornicus, and Kane, who is a dog, and plays the drums.
Kane, sporting what is no doubt a zOMG brutal obscure death metal band that peaked a few decades ago t-shirt.Fornicus, one of the two human members of the band, is also known as Jason Suecof, the well known producer and mixer, and also plays guitar in Capharnuam, some reasonably nondescript tech death band that had Matt Heafey of Trivium on vocals at some point. He is probably best known for being pushed off his wheelchair (yes, Invalid) into a swimming pool by Chimera on an awesome youtube video I can't find at the moment, and this one, which was on the end of the Chimera DVD:
Hes been looking for the greatest guitar sound...he won't get it here, so we'll send it to Andy Sneap
The bands shindig is best summed up by the lengthy, but very amusing "about" section in their myspace, and website which i think is down now, being that they were pretty much a one off with this album, and can't afford to keep hosting it:
The bands shindig is best summed up by the lengthy, but very amusing "about" section in their myspace, and website which i think is down now, being that they were pretty much a one off with this album, and can't afford to keep hosting it:
Crotchduster exists for one reason and one reason only; tax fraud.
I know you were expecting something like "To put out the most bone crushing, devestatingly brutal music ever in the history of man" or, "To bring about an end to the lies of Christ with music spawned in the lowest depths of hell, and lyrics written for us by the goat lord himself".
No, no. Thats just ridiculous and silly, and quite frankly beneath us.. but hiding income from the government, well hot damn, thats a worthwhile pursuit. How does our Ponzi scheme work? I'll tell you (and by "you'' I mean YOU, and that's it)..
You go blabbing this to anyone else, and by Lucifer's beard, I swear I'll tell the guys in Black Witchery what you said about their sexual identity.
To grasp our financial secrets you have to know Bill Williams. Williams is the only human (that we know of) capable of inter-dimensional travel. Like any good capitalist, Williams used this ability for greed and plunder. He found a dimension (The real name of it is unknown, Williams insists we call it "Williamsburgland". He's sort of self important that way) that at one time had been the pinnacle of advancement. This came to a screeching hault when they ran out of the one substance they use for everything (Combine all the uses we have for water and petroleum, and you'll get an idea of the importance of this liquid to them).
This is a classic case of demand waiting for a supply. He told us (Crotchduster) of this opportunity, and at our urging he brought us back soil and air samples (He's not scientifically inclined like we are, the only reason he can travel inter-dimensionally is because he's got a PhD in dumptruck mechanics and he just blasted his way there).
From these we were able to reconstruct the cellular make-up of this mysterious liquid (I'd tell you what it is, but screw you, find your own dimension of people to exploit). Let's just say that one of the ingredients is ground up goat teeth, and all their goats are extinct due to a shift in atmospheric pressure on account of the universe expanding the way it does.
Now, here's the crux of the whole matter:
We make this liquid (which we call Mammal Sauce) and we give it to Williams. Williams takes it (along with a dumptruck full of paying tourists) to Williamsburgland, and sells it for a price that would make you gag. He takes 50% of the profits, and deposits our 50% in an inter-dimensional account (the exchange rate between currencies is roughly even).
Beats the hell out of an off shore tax shelter, doesn't it? How the hell do you trace money across dimensions? You don't. So, whenever we need some dough we just mix up a batch of Mammal Sauce, give Williams a couple withdrawal slips, and await his return. To keep ourselves busy, we write music. The writing process for Crotchduster is very unique. See, inter-dimensional travel puts quite a strain on Williams' brain. It upsets his brain chemical balance, screws with his central nervous system, and gives him temporary clairvoyance. In short, he goes stark raving mad. (Thats why we send Cain with him - Somebody's got to drive the truck while Williams is incapacitated. Plus, Cain writes down everything Williams says during these episodes. These mad ramblings later become Chrotchduster's lyrics.) So, our music has to be as crazy and disjointed as the lyrics. And, because of the temporary clairvoyance, every song we've ever written has fit perfectly with the lyrics we recieved upon Williams' return.
The recording techniques we use are unique as well. We only use one mic, and our multitrack is 16 two track machines from 1957 synched together with a stopwatch and some telephone cord. Most of the music is written, performed, and recorded by Fornicus and Slippery Jim. Cain's expertise really shines through during the mixdown process. Being a dog allows Cain to hear into frequency ranges that we, as humans, cannot. Although we can't hear them, these frequencies have octaves that color the things we can hear. So, all we had to do was teach Cain how to use the console and all the outboard gear.
So, to recap;
Williams gets rich off our Mammal Sauce. We get rich off his ability to travel to other dimensions and we also get lyrics for Crotchduster (which is nothing more than a cover for us to portray ourselves as "starving artists" so we can continue to claim the Earned Income Credit on our tax returns). Nobody pays taxes on any of this money, and we save a dying dimension in the process. Beats the holy hell out of any other crappy ass reason for making music.
Except pussy.. that's still the best reason ever.
I know you were expecting something like "To put out the most bone crushing, devestatingly brutal music ever in the history of man" or, "To bring about an end to the lies of Christ with music spawned in the lowest depths of hell, and lyrics written for us by the goat lord himself".
No, no. Thats just ridiculous and silly, and quite frankly beneath us.. but hiding income from the government, well hot damn, thats a worthwhile pursuit. How does our Ponzi scheme work? I'll tell you (and by "you'' I mean YOU, and that's it)..
You go blabbing this to anyone else, and by Lucifer's beard, I swear I'll tell the guys in Black Witchery what you said about their sexual identity.
To grasp our financial secrets you have to know Bill Williams. Williams is the only human (that we know of) capable of inter-dimensional travel. Like any good capitalist, Williams used this ability for greed and plunder. He found a dimension (The real name of it is unknown, Williams insists we call it "Williamsburgland". He's sort of self important that way) that at one time had been the pinnacle of advancement. This came to a screeching hault when they ran out of the one substance they use for everything (Combine all the uses we have for water and petroleum, and you'll get an idea of the importance of this liquid to them).
This is a classic case of demand waiting for a supply. He told us (Crotchduster) of this opportunity, and at our urging he brought us back soil and air samples (He's not scientifically inclined like we are, the only reason he can travel inter-dimensionally is because he's got a PhD in dumptruck mechanics and he just blasted his way there).
From these we were able to reconstruct the cellular make-up of this mysterious liquid (I'd tell you what it is, but screw you, find your own dimension of people to exploit). Let's just say that one of the ingredients is ground up goat teeth, and all their goats are extinct due to a shift in atmospheric pressure on account of the universe expanding the way it does.
Now, here's the crux of the whole matter:
We make this liquid (which we call Mammal Sauce) and we give it to Williams. Williams takes it (along with a dumptruck full of paying tourists) to Williamsburgland, and sells it for a price that would make you gag. He takes 50% of the profits, and deposits our 50% in an inter-dimensional account (the exchange rate between currencies is roughly even).
Beats the hell out of an off shore tax shelter, doesn't it? How the hell do you trace money across dimensions? You don't. So, whenever we need some dough we just mix up a batch of Mammal Sauce, give Williams a couple withdrawal slips, and await his return. To keep ourselves busy, we write music. The writing process for Crotchduster is very unique. See, inter-dimensional travel puts quite a strain on Williams' brain. It upsets his brain chemical balance, screws with his central nervous system, and gives him temporary clairvoyance. In short, he goes stark raving mad. (Thats why we send Cain with him - Somebody's got to drive the truck while Williams is incapacitated. Plus, Cain writes down everything Williams says during these episodes. These mad ramblings later become Chrotchduster's lyrics.) So, our music has to be as crazy and disjointed as the lyrics. And, because of the temporary clairvoyance, every song we've ever written has fit perfectly with the lyrics we recieved upon Williams' return.
The recording techniques we use are unique as well. We only use one mic, and our multitrack is 16 two track machines from 1957 synched together with a stopwatch and some telephone cord. Most of the music is written, performed, and recorded by Fornicus and Slippery Jim. Cain's expertise really shines through during the mixdown process. Being a dog allows Cain to hear into frequency ranges that we, as humans, cannot. Although we can't hear them, these frequencies have octaves that color the things we can hear. So, all we had to do was teach Cain how to use the console and all the outboard gear.
So, to recap;
Williams gets rich off our Mammal Sauce. We get rich off his ability to travel to other dimensions and we also get lyrics for Crotchduster (which is nothing more than a cover for us to portray ourselves as "starving artists" so we can continue to claim the Earned Income Credit on our tax returns). Nobody pays taxes on any of this money, and we save a dying dimension in the process. Beats the holy hell out of any other crappy ass reason for making music.
Except pussy.. that's still the best reason ever.
So anyway, throughout the album they flip between rap, death metal, nu metal, that weird metally punky style you sometimes get, and pretty much everything else. Bands I noticed mimicked included Slayer, Obituary, Megadeth, Morbid Angel, The Berzerker, possibly Korn, and a load others. The best thing though, and one that me and my friends listened to on the way to wacken, reciting it word for word, is the last track "Crotchopus", a 14 minute epic. From the "I'm trying to masturbate!" at the beginning to the conversation at the end, we fucking loved the childishness and hilarity of the whole thing. A particular favorite, from the "Hate Mail" section at the end, was the quote "Jenny, a womans job consists of anal, swallowing loads, and shutting up, it says so in the bible". We would loudly recite this all festival long, to our immature glee.
Also, as jokey as the band are, I have found no better musical expression of male desire than the beginning of Big Top Williams, with the extremely epic sounding "Let me fuck your pussy, let me fuck that fucking shit" passage. I personally believe this to have more truth and artistic integrity to it than any other love song ever, and any poem, including William Shakesperes "Sonnet 130". It's so bullshit free and direct, that it pretty much encompasses romantic intent, without getting all gay about it, like Type O Negative. Just go after the system of a down bit, around 0:35.
As well as this theres the "live" song, "Stars Ingenious Cooter", which successfully makes fun of the live performance of every metal band ever, Mammal sauce, with the gloriously gay sounding metalcore "Wooaaahhhh" riff, which pretty much nails the parody, Let me into starfish Land, which has an awesome detune chugfest riff while singing in a gruff voice about wanting to lick someone's asshole...and plenty more i can't think of right now. Every Parody is lovingly executed in a way that only someone wayyy into metal could do, making it seem just as affectionate as malicious. inadvertently one of the best metal albums I have.
1 comment:
Dude... this blog = A+++
Post a Comment