Archive for June, 2014
A Tyranny of Tradition prank might have claimed yet another series of new victims. Back on April 28th 2014, this website ran an article claiming that the new Judas Priest album, scheduled to come later this year, was a hoax. The album, of course, came out in July. Tyranny simply meant to write satire to confuse and amuse the metal loving masses.
However, this time, things might have gotten out of control.
In a recent interview with The Huffington Post Canada, Rob Halford discussed a possible duet with pop star Lady Gaga. While Halford’s love of Lady Gaga has been known for over four years, there is an eerie similarity between the Tyranny article and the Huffington Post interview conducted days earlier.
In the final paragraph of the Huffington Post article, Halford is quoted as saying, “I’ve been a huge fan of Gaga since she first burst on the scene. I just love everything that lady represents. First and foremost, her voice is extraordinary. I love her voice. She’s an accomplished musician, she plays piano really well, she’s just a great songwriter. And she’s a beacon of hope for a lot of people in the world.”
In the final paragraph of the Tyranny of Tradition article back in April, Halford is falsely quoted as saying “I’ve been her since she first burst on the scene. I just love everything that lady stands for. First and foremost, her voice is extraordinary. She’s an accomplished musician. She plays piano, oboe, zither and tambourine really well. She’s just a great songwriter. And she’s a beacon of hope for a lot of people in the world.”
The interview with Halford has been picked up by many major media sites including The CNN of Heavy Metal Blabbermouth.com. Tyranny of Tradition writer Keith Spillett has not been able to be reached for comment.
“King Christ,this world is all aleak;
and lifepreservers there are none:” -ee cummings
There is no Overman…only an Outerman.
We are The Outerman. They are The Innerman. Made from the same material. Subject to the same illusion. The two share nothing in common beyond circumstance.
The Outerman does not stand above the world of The Innerman, rather we are mired in it. We watch its absurdities not from a distance, but from a terrible proximity.
We bare the scars of The Innerman’s creations. We live in the demented cesspool of their need for acceptance. Adoration that will never come from the other Innermen. They are blind. Each alone in the company of Others. Each pantomiming human form. Each actors on a stage that stretches from dawn till death.
Both The Innerman and The Outerman are prisoners of the same sickening carnival, the only difference between the two is The Outerman recognizes it to be what it is. No superstition can save him. No machine can revive him. He walks to his fate with the dignity and honor of a man who will not accept the debasement of delusion.
The Outerman looks in the mirror and sees a product of alienation. An alien in a world of aliens. A jigsaw piece that does not fit. Awake among dreamers. There is no Hollywood ending for him or anyone else. There is only decay.
The Innerman looks in the mirror and hopes somehow to mold his face to the reflect the blank stare of the other Innermen. He can never get it right no matter how hard he tries. Never fast enough, never strong enough, never smart enough. Everyday he hopes he’ll see a different image in front of him. If he could just find the formula. The Man With The Answer. But there is no Man and there is No Answer.
The Innerman’s world is one of violence. Violence not in the sense of harm towards others (although some choose that path), but a violent ignorance that turns a blind eye to the suffering in their midst. The Cause portion of the equation forgotten. The Effect always a mystery.
“Why do they hate us?” they wonder aloud, never seeing the answer apparent to anyone not forever trapped in fantasy. Violence is the righteousness of the provincial and the tyranny of the obvious. The world of the Innerman is a dream inside of a dream inside of a dream, with a waking nightmare always somewhere in the corner of his eye.
The Innerman is doomed. Even God won’t save him. Why would He bother? He is too busy poisoning children with cancer, creating horrors like ebola and teaching his followers to hate that which makes them human.
He is the God of letting good things happen to bad people and bad things happen to good people. He is not The God of Love, He is The God of Pestilence. The best thing God could be is a fantasy. For if he is not, He is a sadist.
Both The Outerman and The Innerman are bound together. They walk to the same gallows, suffocated by the same rope. The Outerman calls it a hanging. The Innerman calls it salvation.
It all started innocently enough with a Saturday Night Live sketch featuring Christopher Walken back in 2000. Since then, the Blue Oyster Cult have been besieged by swarms of people all shouting the same thing “More Cowbell”. At first, the band enjoyed all the attention. “We thought it was hysterical,” said Cult front man Eric Bloom, “we were huge Walken fans and loved the whole cowbell thing.”
As time has worn on, the sheer repetition of the same joke has taken its toll. Bloom cannot go anywhere without hearing the same joke over and over. “I go to the supermarket and am in the frozen food aisle. Some fool runs by me and yells “More Cowbell”. I go to the 10 items or less checkout line…some idiot behind the register yells “Here’s your change….More Cowbell!!!”
“It happens everywhere. I’m at my proctologist the other day and the guy keeps shouting “More Cowbell” during my exam. At funerals, people come up to me as I’m leaning over the casket and shout ‘More Cowbell’.
“We are basically this generation’s Fonzi, with everyone coming up with their thumbs up shouting ‘Ayyyyyyy!’. It’s no wonder Henry Winkler got up on that bell tower and shot all those people.”
“Do you know how many bad Christopher Walken impersonations I’ve heard in the last month? 500 or 600, easily,” said Buck Dharma, the band’s lead guitarist. “We loved the attention at first, but people just won’t stop. The other day, somebody spray-painted “More Cowbell” on our family’s Labrador retriever!”
“Everybody wants to be part of the same joke. Everybody wants to prove they get the same stupid cultural reference. Everybody wants to be laughed at. Everybody should be covered head to toe in boils and left in the sun to rot.”
At a concert on Tuesday night in Akron, Ohio, things got out of control. The audience began screaming “More Cowbell” at the opening act “Yah Mo B There”, a local Michael McDonald cover band. Before Blue Oyster Cult came onstage the crowd chanted “More Cowbell” for nearly an hour. During every single song, the audience howled “More Cowbell” accompanied by raucous laughter.
Bloom was progressively becoming more annoyed. “We are doing ‘Harvester of Eyes’, they kept shouting it. We are doing “Career of Evil”…same thing. “Burnin’ For You”….again and again. Endlessly. We pleaded for them to stop, but they kept going.”
One fan, Zelmo Beaty, shouted the same line in a Christopher Walken voice for the duration of the show nonstop. The band had heard enough. They decided to take action.
They leaped from the stage taking drummer Jules Radino’s cowbell, held Beaty and took turns beating him over the head for five minutes the instrument, Dharma was heard shouting “How funny is it now?!!! You want anymore cowbell?!!!!” as security wrestled the bloodied cowbell from his hand.
Beaty emerged from his coma on several occasions rambling about how funny he thinks Jimmy Fallon is, how much he loved the Hunger Games series and how he thought Miley Cyrus’ public display of twerking was inappropriate.
No charges have been filed against the band by local law enforcement.
According to Akron Sheriff Will Kane, “This sort of violence is not normally tolerated in our community, but in this case, we can really understand. In America, people say the same ten things over and over again. No creativity. No originality. Just the same stupid lines ad nauseum. What The Blue Oyster Cult did was wrong, but can you really blame them?”
Back in June of 1995, I was lucky enough to have met and spoken with Chuck Schuldiner. Myself and several friends were at a Death concert at The Roxy in Long Island and through a bizarre series of events we ended up on their tour bus.
Meeting Death was, for me, the equivalent of what I imagine Christians might feel having been in the presence of Christ. Seriously. For me, Death albums were transcendental experiences that explained most of the mysteries of the universe. Chuck was a mystic to me, Gautama with a guitar, The Great One sent down the mountain to help us see the invisible boundaries that we have created to lock away the most creative, life-affirming aspects of our being.
I’m sure I made a total fool of myself. I was your average 13-year-old girl getting backstage to meet Justin Beiber. I was stumbling around for words. Saying anything that came to mind to try to prolong the time we were in the man’s presence.
It was actually an uncomfortable feeling in retrospect. I didn’t want to mess up my one shot at actually asking the man the questions that had plagued me for the entirety of my being. This man had answers. No one could create like he did and not hold the key within him.
Finally, I worked up to asking him the meaning of the song “Vacant Planets” off of the album “Human”. I had somehow worked up a theory in my mind that this song was a comment on the nature of reality and life itself. I had pondered this song for hours and hours. Understanding its meaning consumed me.
There was something to the urgency of this song. It demanded to be understood. There was something deeper to it. Beyond meaning. Beyond rational thought. If he could just explain it to me, I’d have found the missing piece that explained this demented jigsaw puzzle I was living in.
I ambushed him out of nowhere with a rambling, semi-incoherent question about the song. “Chuck…I need to know about the song Vacant Planets. I mean, that song…that song. There is something within that song, you know. The planets around us are so empty. But, ‘in a realm so vast, we sit among the Vacant Planets’. They are vacant and without life. So is our planet, you know.”
“There is nothing to us. We are empty vessels. We eat, we sleep, we decay, we die. Over and over. And it all amounts to nothing. We want endless life, but for no reason. We don’t want to discover the universe around us, we simply want to not die. There is so much possibility wasted. This place is a void. No different than the emptiness on Mars or Mercury. We are a Vacant Planet! There is no meaning to any of it.”
During this whole disjointed explanation he regarded me with a great deal of kindness. He had a very empathetic expression. He was listening. He understood.
“Chuck, I need to know, am I right? Is this it? Is this what Vacant Planets means?”
He looked composed his thoughts for a second and looked away. I felt embarrassed. Had I said too much? Had I wasted my moment?
Then, he looked back at me. Stared directly into my eyes with a half smile on his face.
“Man…the song is about outer space.”
If there ever was a testimony to his genius, it was that answer.
Game of Thrones writer George R.R. Martin and progressive death metal rock and roll band Necrophagist will be teaming up on what some are calling a “dream collaboration”. An album, featuring Martin’s lyrics and the music of Necrophagist, is in the first stages of being created. This news delighted the many fans of Martin’s books (as well as the hit HBO series based on his work) along with metal fans who have waited for years to a follow-up to 2004’s Epitaph.
The album, which the band plans to name sometime by the year 2074, is expected to be a reflection of the many progressive influences they have picked up in the 70 years between their last album and the naming of the new one. Martin, for his part, is expected to have completed the first verse for the opening track by 2098.
While many fans are excited about the project, concern about the band and writer being able to hold up under the rigorous demands of the aging process have made others leery of ever seeing the project’s completion. After all, both the band and Martin will be over 1000 years old by the time the record comes out.
Luckily, science has again saved the human race from the perils of inconvenience. After years of tests on mice in a secret military lab in the foothills of Montana, a process known as partial nano-cryogination is ready for use on humans. Martin and the members of Necrophagist will be the first test subjects. They will be shrunk to three feet tall and stored in a device that resembles a mini-refrigerator.
Their body temperature will remain stable at around 56 degrees Fahrenheit. They will be brought out of their frozen coma one hour per day to work on the project. While the process will slowdown the bodies aging process to nearly a crawl, it will also limit the speed of motion of the human subjects. This is why the band could not commit to the record label’s demand of a new record by 2700.
Martin has yet to hint at the lyrical content of the album, but many industry insiders believe all the members of the band will be killed off by Martin well before the albums completion.
Still, hopes are riding high that the great-great-great-great-great-great-great-grandchildren of these two talented artists will live to see this record digitally implanted into the minds of the surviving members of the human community by their robot overlords well before the year 4000.