Posts Tagged Cannibal Corpse
You may have never heard of the song “Hammer Smashed Face” by Cannibal Corpse, but apparently Led Zeppelin has.
According to recently released phone recordings of Jimmy Page talking to Zeppelin vocalist Robert Plant, the two conspired to steal the opening riff from “Hammer Smashed Face” and put it in their legendary song “Stairway To Heaven”. Page, who studied the art of transcendental time travel in an ashram in Northern New Jersey in the early 1960s, allegedly leaped ahead in time in order to find inspiration for Led Zeppelin IV.
While in the year 1994, he astrally projected himself into a movie theater in order to watch Jim Carrey’s comedy classic “Ace Ventura: Pet Detective”. While watching Cannibal Corpse’s bizarre cameo in the film, he came upon the opening riff from “Hammer Smashed Face” and a rock’n’roll epic was born. Moments later, he teleported his soul to a local Sam Goody where he purchased “Tomb of The Mutilated”.
When Page returned, he played the song over the phone to Plant. The two were in the studio in a matter of hours. The rest is history.
“If you listen to the two, the similarities are obvious,” said metalhead attorney Butch Carnage. “It’s not just the guitar parts either. The blast beats are even exactly the same. Who do these guys think they are kidding?”
This is not the first time a metal band has accused Led Zeppelin of plagiarism. In 2009, Obituary charged that Zeppelin lifted a portion of “Chopped in Half” to create the song “D’yer Mak’er”. Texas death metallers Devourment have claimed that the song “Whole Lotta Love” is practically a carbon copy of “Parasitic Eruption” off of the album “Conceived In Sewage”. Nuclear Assault has also alleged that Zeppelin covered “Good Times, Bad Times” on Led Zeppelin I without properly crediting them.
We tried on several occasions to contact members of the band to get their comment. We even went so far as to hire a psychic medium to conduct a séance in order to speak with the spirit of drummer John Bonham. However, the band has yet to make a public statement on this brewing controversy.
There are many hidden pleasures in being a metalhead. That moment where you start talking to a stranger and realize he actually knows that Peter Steele was in Carnivore before he was in Type O Negative. The moment where you are at the gym and you see a person on the workout machine next to you wearing a Carcass Heartwork tee-shirt. That feeling you get when you are watching a bad, 1980s made-for-television movie about high school and notice one of the extras wearing a jacket with a giant Nuclear Assault patch on the back. You’ll meet a ton of people throughout your life who think metal is nothing more than bad hairstyles, ripped up jeans and “Enter Sandman”, but that moment when you really feel the presence of another member of our bizarre little community is truly a compelling experience.
There is another type of joy that being a metalhead can produce. Very few things are as invigorating as the feeling of completely freaking out unsuspecting strangers with your music and all of the insane, preposterous imagery that surrounds it. A bunch of senior citizens walk by you in the mall. They notice you rocking that vintage Cannibal Corpse “Eaten Back To Life” shirt and quickly avert their eyes. You imagine them wandering around Sears twenty minutes later muttering about how society is in the brink of collapse and decrying the death of all that is sacred and humane.
I’ll admit, it’s a bit of a cheap thrill, but there are some days that this sort of savage and surreal amusement can fill you with a genuine zest for life. Over the years, I’ve learned how to create and actively seek out these sorts of situations. I’ve experimented with many different methods of achieving this sort of “gore-vana”, in some cases with disastrous consequences. However, the one sure-fire place I know I can count on creating a minute or two of total metal-induced awkwardness and not be forced to spend an evening in the county lock-up is at the drive-thru window at fast food restaurants.
You drive up to the window with the first track of Suffocation’s “Effigy of the Forgotten” (Liege of Inveracity) booming through your speakers. The person working there has probably spent most of the day having their humanity completely ignored or, even better, being scolded by vengeful, self-righteous morons deeply scarred by the fact that two weeks ago the Wendy’s forgot to include packets of ketchup with their Value Meal. They are in that mode we so often see in consumer cultures, where the employee is simply treading water in the hopes of surviving the low wages and disrespect that are supposed to one day connect them to that shining pot of gold that politicians and suckers like to refer to as The American Dream.
Then you come along, blasting Frank Mullen’s doglike vocals and Mike Smith’s demented blast beats. That blank stare quickly changes into an expression of total confusion. What sort of person listens to this madness on purpose? Is this person a psychopath who feeds on the blood-curdled screams of the children locked in the trunk of his car? What does this unshaven weirdo hear in this music that I can’t?
You are the great and frightening Other. The Alien. The one who awakens them from their post-capitalist, slumbering nightmare for a brief second in order that they have something to post about on Twitter before they collapse into the awful sameness of reality television and quiet rage.
Over the years, I’ve accumulated a few songs that I believe are perfect for these moments. If you are having a boring afternoon and want a little more adventure in your life, try blaring one of these the next time you are picking up a cheeseburger. (For added effect, wear corpsepaint and sing along loudly and off key)
10. Anything From Gorguts-Obscura. I say anything because, as much as I love that album, I have no idea of the difference between any of the songs. (This also applies to most pre-2000s black metal)
9. Vader-Decapitated Saints. Those fast, indecipherable vocals are great, particularly if you are able to bug your eyes out and work up one of those Charles Manson looking stares.
8. Misfits-Bullet (Before you start whining about the whole it’s not metal, it’s punk thing, please understand that I find that conversation almost absurd and pointless as listening to someone describe how to properly prepare hog maws) The lyrics from this one are bound to at least elicit a smirk from your mark. Particularly when you get to the part where he starts saying, well, you know….
7. Slayer-Altar of Sacrifice. This one is a bit tricky. It involves timing. If you can manage to have Araya bellowing “Enter To The Realm of Satan!!!” right as you are presented with your jumbo-sized Diet Coke, you will achieve maximum effect.
6. Metallica-Creeping Death. Same as above except you need to sync it up with “DIE…BY MY HAND!!!”.
5. Suffocation-Liege of Inveracity. We’ve discussed this.
4. Manowar-Black, Wind, Fire and Steel. It’s not the most intimidating song on this list by a long shot, but something about that note Eric Adams holds for a half an hour at the end of the song really works for the situation.
3. Cannibal Corpse-Hammer Smashed Face I’ve tried many different options when it comes to inducing Cannibal Corpse freakouts, but for my money, this is the one that produces the most terror.
2. Morbid Angel-Hatework Part 70s horror film score, part growl from the depths of Hell, this song has a way of leaving lasting scars on the uninitated. For years, I used the last three minutes of God of Emptiness, but this seems to make more of an impact.
1. Deicide-Dead By Dawn This song, by far, has gotten me the most perplexed, stupefied looks. Glen Benton isn’t good for much, but making some high school wage slave drop a Frosty all over the register is an area in which he excels.
About two weeks ago, the house up the street had a moving van in front of it. At first, I didn’t think much of it. After all, I live in Atlanta and people are always moving around in order to avoid the rampaging hordes of flesh-eating reptiles that roam the streets at night. Had I not built a Y2K shelter some years back, I would have probably been devoured myself. My family and I hide there during the evenings, watching old VHS copies of The Young and The Restless until the wee hours of the morning with shotguns in our hands. My 4-year-old is particularly skilled at shooting the beasts when they try to overpower the deadbolt. She’s a great shot for 4. I’m hoping that one day she can lead the humans as we rise up and try to take back control of our cities from the robot overlords. Maybe she won’t. We all grow up thinking we are going to be something special. Sometimes, we just end up working in retail.
The fellow coming in and out of the moving van seemed nice enough. He had longish hair and a mustache that made him look something like either Ron Kovic or a relief pitcher for the Brewers in the mid-70s. I greeted him with my usual Sufi chant and politely asked if he minded if I took a lock of his hair in order to fuse his DNA with a water buffalo. He looked a bit shocked, so I put my shirt back on. That way he would not have to stare at the eyes that had begun to grow out of my stomach.
Suddenly, a feeling of recognition overwhelmed me. I knew this fellow. He was in the band Mastodon. I don’t know how I knew, I just knew. I immediately asked him to autograph my copy of .38 Special’s “Wild-Eyed Boys of The South”. I had been carrying this copy of the album with me for months asking celebrities to sign it. So far, I had gotten Rick Wakeman, the former Yes keyboard player who currently works at the Publix deli counter in Decatur, and Jerry Mumphrey, the former Yankees outfielder who lives inside of my right kidney, to put their names on it. Had this Mastodon guy signed it, it would have completed my collection and allowed me to pass into the cosmic netherworld of alien dwarves. But he refused.
He broke my heart. As a fan, all I ask is for a little acknowledgement. After all, I’ve spent hours of my life listening to that album with the whale on the cover of it. Is a signature too much to ask for?
It’s like the time I broke into Cal Ripken’s home and demanded that he sing all of the lyrics to “Covered With Sores” by Cannibal Corpse at gunpoint. I wasn’t asking a lot. My request certainly didn’t warrant the two and a half years I served in the Allenwood Federal Correctional Facility. Or the removal of all of my teeth at the hands of some hired goon named Vito. But the Ripkens can be brutal when you cross them. I learned that the hard way.
So here I am. It’s 2:30 in the afternoon. I am covered in honey and ox blood from head to toe. Waiting. Hoping. I’ve been in the guy from Mastodon’s living room for 3 hours now playing Black Ops 2 on his Xbox. I wonder if he’s at the supermarket. Or collecting and trading pig exoskeletons with his church group. Or meditating at an ashram in Utah. Or at the park reading his dog-eared copy of V.C .Andrews’ masterpiece “Flowers in the Attic”. He has to come home at some point. Doesn’t he?
For three groups of committed young men, their dreams of a national championship ended before the tournament even got started. Bubbles burst for Drexel University, Seton Hall and Cannibal Corpse during Sunday night’s selection show. Drexel, who went 27 and 6 and 16 and 2 in the always-tough Colonial Athletic Association, had a great regular season but lost to VCU in their conference tournament. Seton Hall, who racked up 20 wins in the Big East and had an RPI of 54, got bumped after an uninspiring stretch run that featured losses to DePaul and Rutgers.
The most surprising omission from the field was famed death metal band Cannibal Corpse. Corpse, who won a band record 28 regular season games and had an RPI of 19, seemed a shoe-in, but a loss in the Horizon League conference tournament finals to Detroit-Mercy seemed to cloud the picture. However, with out of conference wins against Indiana, Michigan State and Testament, few people expected Cannibal Corpse to be on the outside looking in.
The NCAA Selection Committee, which is often tight-lipped about why they picked one team over another, was far from quiet about their exclusion of Cannibal Corpse. “Those guys are animals,” said committee spokesman Michael Newton. “We like to reward teams for good sportsmanship. Beheading the cheerleaders from Cleveland State and mounting the heads on sticks in front of the arena is not the sort of thing that we at the NCAA condone.”
The Cleveland Beheadings were only one event in a season of turmoil for Cannibal Corpse. Point guard Alex Webster was suspended for two games early in the season for removing and chewing the spleen of Butler forward Roosevelt Jones. Forward Paul Mazurkiewicz is currently banned from ever playing basketball in the state of Pennsylvania again for gouging out the eyes of the entire starting Bucknell basketball team and making a necklace out of them. NCAA President Mark Emmert went a step further saying, “Not only should not be in the NCAA tournament, the lot of them should probably be awaiting appeal on death row.”
The band had planned the release of their excellent new album “Torture” on March 13th to coincide with the first round of the tournament. Cannibal Corpse had been considered filing suit against the NCAA for excluding them from the tournament based on their character. “There have been teams of guys just as bad as us who have won National Championships. Ever heard of UNLV?” said irate center George “Corpsegrinder” Fisher. However, Fisher quickly dropped the idea of a suit when he realized it might cut into the 567 consecutive hours of World of Warcraft he is planning on playing in April.
(Thanks to Shawn Von Deathmetal from Universe Number Five for inspiring this fantastic piece of Pulitzer worthy journalism)