Iron Butterfly - Metamorphosis

We all know i love iron butterfly, so this review of their 4th album, Metamorphosis, will obviously be positive. They have a couple new guitarists this time around, but i've already told you that doesn't matter. Iron Butterfly is Doug Ingle, and he simply doesn't know what the word "genre" means.

The real problem with Iron Butterfly is that everyone heard Inna-Gadda-Da-Vita and said "that's it. That's what we are going to remember you for, and you might as well not bother writing anything else. Ball? Sure, yeah, great album, put IGDV back on. Another version? No thanks, you got it right the first time. A fourth album? Okaaay. Nah, this just doesn't do it for me."

Well, i call shenanigans. The best part of IB is the weird parts, and this album has some of the weirdest. Obviously, the universe doesn't explode like on 1 & 3, and everyone but me hates the constipated grunting and early talk-box experiment in the middle of Butterfly Bleu, but that's because they thought IB was supposed to be a manufactured psychedelic Vegas production, or something. News flash, they were just weirdos doing weird stuff, and it's not their fault you don't like it anymore. Go back and listen to all four albums. There's nothing premeditated. They are clearly just doing whatever they thought of doing on every album without any indication that there was a staff meeting beforehand. Trust me, it's simply not possible that they felt any sense of embarrassment while they were doing it (remember Lord Sutch?), so why start questioning it now?

That's the thing about real unhindered creativity: you might only like one thing that creativity produced. I, on the other hand, like the unpredictable creative freedom in and of itself. IB is wackadoodle and i laugh as much as anyone at the most outrageous moments. Deadpan insanity is one of their most endearing qualities.

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