The Black Dahlia Murder - Unhallowed

Tonight's album is going to hurt a little (assuming you actually go listen to it). That's because you don't like death metal. You don't think screaming and growling is an acceptable use of a vocalist's instrument. You think there are certain things no one should write songs about. So, tonight we'll turn the tables.

The Black Dahlia Murder's 2003 debut, Unhallowed. Cannibalism and death and demons and anything you can think of that might make Tipper Gore's skin crawl. But, as i've tried to teach my children, sticks and stones may break my bones, so please don't throw them at me.

It's just music. Yeah, if you forget that it's just music then you might turn into a psychopath, but the same can be said about two people fist fighting over the last bag of potato chips.

More to the point, i find sexism and racism and hypocrisy appalling, but that's all the last two firing brain cells of every 1 out of 3 people i see in a day (in real life or on TV or on the albums i've talked about) can seem to produce. I listen to it and think up clever ways to tell you it's garbage.

Don't think of it as screaming, think of it as a highly refined and methodically practiced vocal technique meant to convey anger and produce fear (you can't wing it if you want to talk to your friends tomorrow, or do 27 interviews to promote your concert that night). Some people are good at it, some people sound ridiculous. I consider this one pretty good, because Trevor Strnad is one of the very few people interested in bridging the Atlantic Ocean's distance between american death metal growls and scandanavian black metal shrieking. You're supposed to feel uncomfortable, or at least recognize that it's supposed to make you feel uncomfortable. It's art. Evaluate it. They work just as hard to do a good job as Twang Smackman and the Banjoettes, and i have no doubt you noticed that not once did i insult anyone from Seether's musicianship or personal life last night.

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