...ehjookated whore says...?

Up to this point in history, whatever anyone thought of Mr. Rob Zombie, no one could have accused him of being boring. Regretfully, that state of affairs has changed. I cannot deem the album bad, per se; much like most of Mr. Zombie's various and sundry endeavors, it has its moments. The problem, however, is that it is far more likely to induce narcolepsy than any more agreeable reaction in the listener. The cover art is a wonderful piece of self-fulfilling prophecy: Rob looks old and tired, much like the music itself sounds.

We won't delve into the issue of why it is just wrong to add anyone whose resume includes a stint with Marilyn Manson to the payroll.

The fact is, not a single song on the album has anything akin to a groove. I cannot picture large-breasted women writhing around a brass pole to the accompaniment of any of this music. Hell, I can't even picture a strung-out crack whore swaying slightly in her broken-down fuck-me heels to them.

Very disappointing.

I did, however, get a shiny sticker featuring Mr. Zombie's old, tired mug. Exciting.

Ah well. The new Lacuna Coil album is due out in precisely one week; based upon the soaring "Our Truth", it promises to be a far more satisfactory listen.