Beatallica's bull's-eye

If there is any doubt that Jaymz and Krk are the fuckin' most killer songwriters since Sabbath, then April 1st, 2004--with the release of the new Beatallica disc--should surely see the last vestiges of metal shitheadedness and pussbag lameness swept away in a deluge of earsplitting music making, which only the completely fucked will not hear and only the man-panty wearers will not acknowledge. Called simply Beatallica, it's in a plain gray cover which is adorned only by the song titles and pure molten music melding metal mayhem, mayhem which for some still represents the menace of long-haired youth, for others the dominating, never ending pummeling of cynical so-called betters.

In Beatallica's eye of beholding, as in their songs, you can see the fragile, weak-ass, fragmentary mirror of the society which sponsored them, which interprets and fears them, and which is punished by the very four horsemen they reckon to be evil. Are they evil? Yes, they fuckin' are! Jaymz, ever-roaring, brutal; Larz, every motherfucker's fave basher; Kliff, San Francisco lad made infamous by his whipping dance of the dead; Krk, in your face, blistering and shreading with a fierceness clearly undimmed by all that any parental or religious right group can throw at him. They are heroes of the day for all of us, and simply head-bangingly mint.

It's not as if Beatallica ever seek such adulation. The extra-ordinary quality of the eight new songs is one of simply blended metal happiness. The lyrics overflow with a blood-dripping, skull-smashing radiance and sense of fun that it is impossible to resist. Every track is a death knell to the poseurs, rollicking, reckless, terrifying, magical. The subject matter ranges from beer drinking ("Death to Mother Earth and the human race, just as long as the beer's got foam"), to Madonna of pop music fame ("Leper Madonna, Jaymz is at your breast/He don't give a fuck-ah how you feed the rest-yyeeeaaaaah-aahhh!"); from the black Danzig duet of "And I'm Evil" to "Hey Dude".

The skill at song construction has matured with crash course in brain surgery precision. Beer cans, guest appearances, Beatallibanger choral arrangements, and various forced air expulsions are used as hammers of justice.

Direct music samples have been ignored in favour of musicianship and original creation. References to Lemmy, The Misfits, Metal Church, D.R.I., and Marshall stacks are woven into an aural fabric that has become the reverential tapestry of heavy metal music. It's all there, if you listen. Jaymz sings "Dokken--fuckin' weak"--any doubt?!

Beatallica are pillagers of their instruments rather than virtuoso instrumentalists-but their ensemble playing is fist pumping and astonishing. They bend and twist both Metallica and Beatle songs with their own rhythms and phrases with a unanimous freedom that gives their harmonic adventures the frenzy of anticipation and unpredictability. The voice-dude Jaymz is just another cannon used in the attack, wailing, screeching, mocking, killing.

There is a bombastic determination to be rid of the bullshit hairspray bands that usually challenge them and their true metal. The words are almost deliberately aimed-- one song is called "I Want To Choke Your Band" and includes lines like, "And when I punch you, I feel happy inside;" another just goes on repeating "Enter Sandman…yyyeeaaah-ahhh, fuckin' Sandman!"; another says "Watchin' every L.A. piss-ant poseur die, hell yyeeeahhh!" The music is likewise stripped of all but the most scorching harmonies and bone breaking beats--so what is left is a throttling out-pouring of metal, music-making of unmistakable clarity and relentless boot-stomping beauty.

The sarcasm and bitterness that have always given their music its unease and edginess still bubbles out like an oozing sore--"Life is very short and there's no time for sleeveless flannels, you poseur!"; "Let me tell you how shit will be." The harshness of the imagery is, if anything, even harsher-"Don't you play that Trixter crap until I can't go on!" Beasts, witches, Kip Winger, warm beer, destruction. And, most grotesque of all, there is a terrifying track called "Got To Get You Trapped Under Ice" which comprises a hellish combination of layered guitars, a Jaymz seemingly insane, and janglings from the subconscious memories of a floundering civilization. Cruel, paranoiac, freezing, agonized, hopeless, it is given shape by the awful rendering "Bananarama's all they play there-fuckin' nooooooo!"-that makes you want to scream. Jaymz' drifting melancholy overhangs the entire proceedings like a bloody veil of shadowy doom-dripping, final, hating.

At the end, all you do is jump up and violently whip your head around in mad circles. Whatever your taste in metal, you will find it satisfied here. If you think that metal music is tricks, sticks, and lip stick fix, then Beatallica have done it better-without the lace, but with Saxon influenced denim and leather; if you think that metal music is just hard rock, then Beatallica have done it better-but infinitely more vengefully; if you think that metal music is mind-blowing noise, then Beatallica, though they love that crazy shit, have done it better-on distant shores of the imagination that others have not even sighted.

This c.d. took them a year to make and in case you think that's slow going, just consider that since its completion, they've written another batch of songs ready to desecrate the internet and airwaves of the world. Not even Sabbath wrote at that speed."