There is a good chance you found us accidentally by using the word “taint” in your search (If you found us on purpose, you deserve our accolades). Of course, we don’t know what you were looking for, but you stumbled on a damn cool project. Look around; let us help send you on a musical journey. Here you will find a number of album reviews from the strange and extreme to the tame and mainstream. Our reviewers are a bunch of obsessive miscreants. Most of us are avid music collectors and have been involved in the music world for decades. A couple of us have been in or are still in bands.
There are no rules on Tickle Your Taint Blog. Our reviewers might make you laugh, or piss you off; both results are legitimate. One reviewer might write a glowing review of an album; another might tear it apart. We may have a new review every week, or we could end up with one every six months. This blog exists as a social experiment to build community among a diverse group of music maniacs – our reviewers and hopefully you.
It seems like my year has allowed little time or access to new music. The music apps are the only way I listen to music, and they have commercials that I absolutely can’t stand, so I didn’t listen much—even during my long commute. Mostly, I drove in silence—stumbling through the cycles of my own thoughts.
Then, I remembered coming across Justin Townes Earl’s “Harlem River Blues” this spring. I found it glorious in its darkness—the profound hope in the end of suffering. Justin, found it, sadly—for us all.
Null calls me up telling me he is obsessed with a band called Enforcer. He really liked the cover, so he bought their record Nostalgia. He remarks that they have a traditional heavy metal sound, with flourishes of Iron Maiden and others. All weekend, he is listening to it, subjecting his partner to the record. Two days later, a package arrives at my house, containing the Enforcer CD. Dutifully, I listen to the record several times and write to Null.
Dear Null,
I received the Enforcer CD. Thank you for sending it to me. It is a nice surprise. I remember the cover, perhaps from a review on Banger TV. I think it was the suggested pallet cleanser for one of the monthly recommendations. As you noted, the songs rock. The band is quite fascinating as they blend so many aspects of 1980s metal. The traditional aspects are present, especially given the guitar work. Enforcer also has a lot of hard rock and hair metal aspects, but from the more energetic and edgy aspects of these genres. To me, this is most apparent in the high pitch of the singer’s voice on certain songs, such as “Heartbreaker.” To me this is not a negative, as there are plenty of bands in this camp that I liked, especially those that are not forced into commercial, mainstream production. On the ballad “Nostalgia,” there is an interesting mix of metal from the 1980s, but there are moments within the song when the singer’s voice has a Freddie Mercury waver. It is subtle and takes place for just a few seconds, which is very interesting. I like the sweeping, epic singing on many songs. This record reminds me of all the cassettes that I had as a kid, especially those by bands that never got popular but were more interesting as a result. The Enforcer songs are raw, rocking, and quite fun, as there is an edge to them. I have listened to the record three times today, and I keep finding gems within the songs. The guitar leads are excellent, especially on “No Tomorrow.” The chorus on “At the End of Rainbow” is very catchy. This may sound odd—I hear a lot of early to mid-period Scorpions on some of these songs, but Enforcer is not as polished. Plus, there are so many other influences that are mixed into their songs. This record takes me back to being a geeky elementary and junior high kid, who was obsessed with hard rock and metal. I did not have too many friends at the time who also liked this type of music. I would go to the record store to flip through the import bin, hoping to find something intriguing or something that I saw in the back pages of Hit Parader. I would have definitely bought this record based on its cover. Thank you for sharing this music with me. It is great fun.
I suppose my first comment on my musical interests in 2024 is more a confession than anything else. I did indeed have a “brat summer.” Charli XCX’s Brat album is popular for good reason. Her previous work was too hyper and unlistenable, but songs like “360” are just damn catchy and much smoother on the eardrums. The early Euro-rave influence is still there, but the sound has matured. Whatever work is happening in production for Charli is clearly paying off. While snowboarders routinely rip 1440s and other dizzying spins, far surpassing Tony Hawk’s now tired 900, I’m quite content with one revolution at a time.
Like many bands of the 1990s and 2000s, both The Postal Service and Death Cab for Cutie (aka the Ben Gibbard show) had a joint anniversary tour this year. I caught them while back in Pittsburgh for a stint and even though I haven’t listened to much Postal Service in the intervening years, I was pleasantly surprised to remember so many of their tunes. Seeing Ben Gibbard perform was also a highlight, as he’s damn good—dances like a weirdo though.
Spotify informed me that I was among the top two percent of Misfits listeners globally this year, so there’s that.
I forced some of today’s youth to listen to Minor Threat. The ensuing discussion had us wondering, can one be straightedge without the edge? Can a Mormon be straightedge? Are they just straight without the edge? What’s more important, the not drinking or the “look?” Must both be present? And in what quantities? I’m a bit of a purist so, to quote Chuck Palahniuk, “sticking feathers up your butt does not make you a chicken” is my final verdict on the matter.
As a self-professed fan of the “you call that music?” genre, the tunes I dare you to listen to are: “The Genre Police” by AronChupa and Little Sis Nora, “Hentai” by S3RL, and “Miku” by Anamanaguchi and Hatsune Miku.
I think this is incredible as far as progressive black/death metal goes. There’s shades of real musical ability interspersed with the usual headbanging sorts of riffs. Plus, I dig it when an album or band really leans into the whole “concept album” bit. I imagine they probably wrote about their dungeons-and-dragons campaign or something, which to me is incredibly, awesomely self-indulgent, and I crave more.
2. Duster, In Dreams (2024).
Duster returns to form with less scuzz and feedback, with slower, more thoughtful, songs making up the bulk of this record. Though it came out near the end of the year, it fits perfectly with the usual grey and brown that accompanies November and December. Those who know me know I love music that hits speeds around or above 200bpm, but Duster and other slowcore bands all have a special place in my heart.
3. Hologram, No Longer Human (2021).
I have no fucking clue how I missed this band. Signed to Iron Lung records, this band is everything I crave from punk music. None of that self-indulgent “down with the system” stuff is here. Taking their title from the Osamu Dazai book of the same name, this album is pure “meanness” distilled into uncompromising, battering riffs that reek of inner turmoil, thrashing introspection, and a rage against society at large. It’s an album that, upon repeated listens, might give the listener a permanent stank face. It’s that good.
4. Pyrrhon, Exhaust (2024).
Great dissonant death metal from Pyrrhon once again. I felt like it was a little more calculated and less spazzy than their previous output, but I love it all the same. The vocalist’s angsty, cough like yowls truly fit with the angular, jagged guitar work and breakneck drumming; it tells of a world headed for ruination with no looking back.
5. Torture, 4: Enduring Freedom (2023).
The bassist from my band Chasmlurk turned me onto these guys while we were driving down to Vegas to play a show there. This is, by far, the most ignorant, caveman-esque shit I’ve ever heard. I hate breakdowns in metal or punk songs with a truly uncompromising fervor, but somehow Torture manages to sound like a brutal death metal breakdown for an entire song that stretches up to five minutes, and then they did that for 13 songs and called it an album. It is so blissfully, beautifully stupid. Slam riffs, pig squeals, zero guitar solos and the like. And it’s unabashedly Iraq War themed, with a fitting ignorant sound that reflects the sheer stupidity of our politicians who got our country into that mess. It’s brilliant.
6. Adversarial, Solitude with the Eternal (2024).
Another dissonant blackened death metal record. I really like these guys in that they take dissonance to such an extreme that it somehow becomes melody again. And it’s fucking fast.
7. Mamaleek, Vida Blue (2024).
Mamaleek is a strange band. They started off as “black metal,” but as their music has changed with each release it now resembles a weird amalgam of jazz, chamber music, rock, and a sprinkling of metal that I’ve not heard anywhere else. Apparently, this record is about a famous baseball player—in what way this is significant, I have no idea. This is one of those records where I didn’t do much digging about its themes or lyrics and just kinda let the album take me wherever. It’s a journey, for sure, and I recommend any fan of experimental music to give this a try.
I have been asked to write a review about one of my favorite thrash metal bands. Back in the day, I began gravitating toward the Bay Area and East Coast thrash scene without really knowing that it had a label. For me, there tended to be a political edge to the lyrics and themes of darkness and despair to fuel my blind drunk depression at the time. One band stood out. The lead singer’s raspy voice and the band’s hook laden chops really sunk in. At one point, I told SoDak that if a certain song came on, it would make me want to fuck anything that moves. “Shake Me” was infectious, and if you fuck anything that moves, you may just get infected.
Yes, I am yanking your chain. For those of you going “what the fuck? Cinderella, a thrash metal band?,” you are right. I am fucking with you.
Back in the day, I drew hard lines around the music I liked and “posers” who listened to certain music because it was the cool thing to do (see my Metallica review). The interesting thing about my boundaries at the time is that they were only sensical to me. I was into Overkill and Testament, but hated Metallica. The bluesy nature of Great White and Cinderella were fucking awesome, but Poison and Warrant were absolute shit. I may have seen Great White and Tesla more times than I have seen Iron Maiden.
My apologies to Gary Holt and Paul Baloff (RIP) for the blasphemy, but I feel it makes a point. While there are some boundaries that we can draw between underground and “pop” music, ultimately, the value of an artist is in the ear of the beholder. There are some really shitty bands/songs that still elicit emotion for me, but they are tied to something I was going through at the time. Some people like cotton-candy music. To see anything redeeming in contemporary pop music, I feel like your life has got to be so fucking free of trauma or you are escaping trauma. Either way, if you like pop music, you are fucked in the head. But, most of us are. If it is popular, by definition, it is worth three constipated turd nuggets. It is very rare for “good” music to be popular.
A few years ago, I reviewed Swift and Perry. Since then, many folks have communicated to me how deep Swift’s lyrics are. I really do not fucking hear it, and they do not speak to me. Over the past few years, I dug deeply into the lyrics for 1989, and I came up empty (I staunchly refused to listen to that fucking album again despite my morbid curiosity - was it really as bad as the pant-load of diarrhea I remember it to be?). Honestly, I am at a real fucking loss to figure out what the fuck people are talking about. So much so, it really kinda pisses me off, if you can’t tell. To try to argue this vapid “white people problems” whiny bullshit is somehow deep makes me question humanity. I do not mind if you like Swift’s music. Just do not fucking insult me by telling me how fucking profound it is. Be proud of the fact that you love its vacuous, cheerful, superficial self-reflection. I love Weird Al and Huey Lewis, but I do not try to justify it by saying how deep they are.
Here’s a taste:
Taylor Swift “Blank Space”
So it’s gonna be forever
Or it’s gonna go down in flames
You can tell me when it’s over, mm
If the high was worth the pain
Got a long list of ex-lovers
They’ll tell you I’m insane
Cause you know I love the players
And you love the game
‘Cause we’re young, and we’re reckless
We’ll take this way too far
It’ll leave you breathless, mm
Or with a nasty scar
Got a long list of ex-lovers
They’ll tell you I’m insane
But I’ve got a blank space, baby
And I’ll write your name
Now compare this really deep shit to the hair metal, cock rockers, Great White.
Great White “Sail Away”
As you come you come alone
All you are is what you know
Dependent on your memory
Remember who you used to be
Reason is a raging wind
Beating on your weathered skin
Confusion in the tidal flow
Pulls you like an undertow
Adrift out on a sea of tears
Navigating by your fears
Searching in the stars above
A way to find your isles of love
How about the hair spray encrusted Cinderella?
Cinderella “Somebody Save Me”
Somebody get the doctor
I’m feelin’ pretty poor
Somebody get the stretcher
Before I hit the floor
Somebody save me
I lost my job, they kicked me out of my tree ( I thought it was “kicked me out on my cheeks”)
Somebody save me
Save me
Well, everybody’s got opinions
But nobody’s got the answers
And that shit you ate for breakfast
Well, it’ll only give you cancer
In Taylor Swift’s song, the lyrics are way too fucking literal. There is little left to the imagination, and bragging about failure is not endearing, “Got a long list of ex-lovers.” Sounds like the old adage, at some point perhaps you should think “maybe it’s you.” Great White, in contrast, germinates poignant mental imagery while giving the listener the ability to see their specific circumstance in the generality of the lyrics, “Remember who you used to be.” Now, if I chose Great White’s “Down on Your Knees,” Swift would certainly have the lyrical upper hand. Cinderella is a bit literal, but ever so slightly glances the political by dragging in economic despair and the reality of cancer among the working classes.
Is it profound or a trenchant critique of the horrors of the capitalist system? No, but at least it does not rely on a misogynistic view of sexuality that churns its way through sexual partners the way rednecks tear through a Chinese Buffet.
I have already pondered Swift’s popularity, but the point here is to make clear that music is relative. I think we can still shit talk some music, and dogging Swift is still punching up, so she is fair game. However, listen to what you like. Find resonance where you can. I may still shit all over you for doing it, but just tell me to fuck off. People certainly did it to me for liking Cinderella and other “butt rock.” Still have no idea what the fuck that means.
In the spirit of music that is not my cup of tea, I decided to give another artist a listen. Recently, a student asked me to rate the song “Feeling” by Juice WRLD. One of my classes is a bit of a circus. One student puts his head down on the desk almost immediately. There were a few students who did not turn around to face the film we were watching in class. It is a bit weird, but what are you going to do, and they seem to have an okay time? The class also gets into odd debates when they finish working on their group exercises. One involved how many holes a straw has and descended into whether a hot dog was a sandwich. We came to an abrupt end when they painted themselves into a logical corner by basically implying that a Philly cheesesteak is a hot dog.
Students had introduced me to Juice WRLD’s story in a previous class. Just before I left my previous department, the racist, homophobic, autistiphobes I worked with yanked me from the graduate theory seminar I taught because I was becoming too popular with the students. As a big fuck you to the bigoted assholes, I taught a class on “Rock ‘n’ Roll” before I left for a new program.
The one thing I learned from the students was that “selling out” is not really a thing anymore. In the battle between heavy metal and hair rock, selling out was a big deal. Commercialism and pandering were viewed with derision (unless you are Metallica, then it is totally fucking okay to be a sellout fuck and bitch about people getting access to your music for free). Now, students do not really even understand the concept because music is not communicated in album form. Artists are simply assumed to seek wealth and fame. There were a few examples where students felt artists had drifted too far away from their base, but it was not really viewed as selling out. This is simply something I did not predict before teaching the class. Some of their favorite genres of music were artificial constructions of the music industry like K-pop. The stark divide between “posers” and “real” artists is virtually absent in this new era of streaming and basement engineering. I am not sure I have fully comprehended how students see music now.
One of the student presentations covered the life of Juice WRLD and a couple of his songs. One of the songs the student presented was “Wishing Well.” The prophetic lyrics highlight the contradictions of using drugs to cope with life’s realities.
It’s stress on my shoulders like a anvil
Perky got me itching like a anthill
Drugs killing me softly, Lauryn Hill
Sometimes I don’t know how to feel
Sometimes I don’t know how to feel
Let’s be for real
If it wasn’t for the pills, I wouldn’t be here
But if I keep taking these pills, I won’t be here, yeah
To be honest, I can say the same thing about whiskey. I am not certain how I would have coped with my first few years of college without being blind drunk most days. However, it set up a pattern that was hard to shake. Because I had a lot of folks depending on me, I had to pull my shit together. I really did not have the option, after a while, to cash in my chips.
The lyrics in “Wishing Well” point out the deadly gamble of using drugs as a crutch while risking worsening the problem. While you can put off the pain of some current agony, you are just as likely to do something stupid while high that makes you even more depressed. It is a pretty vicious cycle that some do not seem lucky enough to escape. I had a few close calls during those dark days. Some just don’t come out on the other side.
I hear the bravado masking the pain in “Feeling.” On the surface, it glamorizes drug use and being out of it, chasing the capitalist’s dream. If you listen a little more deeply, Juice WRLD is using drugs to “conceal” his feelings, but they are never quite silenced, “I still feel them.”
Although I am drawn to the lyrics in “Wishing Well,” both “Feeling” and “Wishing Well” are too heavily steeped in autotune for my taste. The beats are those reminiscent of the tracks constantly piped out of the speakers at the bar where my brother bounced. There are certain hip hop and R&B tunes that do move me (Lupe Fiasco), but the ones that tend toward the dance moves and overly orchestrated choreography are just not for me. I feel the same way for the horseshit line-dancing tripe that passes for “country” music.
I feel the backlash against Beyonce was not so much about her music as it was about revealing the sham that is called country music. It is just fucking pop music for white folk who fancy themselves cowpies. Compare Beyonce’s “Texas Hold ‘em” to Trace Adkins’s “Honky Tonk Badonkadonk.” If Adkins is country, so is Beyonce, but her shit is at least more listenable.
I will stick with Cinderella. There is a hook there that is not what I hear in most dance music. There is a different purpose to bluesy glam rock than there is to dance music. I look for the melody to mirror my anger, rage, depression, and hostility.
If I was a happy fucking dude, I would listen to Michael Franti, dance like a goddamn hippy, and fart fucking rainbows out of my ass.
I am not, so I listen to death metal, depressing political outlaw country, and frivolous rock music that still sounds a bit angry even if it is not.
Because I get the depth of pain Juice WRLD elicits in his lyrics, I am creating a new rating to sit right in the middle of the sweet sticky balls and the constipated turd nuggets. For Juice WRLD’s “Wishing Well,” I give it a department store gumball - the ones in the vending machine that last about 23 seconds before they lose their flavor. I do not get too much joy out of listening to it, but it is not the sonic torture that is Taylor Swift or Katy Perry. For those who do enjoy the beats of Juice WRLD, there is lyrical content here in these two songs that speaks to the complexity and contradictions of the human experience. I could see how folks may get the same resonance as I did with Ozzy’s “Suicide Solution.”
Getting back to the original subject of this review, Cinderella is still one of my favorites. “Shake Me,” “Bad Seamstress Blues,” and “Dead Man’s Road” are all solid songs I dig to this day. Cinderella gets at least one sweet sticky ball. Perhaps two if I am not feeling so goddamn cantankerous.
