Darkest Hour

(Ok, so I've had this album in my car for about two and a half weeks now, and I'm still listening to it every single day. I often do this "Let's kill the fuck out of this CD by listening to it, and it only, all the time " thing though, as others I'm sure will gladly bear witness, so maybe it's not that special, but for now I'm firmly set in my belief that it is absolutely amazing. Also (to contextualise the the knob-shining to come) I am quite the Darkest Hour fan, so if you're looking for an unbiased opinion, look elsewhere...)

                                                                    2011, Victory Records

"The Human Romance" is the seventh studio album by these pioneers of melodic heavy music, and it has grasped me firmly by my metaphorical musical balls ever since it laid into my ear pussy with its thrashy riffs,the constant driving force of the double bass pedal and the exquisite harmonies. Seriously. This band has been going for ages as this album reveals with it's maturity and sophisticated poignancy that I have, as of yet, failed to come across in any other (if it must be said) "metal" band. They effortlessly juxtapose aggression with calmness, beauty with cacophony and brutality with empathy, leaving you asking, mouth gaping, how?! It might have something to do with their choice of scales, or the small but technically brilliant musical intricacies that they incorporate into their sound, but I am quite certain that even old Mozart, had he once been at a party, had a few drinks, and somehow heard the bridge in "Purgatory" over the gramophone, would have been like, "Wow, those guys shred! And its beautiful!!". Even my mom likes some of the parts, and she thinks heavy metal is the sound Satan makes when he gets out of bed on the wrong side in the morning... surely that counts for something.

Also, I hate it when bands try on purpose to "progress", because they are proper musicians with one good album out and now they need to "develop their style". Over-zealous assholes. Don't get me wrong, the sound has changed, but the first thing I said when the album kicked in was "Yep, that's Darkest Hour." These guys still party, at least used to smoke weed (not sure if they still do), and tour the shit out of the world because they genuinely love music and playing it for people, which I can respect in the current climate of greedy musical corporate dick-suckingness. Their style has remained true to its roots, roots from seeds that they planted themselves when they perfected the art of alternately picked harmonised riffs, and so their transformation has been less of a progression than just a slow, steady march, gathering momentum and finally culminating in this, so far for me personally, the pinnacle of their artistic achievement.

I give it, drum-roll..........Trrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrp.
189. Out of 203.


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Cosmic Comedowns

Introspection. It always happens the morning after a binge. I suppose it is fairly obvious that waking up and discovering the bloody bandage on your hand and remembering, “Oh yeah, that happened”, (long even before remembering, or being reminded of, kissing the ugly girl, declaring your undying love for that pretty girl or falling down drunk in the middle of the street), is cause for a drastic re-evaluation of your existence. I’m talking big picture, cosmic shit.

In retrospect, things could have ended a lot worse, but I guess my guardian angel was working overtime while my responsibility gnome was tripping on MDMA with me... Still, however, some things in life cannot be fixed by a frantic drunken drive to the hospital, one very judgmental general practitioner and a, ??!! , “condom finger bandage”. Such things include, but are not limited to:

• Existential crises
• Comedowns
• Shitty friends
• Stupidity

And as a final addition to that list, the situation I currently find myself in: bored as shit, disdainful and in pain. But wait, shall I console myself? Sure!

Maybe all’s well that ends well. Maybe inherently I am smart enough to cope with and go about life in a rational manner, and it's all actually just the drugs' fault. Maybe I've had some of the best times of my life on drugs, but then again, I can’t really remember. Some philosopher reckoned that the extent to which any person can experience pleasure is limited by the amount of pain they have experienced in the past, and I think there is some truth in that. Balance. Perhaps by the same token, the better the party, the harder the emotional comedown. Seems logical. Balance. The Universe takes care of itself, impassive towards the discord of our reality, and I realise this most while battling hangovers/comedowns (my most prevalent moments of weakness), paradoxically  by nursing them tenderly with a joint, breakfast and company. This realisation then usually proceeds to melt into something like a “Total Perspective Vortex” once the seemingly more severe monotony of everyday life is rediscovered, leaving one with a feeling of pointlessness and futility.

But all be it humbling it is a good feeling, because even though there is no meaning to life, and I’m not even a spec on 4.6 billion years of history, it is exactly because it’s all so unfathomably big that it’s amazing to just be a part of it. A tiniest of parts, my little world, in which I get to witness, in awe, the grandeur of the universe that so statistically improbably gave birth to the consciousness which now drips onto this page.

So fuck it, relax, and remember (in the words of the Almighty), it’s just a ride.