Remember back in February, when Emmure’s Frankie Palmeri claimed that he was really some otherworldy being named Thanos Reignz? Here, I’ll remind you:

“For the record, my name is Thanos Reignz, although you may know me as Frankie Palmeri. My true self is beginning to emerge.”

And this is a ridiculous statement, not just because of its both pompous and preposterous, but because Thanos is a character from Marvel comics, which means that either Frankie can’t tell the difference between make believe and the really real world, or otherwise has all the imagination of a corpse.

Well, now Frankie has a new, apparently electronic side-project which is in fact called Thanos Reignz. And guess what? Not only is it terrible, but it consists almost entirely of unoriginal material.

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It’s easy to forget that the winner of American Idol is not a good singer, a sustainable product, or an interesting personality. The crowned Idol is nothing more than a flavorless, featureless zombie who most spurs votes from sofa-bound ‘Mericans and squealing little kids — each group a stronghold of high artistic standards.

So Idol is definitely not music. It’s not even good entertainment. It’s like Scooby-Doo or Mission: Impossible, in which any plot hole can be covered by a character’s sudden removal of a life-like mask; it’s ugly theater played by young adults in sweaty pursuit of suicide-averting popularity, for which they’ll mindlessly comply with any tossed-off suggestion from the Idol judges table; it seeks credibility by osmosis via guest spots for legendary musicians (and Beyoncé) who aim to plug a tour/record/book.

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In 2006, Axl Rose’s Nu-GN’R played what was then their first show in almost four years at the Hammerstein Ballroom in NYC. Rose had recently made a surprise appearance on The Eddie Trunk Show*, dropping in after a texting session with Bach, whom he had not seen in many years. So at this first Hammerstein show, Rose brought out Bach, and they did a duet of “My Michelle,” and, of course, the crowd went totally apeshit.

Then they did it again for the next three nights the band played at the same venue. And then they did it again at almost every single Guns N’ Roses show since. And then Axl Rose made a guest appearance on Bach’s album, and then Bach made a guest appearance on Chinese Democracy. I mean, these guys sure did beat that gimmick until it was dead, and then they continued to beat it, just so its mother wouldn’t be able to give it an open casket funeral.

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Whenever it strikes me as humorous that Mike Muir, the frontman of Suicidal Tendencies, suffers from a bad back like some oldie, I hear the hurt, defensive words of John Candy in Planes, Trains, And Automobiles: “Do you have a bad back? Well I do. And it hurts like a bugger.” Sounds painful, actually; the back is connected to like all parts of your body. If I realize that, it ceases to be funny that the guy who represents ST’s pre-Korn non-silly fuck-you power probably groans “Ahh tsssssssssssss ugh my shit hoitz!” every morning. And it’s totally unfunny that his condition has affected ST tours, but Muir and some random ST dudes just wrapped a tour of Australia, during which he no doubt tested his back on stage and I presume in tight tourbus bunks.

So at this point, Muir, his band, and his fans do not need some silly slag to mount him like there were a Danish taped to his neck Saturday in Sydney (above, at :25). I guess the Australian high-five is a headlock. Srsly, I take out my contacts and the clip looks like a cover version of the parking lot fight scene in The Big Lebowski.

-ADF

I got home from last night’s ridiculously, ludicrously fun Dillinger Escape Plan’s show at The Music Hall of Williamsburg in the wee hours of this morning to find a new Limp Bizkit single, “Shotgun,” in my inbox. (The above cover art was apparently done by Wes Borland. Good to know he’s multi-talented.) And even though I was riding high on the buzz of DEP (and other things) and should have just gone to sleep, I decided, no, let me listen to this right now, and in doing so take my joy out back behind the barn and shoot it dead.

And shoot it dead I dead.

There’s a lot about this song that is just bad in a regular, fairly boring way — like the main riff, which is pretty standard 120 Minutes stuff.

But then there are parts of this song that are so phenomenally terrible as to be truly worthy of the name “Limp Bizkit.”

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One of you recently sent us the video for “No Salvation” by the band Hostile (and I lost your e-mail so I apologize for not properly crediting you by name), pointing out that the band was noteworthy because their bassist, Alex Hill, is the offspring of Ian Hill, who, in case you know nothing about anything, is the bass player for Judas Priest. In fact, it turns out that Hostile’s debut album, Eve of Destruction, was produced by K.K. Downing, who, of course, just recently left Judas Priest. And you’d hope that a) Ian Hill had transferred some of his talent via his sperm, and/or b) Downing was able to bring some of his Judas Priest magic to these Hostile proceedings.

Alas, your hope would all be for naught. Hostile is pretty terrible. I mean, I guess it starts off as passable enough Swedecore, but then the singer, who apparently has no higher aspiration than to be in Five Finger Death Punch, starts his bit, and the whole thing becomes more or less completely fucking awful.

And what’s kind of amazing about this is that Ian Hill is not the only child of a metal star who somehow totally failed to inherit any of his father’s talent.

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Few of us are so naive as to expect the members of a huge band like Metallica to retain any connection to reality. If we, the fans, have learned anything from rock docs and hammy celebrity bios, it’s that mega-success ensures isolation, and constructs a treadmill for goal-crazed egomaniacs forever in search of their next round of applause. Hey, that’s human; we search out what feels good, even if we must disregard what is right.

And there is little right about Monday night’s announcement of ticket pricing structures for the upcoming Big Four gig at Yankee Stadium. At best, or least, a would-be ticketbuyer shells out about $100+ to squint stageward from a neighboring zip code, and possibly even provide band management with advance notice of impending weather changes. At worst, leather coat and V-neck sweater types can populate the “front general admission” area in exchange for $225 (plus the above- and below-table fees affixed by each link in the live music production chain).

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UPDATE: A rep for the band has said that this flyer was “an honest mistake on someone’s behalf,” but that “NOTHING about this Musicians Institute flyer was approved by Five Finger Death Punch or their management in any way.” Some people take that to mean the flyer is fake; I interpret it to mean “The flyer was released before its time.” I just think if it was fake, they would call it “fake,” not “an honest mistake.” In any case, read the full statement and decide for yourself at Metal Insider.

The above flyer is apparently a really real thing that Five Finger Death Punch posted at the Hollywood branch of the Musicians Institute earlier. As you can see, it announces that the band is looking for a new bass player, and lists requirements one must meet in order to be that bass player. I guess because joining FFDP is like joining the military? I dunno.

Anyway, some of these requirements are pretty funny. Let’s break them down one by one, shall we?

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Duff McKagan, vocalist and lead guitarist of Duff McKagan’s Loaded, bassist for Velvet Revolver, and former bassist of Guns ‘n Roses, took to the interwaves (via phonerview) to slam the “reality” television show Celebrity Rehab with Dr. Drew.

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So the bad news is, I doubt that Vince and I will be invited to a Korn listening party ever again, and that makes me sad, ’cause I really, really appreciate free food and beer. And the good news is, it means I will never have to hear the rest of “Get Up,” the band’s new song, of which they are now streaming roughly thirteen seconds (below). Because there’s only three good things about this: 1) it’s so short that it’s over before you have a chance to find your cyanide pills, 2) you get listen to to Jonathan Davis make an ass out of himself in the intro and outro, and 3) the guitars actually sound like they’re saying “Blah blah blah.”

Holy shit, Korn, even your instruments are bored with you.

-AR

Thanks: Ashley Lee

American Idol week 10

Wed The final 11 perform the hits of Motown Records

Thur Live results + one freak-out

Misery Index Goddammit, I just knew that this was coming after Randy Jackson’s shout out to Motown founder Barry Gordy a few weeks back.

Tyler-o-meter Waaaaay too nice to this gaggle of lames

*

To borrow a phrase from Idol judge Jennifer Lopez, let’s talk a bit. First, I reiterate that the purpose of Idol Remains is to examine American Idol through a Heavy Metal microscope. If metallists have an edge on other genre fans, it’s our ability to identify the genuine, the real, and the compelling. We’re not about only beauty, but reality, force, and truth.

Therefore, to us, the American Idol construct sucks donkey balls. True, the show ultimately suffers only a moderate shortage of skilled singers, yet Idol’s bombastic production, ramped-up human drama, and hollow, obtrusive promotional partnerships cannot mask its dearth of credibility. See, I could stand up in English class and fluidly read from Crime And Punishment, but as I have not faced the challenges of life in 19th century Russia, my performance is bound to the realm of recitation. Likewise, nearly none of these Idol sucks emote or express in any real way. They are karaoke singers, impersonators, and students of mimicry. Not artists. Not in this lifetime.

And there is no place for these phonies in modern music. Their ranks are already swelled by the physically gifted and socially fortunate: ambitious models, drugged-out jewel thieves, puggish reality stars, and sidelining actors. Enough.

And yet, week ten of Idol was all about opportunity. Opportunity for training-wheels singers to exploit the pinnacle of American hit-making. Opportunity for big bonerz music producers and Idol minnows to hijack secondhand glow from Detroit’s finest bygone moments. Opportunity for Motown to hawk its back catalogue. Opportunity for the TV to help our society to tweak our ethnic and political history. Opportunity for Idol producers to preemptively explain the fallacy of soul music sung by the privileged and soulless (Motown’s hits were cough “music for everybody”). Best of all, it was an opportunity for all of us to glory in the majesty of Motown: It is not about chops; it is about emotion, experience, and backbone.

Idol so clearly lacks all three. So, only this last and most beneficial opportunity was missed. How sad. This show sucks! Alas, your Idol Remains recap of doom:

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I’m a little less excited about this one… but, still, gold, right?

-AR

IF SOMEONE CAN MAKE THIS HAPPEN I WILL HAVE A UTERUS SURGICALLY INSTALLED IN MY OWN BODY AND HAVE YOUR BABY.

-AR

“Honestly, I’m not thinking about how to be relevant when writing and recording new songs.”
-Ozzy Osbourne

-AR

Okay, friends. Be prepared to have your minds blown.

Thank CHRIST that reader Jake Alder brought Hard Eight to our attention. None of the links on this Colorado band’s MySpace page work (I checked on two browsers to be certain), but I suspect industry people will soon find a way to track them down regardless — a band with this ground-breaking and impressive a videography can only have big things looming in its future.

Seriously, this is some next-level shit. In fact, I felt the need to do an extensive write-up on two of their videos just to prove my point. There is no band making videos as thought-provoking as these in 2011, and everyone should sit up and take note.

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My dad had kidney stones once when I was a kid and I remember him being in all kinds of agony. So please understand that I am not making fun of him for playing a show despite suffering from this particular malady, because that is very admirable. The set at this gig was apparently abbreviated, for obvious reasons, but for him to do what he did for the fans deserves a big pat on the back.

I am, however, making fun of him for being pompous, and for thinking that he was healed by the power of prayer.

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Kid Rock (his real name is fucking “Bob”) is, once again, the center of controversy — but not, as per usual, because he fucked some famous ho-bag in a public toilet, or got into a cat fight with said ho-bag’s ex, or because his music sucks. No no no: rather, the cause of Rock’s latest brouhaha is that while he is scheduled to the receive the NAACP’s Great Expectations Award on May 1, he often has a Confederate flag on-stage during his performances (pics above and here). Says Noisecreep:

“Adolph Mongo, who heads Detroiters For Progress and is a local NAACP member, told the Detroit News that the singer’s use of the flag is ‘a slap in the face of anyone who fought for civil rights in this country.’

“However, other members of the organization praised Kid Rock’s dedication to his hometown of Detroit Rock City, and defended his claim to the Great Expectations award. ‘Kid Rock has consistently lifted up the Great Expectations of many persons… concerning the future of the city,’ said Donnell R. White, interim executive director of the NAACP’s Detroit branch.”

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THE FUCKING BALLS ON VINCE NEIL.

Let’s review the man’s past, shall we?

• In 1984, he was in a drunk driving accident that killed Hanoi Rocks drummer Razzle and severely injured two other people, leaving at least one of them with permanent brain damage. Neil was unharmed. He did thirty days in prison, 200 hours of community service, and paid a couple of million dollars in restitution — in other words, a relative slap on the wrist for the super-rich mega-star that he was at the time.
• In June of 2010, he was arrested in Las Vegas and charged with DUI… again.
• A week later, he was back onstage, joking around about his love of alcohol.
• In December of 2010, he gave a video interview where he was not only clearly inebriated, but he was seen getting behind the wheel of his car with multiple passengers while drunk.
• Last month, he was sentenced to fifteen days in prison for his the June DUI — – in other words, a relative slap on the wrist for the super-rich former mega-star that he is.

So what does Neil think of his punishment? He tells the Las Vegas Sun:

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I did a Google image search for “Frankie Palmeri” and this was one of the first pics to come up. Hey, works for me.

Alright, so multiple readers sent us a link to this track by track breakdown of the new Emmure album, Speaker of the Dead, that the band’s vocalist, Frankie Palmeri, just did for AP. Now, we already knew that Frankie was into some pretty weird shit, but this just takes that weird shit to a whole new level.

It would also seem to prove that this guy is mentally handicapped and should probably not be allowed to talk to small children or operate heavy machinery.

And so, after the jump, read all of Frankie’s thoughts on the new Emmure album, as well as my thoughts on those thoughts, natch.

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…Iron Maiden, for the song “El Dorado,” and Them Crooked Vultures, for the song “SERIOUSLY WHO GIVE A FUCK ABOUT THEM CROOKED VULTURES YOU OLD FAT FILTHY FUCKS?”

So the thing is, if you look up the word “meaningless” in the dictionary, you will find a picture of a Grammy. There’s really no reason to be bummed about this. And while I don’t think “El Dorado” is a very good song, I’m glad that Maiden won as opposed to, say, Korn. Actually, I would have been okay with any of the nominees that weren’t Korn winning.

But for Them Crooked Vultures — or, really, any of the bands that weren’t Alice in Chains — to win just proves what a joke these awards are. I don’t even feel like I have to type anything else to prove my point — just the words “Them Crooked Vultures” should make you automatically say through your yawn, “Next!”

-AR