• Axl Rosenberg

Imagine, if you will, a band which is fronted by a vocalist who looks like Terry Gilliam if Terry Gilliam were trying to look like Ozzy Osbourne trying to look like Sully Erna. A band whose drummer, still so young, still so full of joie de vivre, that he starts a band with his “cool” uncle and wears the same shirt for their video that he wore to his senior prom. A band whose bass player is still licking the wounds from being in the only Long Island nu-metal band that wasn’t on Battle for Ozzfest, and still harbors dreams of “making it.” A band whose guitar player is so embarrassing that I blush if I even imagine ways to insult him.

Now imagine that each member of that band stands in front of a green screen so that images of MMA fights and dirtbike races and snowboarding and other “extreme sports,” documented with effects filters that were really popular in the Dan Cortese era of Burger King commercials, can be added later.

Ladies and germs, imagine no longer. For I give thee Freakhouse:

Still better than Five Finger Death Punch, though.


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