Killing Joke

INTELLIGENT TECHNO THRASH METAL FOR A BRAVE NEW WORLD.
by: Cody McClintock

I smell the precious gasoline and hear the crackling huff of burning tires, as oily dust smudges my goggles and the post apocalyptic wasteland becomes vivid, terrible, and free through the soiled lens. Yet, there is a radiant pulsing in my ears.

Dirt and blood gather under the nails of my cracked abused hands. The warmth of the female is distant and dreamlike as a dust storm of broken glass encircles my body. My eyes strain to keep shut while tiny razor glass shards rip a thousand little holes in my skin. Blood, sweat and resolve solidify in my mind thumping to a triumphant beat. I appear to be sweating blood as all previous protective intellectual clothing is shredded into a confetti of raw gut wrenching reflection and observation. No more options, no more choices, no future, no past.

My cheeks burn hot as flames leap from the hood of a four wheeled dying monster; a doomed,rugged, red, rusty, gashed-metal predator. Anything goes in this world where Killing Joke captures and epitomizes the intensity of a harsh loud grinding dusty rampage through a barren bleak mental landscape of independence, corruption, anger and distrust.

As if the little smiling murderous sweet innocent animal boy with the finger chopping, head splitting chrome boomerang grew up to be song writer. This is the throaty soot filled voice of the waste land.

Engines, fire, aggression, animal skins and football pads.

Relentless hammers pound tribal rhythms which move and travel ferociously over a melodic theatrical terrain of survival, growth, and despair. Smart piercing prose keeps pace to a stomping cadence of biodegradable madness on this very focused high energy recording. Brit/Clash style poetic punk vocals spit forth a frothy brown superfluous venom , eroding political ideologies via industrial battle cries while a gollom like creature surfaces periodically to slither and wail black smoke filled secrets over wood splitting guitar riffs.

Where is my shot gun, my gas can and my dog?

Dave Grohl on drums?

The master song writer rock god himself back in the saddle?

How could I not love it? I'm sure somebody out there would call it a classic.

This album is the loud energetic sonic soundtrack to my Mad Max fantasies and first in the cannibalized disc changer of my V8 Interceptor. 06-Oct-2003 4:30 PM

About the author: Cody Robert McClintock is an artist/film maker from California whose latest project is entitled Maybe Logic – The Lives and Ideas of Robert Anton Wilson.