System Of A Down

(American)
by Martin Popoff

Such is the fine line between marketing genius and chaos, System Of A Down buzzing despite a terrible name, a considerably exotic sound and a lyrical canon that is hard to resist. It’s like that first excitable, irritable attraction you first felt upon considering Jane’s Addiction, at least three curveballs in one band, maybe all of them performing laser strikes, maybe, just maybe, one ending up in the ground and past the catcher. Count me two strikes and a stink. I quite dig the band’s confounding mix-up over Coal Chamber, Helmet, Zeppelin, Live, and Rage Against The Machine. And even those lyrics, as ugly and pretentious as they are, are a damn good read. But Serj Tankian’s patronizing vocals just ruin it for me, the guy being more pretentious than his riotous words, yelping comically, barking, doing Dez, doing Johnny Lydon, doing Marilyn Manson, really distracting us away from the considerably pioneering gumbo of hairy, hoary sounds. It’s just all too Important. I dunno, if he’s 6′ 6″ and built like Rollins, he might get away with it, but if he’s a shaved head geek in a floppy white t-shirt, he’s gonna get a lot of flak. Maybe it’s just me, but I doubt it.
(PO Box 41986 Los Angeles, CA 90041)