Reverb-drenched guitar swirl, the pounding beats of bleeding wrist ballerinas, the pretentious ultra-smooth Goth croon, and lyrics Robert Smith’d think oblique.
All the shredding half-steps and snarling vocals of, say, Kreator’s heyday, and crushing production that’ll leave you breathless as a hamster on a wheel.
King Fowley found a way to deliver horror stories without lapsing into comic book Rob Zombie-isms. There’s a trace of camp, but he smothers it in hot asphalt.
Dark Angel became synonymous Slayer, Possessed, Death, Death Angel, and various other respectable names, so it may be a surprise that this album is really bad.
Nine albums of ironically clean carnality, nine records of tuneful moderate thrash featuring advanced riffs and a good ear for the songcraft of the ’70s.
One brilliant track, “Six Million Dollar Man” and a couple of decent tracks, “Dead, Drunk & Wasted” and “Dead Dog.” But a lot of boring, mediocre attempts.