Warchest is gorgeous. A weird catch-all, leaning heavily on live, plus demos, studio rarities, interview snippets, a disorganized symphony of destruction.
A thick, layered, ambitious record. Blackie and Borden alone own this decadent space between power and hair metal and strip mall junk while California burns.
Less brooding and more roar this time around. Fernando tends to croon for an album or two, then shed the frilly shirt for battle armor and roar his balls off.