Look at ‘m as a less bombastic Creed. Real pro playing, mixing, production, the big vocal treatment with that aggravating post-Vedder “sensitive manliness.”
If you peel away the layers of sexuality, debauchery, love, loss, and carnage of both Carnivore and Type O, you’ll see an under-current of classic rock.
A repetitious, sleepy, confused, weakly-produced record that’s too electronica and hip-hop. Plus the grooves are gone, and there are fewer hooks. Disappointing.
A punked-up force addressing many current metal flavors: A little bit of Korn Chamber, a cold-steel taste of Sevendustrial, and hard habits from hardcore.
Some songs slither like classic Zappa, others tickle the heavens like Pink Floyd, and some chant and file through dark caves and forests like the Druids.