SANTA BARBARA, Calif. — Invisible Gravity Cannabis Dispensary recently announced it will host throwback night where patrons can relive the days of splitting a fat sack between friends in a pre-legalization world, sources old enough to recall such a thing confirmed.
“Cannabis users have it easy these days so it’s more important than ever to preserve the history of stoner culture,” shop manager Ned Havemeyer said while slobbering closed a sandwich baggie full of shake. “Between overall convenience and government regulation, dispensaries have completely eliminated the rush that used to come with a blind handoff in a 7-Eleven parking lot. Sure, a street bag was never more than 3.1 on the scale, but it could feel like a pound once it was safely in your pocket. Those are the kinds of warm memories we hope to evoke.”
Frequent patron, Colin Hopper, looked forward to revisiting the pseudo-scientific process of divvying up an eighth with his two buddies.
“First we take turns admiring the one big nug while constantly accusing each other of touching it too much. Next, we get busy separating the rest into two equal piles based on net volume and variable density,” Hopper explained. “A second round of tense debate focuses on stem ratio, red hair distribution and projected keef deposits. Whoever plays it coolest throughout the process helps himself to the one big nug while the fussier two settle on a pile of mini buds each. As a final consolation, we reluctantly break off the tip of the one big nug and award it to whoever is still sulking about their share of the bag. If there’s time left we’ll smoke.”
Dr. Gary Wix, professor of comparative studies, expected the event to attract more than just nostalgic cheebmasters.
“It may be called throwback night but I’m certain the youth will be drawn by what they see as novelty,” Wix assured. “From flip phones to Walkmans to oversized jeans, college students have turned inconveniencing themselves into a leisure activity, so taking time to break up some weed and maybe even roll their own J is definitely their idea of a good time. Of course, the trend will be short-lived and the next day it’ll be back to ripping vapes and crashing e-bikes, but at least they will get a glimpse of what their parents experienced.”
At press time, Invisible Gravity was forced to halt operation while the Bureau of Weights and Measures investigated reports of a THC-CBD mixup.
Despite the cool “Twilight Zone” reference in the title, the band’s debut full-length is easily dead last. It’s meat-and-potatoes grindcore that likely would have been consigned to the dustbin of extreme music if Cattle Decapitation hadn’t gone on to evolve as dramatically as they did. “To Serve Man” is not a pleasant listen; the songs are gross, both conceptually and aurally, and the production makes early Carcass sound nuanced. But as a counterpoint to their more recent work, it’s a nice reminder that even a band with song titles like “Testicular Manslaughter” can grow and refine their craft.
Cattle Decapitation is well known, especially in their earlier work, for having a gift for puns and wordplay, but surely they’ll never top this album title. They were, in this era, truly the Oscar Wilde of deathgrind. Musically, this is a huge improvement over “To Serve Man.” The songwriting is more dynamic and you can already hear a glimmer of the proggy/techy death metal that they’ll fully embrace later in their career. The title track has some riffs you could easily mistake for early Morbid Angel. And the production is light-years better. But let’s be honest, the cover art is always going to be the most memorable thing about this one. There’s gross, there’s REALLY gross, and there’s this.
Bear with me here: This album is Cattle Decapitation’s “Rubber Soul.” It’s a crucial pivot for a band that wants to reinvent itself but isn’t QUITE sure how to do it yet. There are still some nasty grindcore moments, but their sound is drastically evolving here, with the tech-death elements slowly but surely taking shape. This is also where the band starts to get serious about their socio-political stances, and the relative lack of gross-out song titles suggests a more earnest sense of purpose that’s reflected in the ferocity of (most of) the music.
Why stop the analogy now? This album is Cattle Decapitation’s “Revolver.” It’s the beginning of a sustained period of prolific and absolutely ass-kicking output from a band that suddenly seems entirely confident in its artistic identity. And the album art is harrowing as hell. While most of their covers (all of them done by the legendary Wes Benscoter) are gross in a cartoonish, Cannibal Corpse kind of way, this one is just flat-out grim, and a logical continuation of the relatively cheesy “Karma Bloody Karma” cover (that’s totally a cow in the prison guard uniform; we will fight you about this). We’re only at #5, but we’ve already reached the point where you could put this and the remaining albums in any order and it would be perfectly respectable. We wouldn’t even blink if someone said Harvest Floor was their #1. It’s brilliant.
At last, we deviate from chronological order! For almost any other band in this genre, “Anthropocene” would probably be considered a magnum opus. Cattle Decapitation has so many great albums that it’s only barely in the top half of the ranking. This album has a bit more emphasis on melody than a lot of the discography, but that doesn’t make it any less ferocious. A lot of people will say it sounds like they’re trying to recreate its predecessor (see #2), but there are far worse albums a band could try to recreate. We are, however, docking one point for the presence of Phil Anselmo. Yeah yeah, Pantera was a Very Important Band in the ’90s. But still, ugh. All that said, this too is a brilliant album.
So intense. So heavy. So brutal. So well-written. Such an intriguing narrative concept. Such an immaculate production job. Such superhuman speed from Dave McGraw’s peerless drumwork. Such offputting album art. And SO much critical consensus. Every reviewer out there pretty much tripped over themselves to heap praise on this thing. It showed up on literally every single year-end list we checked out, and we are music obsessives who love a good subjectively determined hierarchy, so we checked out quite a few. This album proves that Cattle Decapitation just doesn’t miss. When they put out an album, you can count on it being a banger. And it’s still only #3…
OK, so this is their “Sgt. Pepper.” Yep, the analogy is still going. It’s a front-to-back stunning record, with a fully-formed narrative concept that will continue through the next several releases. Travis Ryan’s vocal stylings, which were always noteworthy, hit a new and jaw-dropping peak, something that will also continue through the next several releases. The band’s socio-political rage only gets more intense from here, and the music that it’s channeled through on “Monolith” will floor you, plain and simple. It’s the kind of album you wish you could go back and listen to for the first time again.
You can smell the hatred for humanity’s innate badness emanating off of this album from the moment you drop the needle. It’s a relentless indictment of the irreversible damage we’ve done to the earth, to each other, and to ourselves. Previous albums seemed to have an inkling (like, a REALLY REMOTE inkling, but still an inkling) of hope that maybe we could set things right. But the DNA of “Death Atlas” is all fire and brimstone, apocalypse and obliteration. That they were able to follow this album up at all, much less with the excellent “Terrasite,” is a testament to the band’s creativity. This is a concept album in the purest sense, a multi-modal account of everything going to hell, with some of the most punishing and precise death metal you’ll ever hear. Far from seeming to pad out the runtime, the spoken word and ambient passages provide a grim backdrop of global calamity that gels perfectly with the music. If there were ever an extreme metal album that ought to be regarded as a complete and unified work of art, it’s this.
This is your favorite brand. You don’t go to any funeral without a Truly hidden inside each coat pocket. It makes hugs bulky and awkward, plus may give you moisture stains, but you can ditch those aluminum bad-boys once you pinch your nose and throw back a few Trulys in the bathroom. Eulogies are truly better when catching a pleasant, low-humming buzz.
Originally launched as SpikedSeltzer in 2013, this is one of the O.G. brands. Hell, you remember your cool older cousin slipping you one of these before Grandpa’s wake. He handed you the can, like a passing of the torch or visualized metaphor for familial alcoholism. You were underage, but hey – this is a funeral. Like a long marriage, gotta keep it exciting somehow.
Unfortunately the liquor store around the corner from the funeral parlor only sold 24 oz. cans of Bud Light Seltzer, which you discreetly pound in the parking lot before taking a seat. Try not to yak, those flavors aren’t sitting well with the Qdoba you scarfed at home. Those cans are too big to bring in, best to post up near the recycling bins for easy disposal and discreet voms.
Hey, the first hard seltzer with antioxidant Vitamin C! It’s like medicine, right? You’re practically getting your exercise for the day, chugging your Vizzy while crouched on the floor, nestled between pews. Just pretend you dropped your wallet or fidget-spinner. Or begin crying, like you’re overwrought with grief. People may politely ignore you, but if they’re particularly over-emotive, or Eastern European, they may even join in.
On a budget? Natty Light’s got you covered. Hell, bring a whole case in. But be careful: this is in a traditional can, slightly wider, harder to sneak in. May make the pocket seams burst at the can’s girth. Perhaps bring a large bouquet of flowers, hiding your Natty Light Seltzers deep inside the lilies and carnations. You’re a classy dude! Hell, you might even wear your wallet chain to the funeral. That’s like the equivalent of a modern pocket watch, right? Natty Light seltzer, for those of discerning taste.
OK, so it’s not technically seltzer, but be careful with these. Those vodka/soda grapefruit-flavored drinks go down easy. You definitely don’t want to be blackout at a funeral (again). In fact, there was a period where you were no longer invited to family funerals, ever since “the accident.” Long story short: it was autumn 2021, you had too many High Noons, you peed yourself while Aunt Gretchen’s casket was lowered and the stream trickled into the burial plot. Stilettos got wet. The story is just too infamous for younger cousins to forget about.
Speak in an obnoxious Russian accent and remind everyone about being “iced” with Smirnoffs from like 14 years ago. With only 1 gram of sugar, you have a field day – especially with the pink lemonade flavor, your all-time favorite. If the church allows it, offer the priest a seltzer. He’ll be appreciative and see that you’re just trying to get him in the groove, especially since he’s one of those granola “acoustic guitar” priests that has a Cat Stevens song prepared at all times.
Your dad always liked Michelob, so this is a nostalgic choice. While he’s up there giving a eulogy for some distant cousin (this church is so huge, you might as well be Siberia), you can always “cheers” him from the back. “That’s my dad!” you can yell, turning heads and keeping the spirit jovial. Keep this can firmly in the wooden seat pocket in front of you, next to the tattered Bible and leaflet celebrating this bozo’s life. Who died this time? Too distracted by that Berry Hibiscus flavor, gets you every time.
The one that started your addiction, kicked it all into high gear. The cans are so tiny that you can sneak an entire 6-pack in. Go with Black Cherry, everybody loves that flavor (except the assholes at Pizza Hut, who kicked you out for demanding bespoke pies). If anyone gets suspicious, pour some into a water bottle and just say it’s Perrier. Try to keep from winking at people. You’re on that low-calorie drunk, no guilt here!
Bring this one to the swankier funerals, the ones with car processions a mile long. This is the natural choice for the sophisticated drinker, these botanically-infused hard seltzers will impress. Hell, you may even score. These church volunteers with laminated name tags are giving you bedroom eyes! Or are they angrily staring? Crack open another Social Club and vibe out, maybe even stretch out in the back pew with your sunglasses on. Make this about you, baby.
Electrolytes included? Whoa, it’s like you’re practically going to the doctor and getting exercise! Plus you love how literal their branding is. In fact, this is what you call any alcoholic drink – “boozy water.” And if it is alcohol-free, you’re used to shaking the glass at whoever is around and chanting “boozy water!” until someone plies you with spirits. Hand this out to your health-nut cousins from Colorado, maybe they can bring Boozy Water on their next karmic retreat!
Bust out the Corona Hard Seltzer and offer subtle sips while your loved one is being laid to rest. If anyone protests, just throw an empty can at them. You have sympathy for Corona as a brand. It’s hard to bounce back after sharing a name with a worldwide global pandemic. You just wanna show your support. After all, Corona has always been there for you: from sneaking beers in middle school, to the prime college beer pong option. Chug a few cans during the interment and time will fly.
PRESS Premium Seltzer will fuck you up. With a slightly higher alcohol content, be careful – these will creep up on you, like an assassin in the night. Damn, you’re getting poetical at this burial! Cry into your can and howl after the funeral in a drunken rage. Yell at the funeral director “You can’t entomb my emotions!” and then chug another PRESS, claiming it’s just an energy drink. Mourners will be impressed with your dedication, and thank you for the solid excuse to suddenly leave.
Now we’re talking! Made with real tequila? Hell yes. The Paloma flavor is particularly delicious. If you grow your hair out, you can pop in AirPods and jam to some Electric Light Orchestra while enjoying your Mamitas. In fact, it may be a good idea to sneak in the night before and hide a case under the pulpit. Be sure to bring a high-visibility vest and a ladder, which will allow you access to almost any building.
Linked to a more outdoor nature-loving brand voice, feel free to bring this to ceremonies in the wild, natural burials or a forested “celebration of life.” Perhaps as cremains are scattered into the ocean, pour out some Wild Basin for the deceased. Let it swill and mix with the ocean foam. 2Pac was surely talking about Wild Basin in “Pour Out a Little Liquor,” that’s just a fact.
You knew this brand made kombucha, but apparently they make hard seltzer now too! Wow, this top-shelf supermarket down the street really has quite a selection. You talk about this brand so much that people think you are suddenly a spokesperson for Flying Embers. You begin targeting other funerals in your area, scanning obituaries for service information where you can push bootleg cases of Flying Embers on unassuming family members looking to bond despite the tragic circumstances.
You love their tequila, now get ready for the sweet sugary rush of their hard seltzer. At the open-casket wake, shake the deceased’s hand and pour Hornitos into their mouth. If anyone is mad, tell them it’s a religious expression of grief. People get weirdly respectful and reverent if you say it’s “part of your religion,” no matter the crazy bullshit you may be justifying. Hey, maybe this can get you out of paying taxes, too!
Want that margarita kick? Look no further than Juneshine. Unfortunately packaged in cans less slim than other brands, so maybe chug one behind your open trunk before going inside, as if this was a tailgate. (Business idea: “Funeral Tailgates.”) Or if you do bring it inside, duct tape a few Juneshines around your ankles. That way you can accidentally drop your toothpick and rise back up ready to rock with a new cold can.
The Philadelphia-based seltzer is a tasty treat for any funeral. Sip in respectful silence, or belch out their delicious flavors as the eulogies drone on and on. Don’t get too drunk though, you need to make it to the post-funeral family gathering, where it will be appetizer paradise. Club sandwiches, cold cuts, cheese plates – people should honestly die more often, you save a bundle on meals.
You love their plain seltzer, why not give in to the temptation of their hard seltzer? You used to think “Ranch Water” was a muddy puddle in an agricultural outcropping, but this shit is delicious. At this point, people may be avoiding you. Better sober up with that microwave coffee and wafers in the rectory. Good thing you took an Uber here. Now it’s time to mingle with family while pounding hard seltzers in obscure shady corners of your uncle’s backyard. Put the “fun” back in “funeral!”
