Hey, you. Yeah, the guy with black square-frame glasses and skinny jeans. Sorry, I was just minding my own business, enjoying the show, when I saw you cracking a smile out of the corner of my eye. You seem like you’re having fun, but aren’t you a little too old for that?
I mean, it’s a Tuesday, don’t you have adult things to do? Go home and do your laundry or put one of those tasty-looking blue hockey puck things in your toilet tank. Eat that expired Totino’s pizza you’ve been saving as a treat for when you’ve had a rough day. Just please whatever you do, stop being happy in public, it’s unsettling.
You’ve been standing for a good 30 minutes now, are you sure you don’t want a chair. I know you’ve got cushy office job joints, they’re not used to standing for longer than an elevator ride. Hey buddy, are you still with me? I can’t tell if you’re nodding along to the beat or if it’s past your bedtime and you’re drifting in and out of consciousness.
Oh yeah sure man, go ahead and pull out your phone and pretend you’re busy. Yeah, those look like some really exciting emails you’re reading. Are you seriously reading the latest WaPo opinion piece in between sets? Jesus Christ, you remind me of my dad. Speaking of my dad, he has gout and by the way you’re standing, I think you might too.
Woah take it easy, are you sure you want to drink a second light beer? I’m just looking out for you, you still gotta drive yourself home after this.
Seriously though, I don’t know how you can still smile and have a good time when you should be thinking about adult problems like your check engine light. Or your mortgage payments. Or your hospital bills. Well, you get what I’m talking about.
Man, that’s exactly why it’s so great being young. I’m having the time of my life tonight! Sure, I have a full day of classes tomorrow and the closing shift at Papa John’s and no health insurance and an insurmountable amount of student loan debt, but at least I’m not an old hag.
1995 was a bipolar year for Rocket from the Crypt with this middling record and the incredible “Scream, Dracula, Scream!” being released just one short year after the year punk broke into the mainstream. Unfortunately “Hot Charity” was an experiment gone meh, and we here firmly agree guilt-free with ourselves that it should’ve never been released to anyone but a dude at a carnival correctly guessing a morbidly obese stranger’s weight to the pound. If the bird could fly, and then heard this LP, he/she/it would likely lose its wings, fall to the earth, get eaten by a snake that is likely hot, and cause robots to inhabit the earth whilst bleeding.
Easily the band’s best album cover, and we’re not taking any more questions on the shirtless matter, Rocket from the Crypt introduced itself to various listeners in audio form with their first LP “Paint as a Fragrance,” which is their only recording with their original lineup. RFTC made a good but not great album with this one but thankfully it set the stage for six others that, with the exception of the aforementioned “Hot Charity,” were fun, fulfilling, fantastic, and another positive adjective beginning with the letter “F.” Some of the tales are sloppy, but hey, that’s just rock and roll, and the band seemingly was more concerned with attitude than accuracy, so who could fault ‘em for that? Don’t answer that.
Rocket from the Crypt’s seventh and final album as of now was sort of doomed from the start because of its literal album title, which likely decreased its potential sales by a large margin as it wasn’t a concert performance CD, and live recordings not named “Live At Leeds” just don’t sell as well as full-length studio album efforts. We don’t make the rules, but maybe we should! Because it was not given a fair shake, we firmly believe that “Live from Camp X-Ray,” a radiation nurse’s wet dream soaked under a heavy blanket, is the band’s second most underrated effort, next to their sort of self-titled fifth LP. Sadly, the band split just three years after this LP came out, but happily they’re back!
A cult favorite amongst Rocket from the Crypt super fans, “Group Sounds” is the band’s first LP after leaving major label Interscope Records, and their first of two for Vagrant Records, then home to Alkaline Trio and Joey Lawrence’s powerviolence project. The band proved said reverential status with a wicked amount of cred by playing this album in its entirety with a healthy amount of savoir faire at 2022’s Riot Fest in Chicago for fans and eventual new ones, but of course without eating hot dogs with ketchup on ‘em because that ish is illegal in The Windy City for some reason like it is for Father’s Office in LA on ANYTHING; elitism is a hell of a drug for white and black belts alike.
This record truly, truly rips for both sturdy wrists and weak testicles alike, and is easily the band’s first truly solid effort front to back. We’ve never seen lambs for sale, just in shawarma form, so it’s good to know that Rocket from the Crypt always has farm animals in mind, just sans dicks on dogs a la the upcoming almost self-titled studio album. FYI: If you want to open your mouth larger than you possibly can in a WTF manner, google “LA riots” and “rocket from the crypt”; the tea here is over the rails.
We’ve got our eyes on you: Easily their coolest album cover, Rocket from the Crypt’s fifth studio album “RFTC” is by far their most underrated, and if we’re being honest, which we always are unless we’re not, is one of the more underappreciated LPs of the late-90s. Baby, this section hasn’t even started: Let’s get busy revisiting this record which was made for you, your touch, the Roman Empire, and Roman Roy, despite the fact that he is an evil, trust fund miscreant who was rude to that little boy on the baseball field that they helicoptered to with their evil more cruel father and an intense and evil panic scam, Logan “I Never Smile Unless A Homeless Person Is Cold” Roy. Also, Tom Wambsgans, deserves constant constipation but we digress. At just under forty-two minutes “RFTC” never lets up, and that’s exactly how we like it.
1995 is an underrated year for rock and roll for your colon with the release of this record, “Scream, Dracula, Scream!,” Radiohead’s “The Bends,” The Presidents of the United States of America not named Joe Biden OR Donald Trump, and Raekwon of En Vogue’s “Only Built 4 Cuban Linx…”. The instrumentals on “On A Rope,” the band’s biggest hit by far, especially in the UK, that also proved that America is filled with dumbos for its lackluster performance here, are enough to make ANYONE dance and/or turn the volume up louder than anyone with heater hands can muster. Last fun fact that truly is such: This record was meant to be one track like The Who’s 1991 masterpiece “Abbey Road,” but like they always do because they are essentially in music because they are too dumb to be investment bankers, the label heads in suit city kiboshed that one.
Okay look, we watched every episode this dude is in, and we have no idea who he is, okay?
The OG Doctor wasn’t much one for punk or anything really. It seems like Time Lords have a weird Benjamin Button thing going on where they start out as cantankerous oldsters and grow younger and more hip as they age.
Nardole’s whole role was actively shaming the Doctor for traveling anywhere, constantly reminding him of his obligations on 21st-century Earth, but he particularly hated the 12th Doctor’s frequent trips to CBGB. He’s not big of loud noises, shoving, or anything remotely fun.
Donna is way too posh for the early punk scene, she wouldn’t be caught dead anywhere near the Bowery.
CBGB was no place for the religiously devout. Everyone knows that. Just thinking about some of the things members of the Ramones were doing in the bathroom at CBGB is enough to send you to hell.
Ian is a straight-up coward, and the only time he even saw a punk he handed his wallet over without being told to do so.
Narc.
The Doctor can be pretty aloof, but he knew well enough that his stuffy aristocratic companion would not feel at home in the Bowery.
We know what you’re thinking, “How could Liz Shaw have traveled to the future and gone to CBGB when she was the companion of the third Doctor after the Time Lords forced him to regenerate and crippled his TARDIS rendering it incapable of leaving Earth or traveling through time?” Well, guess what NERD… you are absolutely correct, she never went there, have a pleasant day.
One of the Doctor’s few Galifreyan companions, Susan just wasn’t much of a music person. She thrived more with complaining and just sort of being there.
He made a big splash on the New York punk scene at first but quickly disappeared due to licensing issues with FOX.
The punks scared her more than the Daleks.
This was the Doctor in his most “foppish dandy meets someone’s dad” “-like incarnation. He materialized the TARDIS once in the middle of a Ramones set, stuck his head out, shook it disapprovingly, and never went back. More of a Beatles guy.
She never went to CBGB, instead using her TARDIS privileges and strong influence over the Doctor to see the entire Taylor Swift “Eras” tour twice.
He was just too arrogant for the scene. He kept saying things like “I don’t get it, they aren’t even playing the instruments with competency!” and then rushing the stage, grabbing a guitar, and shredding some technically proficient Jimmy Page-type solos. Read the room Adric, not gonna fly.
Or maybe she should be higher, it’s hard to say. Dodo only visited CBGB in the TARDIS once, and it was the last time anyone saw her.
The first, and to date the last flute player for Dead Boys, but his tenure in the band was extremely short.
The Doctor took Stewart to CBGB once and he immediately called for reinforcements.
Ben was a British Navy man born in the ’40’s and took to the infant punk scene about as well as you would expect.
Never went to CBGB but, fun fact was a founding member of Daft Punk.
He didn’t not like punk, but the 11th Doctor liked way too many things to commit to any one thing for very long. He put in a few appearances at CBGB but spent just as much time with Elvis, The Rat Pack, The Beatles, The Temptations, he kinda treated pop culture like a bingo card he was trying to fill.
She was one of the first human beings to witness the regeneration of a Time Lord and one of the few people to have seen Television’s infamous third show, both pretty significant milestones.
Her ability to scream drew attention and there was talk of building a band around her, but ultimately she couldn’t find the right vehicle. She was however and early pioneer in introducing veganism to the punk scene.
Unless this is a sober event, there is no way that this wouldn’t go over well. Doesn’t matter if it’s cheap beer either: beer is beer. You really thought this would get you uninvited for the years to come? Idiot. If you keep the case to yourself, maybe you can get trashed enough to cause a scene that would warrant your friends cutting you off. This isn’t likely though.
Friendsgiving isn’t your elementary school holiday party but, boy, are you treating it like it is. You’re doing the bare minimum to participate–Only saving the host from having to do any dishes. If this is your contribution, you’re probably a bad enough cook that your friends are secretly relieved you chose this option.
It’s fine enough, but still shows how little you care. Avoid putting it into a nice casserole dish to prevent anyone from even considering you made it from scratch. Hell, don’t even make it till you get there. Instead, take up as much space in the host’s kitchen as possible preparing such a simple “dish.”
Apparently no one lets their kid trick or treat anymore. It’s much safer to teach your children to go up to strangers’ cars and ask for candy. Makes sense. You didn’t get this memo though and have three bags of candy left over after you only got 3 trick-or-treaters. People will enjoy having a piece or two, but will most likely be annoyed you didn’t bring a more well-thought-out contribution.
Don’t refrigerate it beforehand! This item is best served after sitting in a hot car for a few days. If you really want to leave your friends unimpressed, steal an expired can of it from your parent’s pantry that has been there since 2007. If this doesn’t destroy your friendships, it will at least destroy your GI tract.
He’s not that unbearable. But he is annoying enough that your sister asked you to watch him while she goes to Cabo for the holiday. You and your friends will not know what a “Skibidi toilet” is but will surely be aware that it is a thing by the end of the evening.
A controversial side dish, but necessary for a complete Thanksgiving. Bringing this will be a choice that no one will think twice about. Maybe rethink this if you’re really looking to get out of attending again. Even if no one likes it, it’s gotta be there. Just like you next year.
Weed is too normalized now. Even your boring friends will be asking you for a hit if you smoke at the function. Smoke beforehand and throw a bottle of poppers in your pocket. Take enough hits and your unaware friends will assume you can get addicted to them and stay away.
If the poppers weren’t alienating enough, pull these out. Not only are you smoking cigs in front of your lame friends, you’re smoking the worst option. Don’t go outside for your smoke break: Find the perfect break in conversation at the dinner table and light up. Look as cool and mysterious as possible while the host yells that now they won’t get their lease deposit back. Both you and your lungs won’t regret it!
A dish that is no one’s favorite but always there. Unseasoned, bland, and tasteless: 3 words to describe both this dish and potentially you. Don’t make an event of it, just bring your casserole. Don’t announce this dish or your presence if you can avoid it. Your friends will forget you’re there–just like this casserole. Hopefully, they’ll forget to invite you back too.
Your friends left their selfie sticks in 2013 and will surely leave you in 2023 if you do it right. Invite everyone to take as many group selfies (perhaps be bold enough to call them “Usies”) as possible. Hell, use it to vlog the entire event. For best results, make sure to “accidentally” wack as many attendees with it as possible.
Bringing Cards Against Humanity is a true crime against humanity in 2023. No amount of alcohol can force your friends to stifle laughter at the same 4 cards again. Your friends will agree to play because they feel bad but the conversation will shift before the first round is even done.
Quit showering ASAP! It’s the easiest way to bring a foul odor and make sure your friends know it’s coming from you. They won’t bring it up while you’re there, but it’ll be sure to spark a debate in a separate group chat on whether or not you should be invited back to any event–or if a personal hygiene intervention is needed.
You psychopath–Who the fuck eats this? The last thing anyone thinks while eating corn is, “Man, I wish this were milkier!” It’s a labor of love to make, but in this case you can replace the love with disdain for your friends’ stories about their life. You don’t need to hear about them dressing as Barbie for Halloween–and next year they won’t need you to attend Friendsgiving.
No one gives a shit about your fantasy league. Or whatever unoriginal punishment you’ve decided on for the loser. Even more so, no one actually cares to know what you think about every play of the game–So make sure to voice every thought!
They don’t even make this on 8-track. But if you’re truly dedicated, throw it on one yourself. It’s a surefire way to look simultaneously pretentious and tasteless. When the host ultimately doesn’t have an 8-track player, spend the rest of the party complaining about how it’d be so much better with “Winter Wonderland” playing in the background to truly get in the spirit of the coming season.
This one is a risky choice, as it could go either way, depending on how you choose to prepare them–done in earnest or in an attempt to give your friends food poisoning. If you’re careless enough about food safety, the latter could occur anyway. Either way, you’ll be talked about.
Have you ever put the utmost care into preparing the perfect, lumpless, dish of mashed potatoes for Thanksgiving? Yeah, don’t fucking do that here. Forget everything you were taught. Hell, just take a hammer and hit the potato once and call it a day. Don’t even bother cooking it. The message will be received.
Three days before the event, you’re gonna want to start preparing this in your closet. The less you spend on ingredients, the better. Make sure to text the group chat for the event that you’ll be bringing plenty of wine–freshly bottled locally–and that no one else will need to provide any. If all your friends don’t die of botulism, they will make sure they don’t give you the opportunity to give it to them again.
Your beloved nest egg! Thank god you’ve kept them all these years–Or just bought a sack of them for 5 dollars off of Craigslist this morning, purely for this bit. Brag about how you’re gonna make even more than the tech bros and their precious NFTs. Beanie Babies are tangible and meaningful–unlike your relationship with your friends if you’re this desperate to avoid seeing them.
Call your midwestern mom! After a four-hour-long phone call filled with questions on why you don’t call more, why your hair looks like that, and gossip about a woman you’ve never met, you’ll be left with at least 4 horrendous jello salad recipe options. It doesn’t matter which one you choose: No one will touch it anyway.
As the festivities wind down and conversation lulls, people will be wondering when they can politely leave. Pop this into the DVD player and people will start throwing up all over the place! Make sure you point out every time a guy’s head gets knocked off, this will ensure nobody ever talks to you again.
Is it too late to start on New Year’s resolutions–Or too early? Spend the evening bragging about your so-called fitness journey. Photoshop a before and after pic. Dry scoop from your tub of protein powder and do a measly three pushups in front of all your friends. No one wants to hear about it, but they’ll surely watch and listen.
No one likes a mooch. If you’ve already asked your friends for money in the past without repaying them, this will be easy. If not, improvising this will be fine. Have a crazy new idea that you have no intention of following through with? Act as desperate for funding as possible. Your friends might get annoyed and ignore your advances. Or, if they do invest, a year will be long enough for them to be mad about getting nothing out of their investment.
Possibly the easiest way out–but requires a bit of planning. If the host has enough beef with their ex, it’ll be easy to get them in on your plan. If not, you’ll have to make time for some dates or hangouts prior to convince them to attend the Friendsgiving with you. Executing this successfully won’t make your friends hesitate to stop talking to you. Forget not being invited back next year, they’ll be happy to see you go before the meal is even over.
Much like the year of its release, this album starts off great (we’re looking at you flawless transition from “IX” into “What The Dead Men Say”) but ends pretty underwhelmingly. Sure, there are some bangers on here, but there isn’t really enough mythological lore to keep us interested. If we have to pick the worst Trivium album (and we don’t really want to), it’s this one. But that can only mean things get bigger and better from here.
What this album lacks in metalcore screaming, it makes up for in thrashing guitars and anthemic sing-along moments. It doesn’t feel as “Trivium” as their other albums, hence this low placement. But that doesn’t stop it from shredding. Especially 8-minute 21-second instrumental closer “The Crusade.”
Vengeance Falls starts heavy and stays heavy. Matt Heafy really shows off his vocal range on this album, weaving his silky melodic lyricism through his harsh growling. It is the absolute perfect album to powerwash your driveway to. Don’t believe us? Go to Home Depot right now, rent the power washer (put it on our account) and have at it. You will see we are correct.
Now when we go back to 2011, we get an album opener that mixes a pretty spooky sounding piano with punching guitars to give us a taste of what is to come on this album. Calling back to some of their earlier releases, “In Waves” treats us to some tasty solos over guttural vocals. A dark album with a dark sound – decadent like a black forest gateaux.
Another album that starts straight in, no kissing to its title track. There’s something ethereal about this one, each track gives the sense that we are stuck in some other world without any hope of escaping. And yet, we’re sort of at peace with it?
Some chilling strings to get us started, you can already feel the cold creeping in as this album begins. Theatrical and sludgy, this one is worth the frostbite. You listen to this and all of a sudden you are fighting alongside a thousand other ice-vikings who might be ghosts, over a feud you cannot understand. It feels amazing and you will die for this unknown cause, despite feeling immense guilt over it that forces you to burst into some of the most beautiful songs you have ever sung.
Trivium’s debut album holds up way better than my haircut from 2003. And I thought those frosted tips would live forever. While the boys were still figuring out that delicate balance between screaming and singing in the best way to show off Heafy’s vocals, they managed to create some of their most delicious licks. If your neck isn’t killing you from thrashing your head by track four, you may need to reevaluate your listening methods.
Finally. An album that lets us live out our evil metal mythological ninja fantasies. Like big boys. Shogun f**king rules. The first Trivium album that is really incomparable to any other band – this is the one that really cements their sound.
Ascendancy features the most stand-out opening piece of all Trivium’s albums, with a melodic piano piece surrounded by the vocalizations of lost souls. The band’s second album doesn’t pull any punches and slaps you over the head with thrash. This is the kind of album that makes you wish you could recreate every part of it with your own talentless hands. But you can’t, so you resort to reviewing it for an online satire magazine instead.
Listening to this album is the closest thing anyone from Florida can get to owning a VR headset. You close your eyes while playing this and you are THERE – right in the middle of a Roman colosseum with hundreds of your peers cheering for your death while you struggle to fight both the fire-breathing dragon before you and your internal belief systems. Special mention goes to the beautifully tight drumming of Alex Bent on this one. This album is seriously special.
