BETHESDA, Md. – Local accountant Peter Wombach reportedly failed to successfully hide a signed Anal Cunt poster in the background of a work Zoom call, sources already in conversation with HR report.
“About 15 minutes into the meeting I realized I didn’t cover my Anal Cunt poster with my ‘I’m With Her’ campaign poster from 2016 and I had to get creative,” said Wombach while grinning maniacally. “Framing a Zoom call is an art, and I am Michelangelo. I have a map to my right, so people think I like maps and nerd shit like that. To my left is a picture of my dog in case I need to start a conversation, and above me is my Anal Cunt poster. I got it signed after Seth Putnam fucked my girlfriend in Reykjavik and he felt bad about it. It’s only barely out of view, so it feels kinda dirty to have it like, right there. And even if someone saw it, no one knows what it is but me due to the borderline illegible font. What a thrill.”
Other members of Wombach’s firm were not as confident in the poster’s subtlety.
“The words ‘anal cunt’ were directly above his head, almost like a title,” said irritated manager Sandra Tyler. “We kept trying to call him out on it, but he constantly deflected, thinking that we were talking about his maps or his ugly greyhound. I told him to examine his framing, but he told me that he would circle back with me offline, and there’s really no comeback to that. I’ll talk to him later about what’s appropriate on Zoom calls, and why Dying Fetus is so much better than his dogshit taste.”
Anal Cunt’s public relations team have recently started using this incident as a lesson in Zoom etiquette.
“You need to be careful, because most corpo-drones are fucking pussies,” said publicist Reggie Ryan. “Show up for Zoom calls early, dress well, and never visibly cut yourself with razor blades unless you’re sure everyone is cool with it. Try to cover up your badass posters with wussy shit like Radiohead. That will let your coworkers feel cool about their music taste and distract them from the fact that you’re naked from the waist down.”
At press time, Wombach was called into a meeting about his performance, and forgot to hide the vial of GG Allin’s semen he bought on eBay.
This cover album came out when Streetlight Manifesto was vying to be released from their totally not predatory contract with Victory Records. The plan was to release like 9 of these things as they ran out the required number of albums on their record contract. We’re still waiting on 8 of ’em. In the meantime, this record is full of obscure, interesting, and unexpected covers that are a really fun listen, but it doesn’t hold a candle to the band’s original material.
Remember when Streetlight was attempting to finish out their record contract with cover albums? Well, Victory Records wasn’t exactly into that so the band went back to finish their obligatory 5th album on the label with original material. “The Hands That Thieve” (I wonder where they got the idea for that title) is a perfect encapsulation of what Streetlight Manifesto does: write catchy, genre-defying sing-a-long anthems at blistering speed. After the album was released, the band was free to go from their contract and- oh wait, no. Victory decided the cover album didn’t count towards their contract, and when the band refused to make more music for them, Victory sued Streetlight for a million dollars and refused to release this record. While you can stream the record anywhere now, for quite some time after its “release” you could only pirate the record, which was heavily encouraged by the band.
Ahh, what a classic. “Keasbey Nights” is, of course, the record that singer/songwriter Tomas Kalnoky made with his previous band, Catch 22. It was going to be re-released by the label under the name “Streetlight Manifesto” but the band decided to pay out of pocket to re-record it for the release. These are the same amazing songs that many have argued launched the “4th Wave” of ska. While some believe the songs on this record don’t have the same heart as the original, they are performed much tighter, plus this album includes Jim Conti’s God-tier backing vocals.
After quitting Catch 22 five years prior, Tomas Kalnoky returned to music with a new band and this album. Streetlight Manifesto took the next-level-ska sound Toh-Kay created on “Keasbey Nights” and refined it into the signature sound this band has been known for since. These songs are much darker than Keasbey and the passion behind them is clear with every note and lyric. One could argue that this is their best record and we’d say that’s fair but you’re also a hipster who only likes “their older stuff.”
This is Streetlight Manifesto’s epic masterpiece about life and death and the beyond. The songs manage to be catchy earworms despite the epic length and sheer number of sections and riffs in each song. The production is uncanny and the rhythm section of Chris Thatcher and Pete McCullough is worth focusing on for entire listens of this record.
Coming hot off the heels of their edgy, middle-finger-to-the-priest debut EP Opiate, Undertow sounds more like a pissed-off Soundgarden than the holier-than-thou musical mathematicians we know today. Check those sick drop-d riffs and slightly esoteric lyrical themes, though – they hit the ground running. Still, if you’re looking to “spiral out,” as the kids say, this isn’t the best place to start.
This is what people who don’t like Tool think Tool sounds like. The six “main” tracks all run over ten minutes. You get the sense that the shortest of these, the 10:05 “Culling Voices,” was carefully dragged out just to get it over 9:59. The interludes are just ridiculous – they can’t even let their strongest asset, drummer Danny Carey, rip without including an incredibly irritating synthesizer on “Chocolate Chip Trip.” We haven’t even gotten to the level of pretension required to name a song “Pneuma.” This thing wasn’t worth waiting for thirteen months – let alone thirteen years.
Ah, now we’re getting into the hotly-contested top three. With a catalog this small, Tool’s fourth album is equally argued as being one of their best and one of their worst. We ranked it exactly in the middle so as not to piss any Tool diehard off, but some stellar moments are on this thing. The emotional climaxes of the title track and “Rosetta Stoned,” the former teary-eyed and the latter tongue-in-cheek, both work. Experiencing the pair might clue you in as to why so many fans of this band willingly walk around with a shirt bearing generic insult meaning ‘douche.’
With muddy, hard-hitting production and songs dealing with everything from hookers with penises to musings on the psychological theories brought forth by the late Carl Jung, this is the reason why Tool fans are so fanatical about this band. It’s annoying to type out the title on an American keyboard, but [ed. note…*sigh* ctrl+c, ctrl+v] Ænima is a bonafide classic.
Cries of “spiral out, bro!” notwithstanding, this album is worthy of at least some of the Reddit-honed comparisons to The Dark Side of the Moon that it’s been gifted. From that earth-shattering scream in “The Grudge” to the final jam that is “Triad,” Lateralus is a phenomenal record if viewed in a vacuum devoid of vape clouds and ear gauges. Apart from the last track…
