That’s it: I really didn’t want to do this. I didn’t want to take the full Karen approach on this matter. I’ve never publicly put a restaurant on blast before, even if they’ve given me the mud-flaps the next day. Nor have I ever dreamed of taking up op-ed space to attack a business. But something really has to be said about the despicable business practices of Pinetti’s Pizza Paradise on Wilshire Blvd.
It happened like this. Yesterday evening, as I stepped out of the shower, clad in nothing but a bathrobe and my underclothes, I happened to get a knock at the door. Going downstairs, I saw a mullet-clad and mustachioed young gentleman standing outside, wearing Pinetti’s uniform and holding a greasy pizza box. His name tag said Dominic and he informed me that he was there to give me a pizza with extra sausage.
Sidenote to Pinetti’s. Provide your employees with some proper garb, please and thanks. It was freezing outside and you had him in shorts and a tank-top.
Well, needless to say I hadn’t the slightest intention of accepting said pizza. I hadn’t ordered anything. In fact, I had already set aside some leftover eggplant parmesan for dinner. And the extra sausage? Well, I am on a diet and am a strict vegetarian to boot. I don’t want extra anything. Least of all sausage.
“You don’t understand,” Dominic said, gesturing to the box, “the sausage that’s in here, it’s hot, thick and meaty.”
Yes, I’m sure it was. And that was precisely what I had hoped to avoid. Worse yet, Dominic asked if I had any method by which to pay for my pizza. The pizza I hadn’t even ordered. I could tell that he was going to be a persistent nuisance and so I quickly told him “no” and to please leave. But he persisted. “We can work out a different way for you to pay.”
By this point, I could tell that Pinetti’s clearly doesn’t take no for an answer. Obviously, they’ve created some sort of guerrilla pizza-delivery system to be thrust upon unsuspecting Jane and Joe Public. “I suppose you’d like a tip too, wouldn’t you?” I asked Dominic. To which he replied that he would actually be giving me the tip.
I can’t make sense of it. Reverse-financed, non-ordered pizza. It hardly seems professional to me. Certainly can’t be a good way to make money. So I’m calling out to each of you: Please do not order from Pinetti’s again unless they revise their business practices. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go have my eggplant parmesan. Then, if all goes according to plan, go out and get proper fucked.
Strapping Young Lad’s debut is more of a fascinating mess than Fiorentino’s “Madonna and Child with Cherubs.” The jumbled collage of hastily stitched together songs is a document of Townsend, mostly by himself with a drum machine, searching for SYL’s sound in real-time. The album’s more focused lyrically, though, with the main theme being a flailing temper tantrum aimed at the music industry: “Then, hell, I’ll stand aside, and with your plans I’ll never tamper / I’ll sit and write you songs and be a happy, happy camper.” Given that he’d sharpen SYL’s songwriting on later records, the importance of “Heavy As A Really Heavy Thing,” then, lies more in its promise than its execution.
Consider this their true debut. Here, SYL are an actual band, one that’s coming into focus and making denser and heavier music than before. In other words: “City” is what “Heavy” shoulda been. Devy and Co. are still finding the balance between death, thrash, and industrial, mostly leaning into the latter two. The result is good but not great. Meanwhile, the album’s supposed lyrical theme is Los Angeles. If that’s the case, then “Hating, burning, waiting, falling / Fucking, twisting, human cancer / Fuck your bullshit America” sums up L.A. (and existence) about as well as anything.
This is their most death metal-est album. The quartet pushes the thrash and industrial elements into the background, favoring raw production and aggressive musicianship for a more feral sound. The songwriting is sharper, but the overall presentation isn’t quite cohesive. Townsend, meanwhile, matches the music’s tone with his angriest writing on an SYL record, casting aside the silliness. The throughline is the fear and paranoia in a post-9/11 world, so you get acerbities like “Born son of righteousness / Holy water holding back the storm” and “Machines, they pay for war / Bring on the hate, my god.” While a bit unfocused, “Strapping” is the band inching closer to greatness.
SYL’s final record is their thrashiest and most streamlined, with the death metal and industrial components relegated more than Norwich City FC. “The New Black” is almost sarcastically melodic and catchy, with lyrics about popularity (“You and your band, you fucking suck / Hell yeah, you fucking suck”) and selling out (“I am the anti-product, rotten to the core / Sell me, the anti-product, rock me to the bone”) so facetious that Devy’s tongue probably went through his cheek. Coincidence or not, this is their “Black Album.” Take that how you will.
Turns out, fourth time’s the charm. Devy and Co. finally find the right blend of thrash, death, and industrial. “Alien” is easily SYL’s best-played and most fully-realized record. And because of the progressive songwriting, it’s also their most self-indulgent. (To wit: The closer is 12 minutes of droning noise that offers the level of patience-testing usually reserved for the DMV.) Thankfully, the band’s humor returns to counteract that. The theme this time seems to be an alien’s anthropological study of humans. Thus, you get absurdist observations like “Love, the paradox of needing / Oh, love, make way for breeding” and “And being human / Is fucked as it is / With all these questions / Of faith and of kids.” “Alien” is the perfect title for an SYL album because they’re weird and they’re fucking proud of it.
A one-time member of the 1%, Thugnificent was allegedly even giving loans to Warren Buffet at one point. Once he lost his riches due to ludicrous levels of overspending, and he was able to successfully secure some level of financial stability and career with a reality show. While he may come off as air headed and bombastic at times, Thugnificent may just very well be the smartest on the show in terms of how the world works, prompting him to dismiss any conspiracy crap.
Surprisingly intelligent and with enough critical thinking skill to not just spot fake crack, but also argue with the dealer to demand a refund. With this level of awareness, and despite suffering from the disease of addiction, this man could clearly spot the real “fake news” and potentially even provide credible sources to de-radicalize potential radicals on Reddit. But this man cares not for politics, instead spending his days in a crack-fueled daze and looking fly in that top hat.
Despite being a vile, sexist human being, A Pimp Named Slickback has his moments where he shows that he knows how to manipulate statistics to bring others to his way of thinking, even giving a youngster advice about looking into yourself for happiness instead of a partner (A turkey sandwich with only tomato on it, ABSOLUTELY). And as a high level executive in the sex trade, A Pimp Named Slickback (like A Tribe Called Quest, you have to say the whole name) knows who runs the show, and it definitely ain’t no satanic conspiracy, otherwise he would have heard word on the street, but the only word he’s heard of such a thing is clearly bullshit.
He likes ya, and he wants ya. That is the modus operandi of this man. He has no concerns for politics, theories, or anything else that doesn’t involve a man’s butt. And even if he was more socially conscious, any type of direction would be unlikely due to his constant state of incarceration, and according to his twisted hierarchy of needs, going deep in booty is more important than dismantling the Deep State, and even eating food/drinking water or escaping prison for that matter.
Government Operative and Bauer spoof Jack Flowers would have known of any threat to national, international and even local. And if there ever was such a vile group of people, Jack would work his magic boot during an “enhanced interrogation” and would have a full confession, lawfully or otherwise. Not to say that he’s good, since he represents the abuses of power and violation of freedom during the Bush years, but even he has his limits.
Wise beyond his (and many people’s) years, Huey is always up for some political shit stirring, especially when it upsets the status quo. But this activism is deeply informed by Critical Race Theory, and we all know how much Republican lawmakers and educators hate anything that goes against their narrative, and while QAnon is supposedly “counter-cultural”, and Huey may be more radical, his thoughts are well-informed enough for him to filter out that nonsense.
Up-and-coming rap star Sergeant Gutter would have more media literacy than his predecessors, due to being raised a millennial and being tech-savvy enough to produce a viral video in the pre-TikTok age, he would actively be posting mocking videos of the haters on social media, possibly embarrassing them all into backing out of such nonsense.
More beings of pure spite than anything else, these three use every opportunity they can to cause chaos, mayhem, and misery for everyone around them, even being hateful to get involved in far-right politics, because they would see your average QAnon believer as the pathetic, scared and weak humans they are, and would doxx them to cause even more misery in their life. And they said direct action never solved any problems, HA!
Middle management in the sex trade requires someone of conviction, street smarts and ability to tolerate more bullshit from the bosses than your average office worker, Sweetest Taboo may not have book smarts but she sure has cred. Sweetest Taboo knows the workings of the game, and would know that her boss (A Pimp Named Slickback) has no ties to the Democrats, or any appetite for human flesh for that matter.
Tom’s level-headed wife would quickly notice something was up during the pandemic when a gardening page she followed on Facebook was posting anti-vaccine nonsense, leading her down the rabbit hole and into other forums, but would stop full of radicalization due to her proven ability to spot bullshit, but she would still tolerate it to some degree, as we will see with her husband later on this list.
Jazmine is gullible and quick to give in to fear, as was demonstrated when her Father Tom was almost falsely arrested and sent to prison during a Terror Alert Orange. But thankfully, Jazmine has a loving family and smart, well-read friends and a good head on her shoulders which would keep her from going too deep down the rabbit hole despite her fears that the QAnon may be real.
No one knows how old Grandad is, not even Grandad, and Robert Freeman will abide by just about anything that will benefit him personally, even at the expense of his own community members. Robert first heard about Q Anon thinking that it was tied to the 2010s “Anonymous” movement and that Pizzagate was something involving a lack of access to pizza in Black neighborhoods. He would be stopped short of full radicalization when Huey found out and unplugged his internet, leaving him only the TV to get his misinformation.
Impressionable but fiery Riley would at first be amused, then accepting of this type of conspiracy theory due to his lack of media literacy and common sense. But due to his strict “no snitching policy” Riley would quickly abandon the nonsense when he realized that Donald Trump would have been snitching, and go back to watching rap videos (or TikToks in the modern age).
Blind, hateful and generally unpleasant, Stinkmeaner was a man and later ghost that was fueled by the gamut of negative human emotions. Stinkmeaner cares not for politics, and since he’s blind, would have difficulty using the internet, or computers for that matter. But due to his concentrated hate, Stinkmeaner would have no issues parroting some of the more problematic Trump supporter talking points and attending Trump Rallies in order to raise hell, and we know his spirit would happily inhabit any hate-fueled protest.
Spineless suck up with a unique prison phobia, Tom Dubois is a generally apolitical man at best, but would get easily sucked into the fear-mongering around a cabal of sex traffickers, who he would easily prosecute under an authoritarian regime, ironically sending them to the fate that he himself so desperately fears.
Closet homosexual rap superstar Gangstalicious would be making regular appearances on Joe Rogan to discuss the benefits of sunning your anus, reposting about what real men used to be like, and generally towing that awkward line between sane, rational Right Winger and Q-Cult hanger-on. He even once agreed to come with Tucker Carlson to meet Vladimir Putin, but backed out when he realized that Putin would not be riding a bear, leading this “Bear” to return to the less (and in some ways more) “Bear-able” US of A.
Kung Fu Master and professional mooch Bushido Brown is loyal to money, and nothing else. He may have a spiritual advisor on tap, but he is anything but spiritual, and will happily rip off middle-class people for his protection, but his preferred clientele are on the wealthy, sheltered side. Bushido Brown would have picked up on the QAnon theory through a cottagecore page linked by his “spiritual advisor” and he would happily defend J6 witnesses on the podium from “threats” and would have protected business owners during the Black Lives Matter protests.
The generationally wealthy owner of multiple industries, Ed the First would contribute to Donald Trump’s Campaign, and sit on the board of the Heritage Project (authors of the “should be reserved for Horror Movie Terrifying” Project 2025). He would also regularly re-tweet Elon Musk, especially when it’s some thinly veiled “replacement’ tweet, right when there is a new “Business Venture” started out by this venture capitalist. Ed wouldn’t believe a word of QAnon Personally though, and he of all people knows how much the American Capitalist Class depends on the flow of undocumented migrants for lower labor costs.
A Harvard Graduate who is an expert in propaganda, with a burning hatred for quality programming, instead pushing mind-numbing, thought-destroying TV shows, Wedgie Rudlin would give a face of legitimacy to the conspiracy movement. And that’s without all of his appearances as the American correspondent on RT (Russia Today), using that Ivy League education to legitimize and peddle far-right nonsense to further indoctrinate his audience, did we mention he went to Harvard?
Iraq war vet and best friend to Ed the Third. Unfortunately, Gin is also very bad at thinking for himself, and was radicalized by the 4chan posts of the original “Q”, and despite Huey’s attempts to talk Gin out of the daze, Mr. Rummy claimed that the absence of evidence is not evidence of absence, since there was no proof that there’s not a cabal, leading him to become a noted presence on Telegram, with his account posting more and more ignorance, even gaslighting his own audience with faulty rhetoric.
Peddler of ignorance and evil via BET in this universe, Deborah would find the mix of ignorance and pure EEEVVVIIIILLL to be a prime opportunity to market lowbrow entertainment to the viewers of her network. She even commissioned a Dave Chapelle special right after he released his controversial Netflix special. When accused of transphobia, Deborah claimed to have a Trans friend, but this “friend” was simply a man she castrated and kept in a cage in the corner for her own entertainment.
“Reverend Father Uncle Ruckus (no relation)” is a man of immense internalised racism mixed with raw ignorance of his situation, and even though he does sometimes have insights, they are informed by white, hetero-normative narratives, and Ruckus would looovvvvee Donald Trump’s mix of whiteness and success so much, that he would believe anything that comes out of his mouth including (and especially) hate filled nonsense, especially when it has to do with protecting white children from the evils of the Democrats, who he also considers mortal enemies of the American Way of life.
Truly one of the most vile characters on the show who even wore a red baseball cap before its current connotations, racist country singer Jimmy Rebel would be at home on InfoWars, the Intellectual Dark Web and any Proud Boys rally. He was even spotted performing along Michael Graves on the Hill on January 6th, performing a duet of Rebel’s most infamous hit, which we won’t name because frankly, it is too disgusting to be promoting, and as anyone progressive, we shouldn’t openly promote music, artists or individuals so full of hate.
Equal parts white privilege, stupidity, unpredictability, and with PTSD from “Operation: Enduring Freedom,” Ed the Third is a prime candidate for far-right radicalization if there ever was one. There is no doubt as to this dude’s whereabouts on January 6th, 2021, and with his stockpile of weapons at the ready to fire at anyone, Ed the Third is a ticking time bomb standing back and standing by to await orders should there ever be another uprising in the States, even at points believing the Wuncler Family to be in on the jig, killing his entire family, and worse, causing the value of Wuncler Industries to collapse on wall street, leading the rest of his family to disown him.
Pelican’s debut album is pretty rad, and there are no bad Pelican albums. But this sounded a lot like four guys jamming in a room while screwing around with a variety of effects pedals, trying to figure out their sound, and it’s a little drawn out and long, compared to later releases. But everything that makes the band great is there, even if it did require some tweaking of the formula to get right, it was already a potent brew ready for those who were brave enough to drink that sweet Post-Metal Kool Aid.
With the addition of guitarist Dallas Thomas, Pelican proved that they were indeed “Forever Becoming”. What were they becoming exactly? One of the defining and ever changing heavy acts of our time, capable of cranking out music that’s both dreamy and deadly, a dangerous combination for your ear bones. While many bands would have a mid-life crisis after losing founding members, the only crisis Pelican gave us was an existential crisis, thinking about what exactly we could become over the course of forever with this kickass album.
What is it that we have come to need exactly? Pelican decided that they had come to need a leaner, more concise sound, and on this album, they stripped away many of the longer, more intricate passages and replaced them with shorter, punchier songwriting. Nothing wrong with that, in fact, this album is arguably their most accessible. This was also their last album until the 2020s with original guitarist Laurent Schroeder-Leblanc, who stepped back from the band in 2012 to spend more time with his family, and we can’t blame him, since the world was supposed to end in 2012.
This album title is what the genre of Post-Metal should have been called, since it’s so easy to doze off to those dreamy instrumentals after a long day of suffering under late-stage capitalism. Their final album with axeman Dallas Thomas before the return of Laurent Schroeder-Leblanc, and he sings off in kickass form, and he is truly missed for the aggressive edge that he gave later era Pelican, perfectly complimenting longtime axeman Trevor Shelly de Brau. Maybe one day he could possibly return to Pelican, forming the greatest three-guitar lineup ever to grace the metal world, but until then, this album marks the end of an understated era of Pelican.
A snapshot of a band giving their all on stage, this is the Pelican live experience for those without deep Ticketmaster pockets. Arguably better than their studio work, this is a band on full display, minus the visuals, but there are always psychedelics for those brave enough to get that full Pelican experience. But visuals aren’t completely necessary, if you just close your eyes, let the music wash over you and get lost in the sound, you are sure to have some closed-eye visuals sober, which will save you some hard-earned money.
This album wraps around your mind courtesy of the vaguely celestial, possibly otherworldly tendrils present on the album’s cover, and transports you to another dimension, where this “City of Echoes” possibly exists. Such a city would be a nightmare to create for Earthly architects, sound engineers, and city planners, but if it’s anything like this album, it’s gotta be a great place to live, full of celestial, fun adventures, and crushing existential soundscapes. Wait a minute, that’s just life in any mid to large urban center, and in reality, adding extra echo would just contribute to noise pollution, and not in a good way. Great concept regardless.
The album title refers to the feeling of taking a fat bong rip after a worthwhile tolerance break, the mindset of petrochemical companies contributing to climate change, and the very same feeling you get after listening to this album after a long absence. It’s full of fantastic, trippy sounds, heavy riffing and possibly Pelican at their best instrumentally, with serious props being awarded to the tight rhythm section of Bryan and Larry Herwig. We sing along to all those lyrics every time they play any of these songs live, true Post-Metal chart toppers no stoppers. One of the defining albums of the golden age of Post-Metal, so fire that it could melt gold too.
