Oh shit. Oh fuck. I messed up so bad. This was NOT what I expected AT ALL. Adopting this portion of West Huguenot Road was a HUGE mistake.
As soon as I saw that Adopt-a-Highway sign, I knew I had to do it. Not because I care about the beautification of local roadways, but because I wanted my name on a blue sign so that everyone could see it.
Look brother, you have got to help me out here. The litter on my small portion of pavement is starting to pile up. I knew I shouldn’t have bragged to all my coworkers at Johnson HVAC Supply about my adopted highway. I’m certain they are intentionally littering on my stretch of road. They hate me so much because I ate more than my fair share of the pizza at Jeremy’s retirement party and then threw up on the office couch. It was an accident! I thought there were more pizzas!
I purposefully chose a thoroughfare that doesn’t get a lot of traffic because I did not want to clean up a bunch of litter. I just wanted my name on a blue sign. But now my portion of the highway is the most disgusting in Central Virginia. People are dumping old washing machines, buckets of melted ice cream, and boxes of old VHS copies of Jean-Claude Van Damme’s 1994 film Timecop. My nights and weekends are fully dedicated to cleaning up this mess and I am losing the will to live.
Recently, my coworkers have been upping the stakes. Last weekend, when I was out picking up litter, two people drove by in a pickup truck that looked suspiciously like Sal’s 2001 Toyota Tacoma. Each one was wearing a ski mask. Those bastards dumped four boxes of small rubber bouncy balls all over the roadway! As I scrambled to pick up hundreds of balls, I noticed another person in a ski mask filming the whole ordeal on an oversized camcorder. When I yelled at them to stop, they got in a car that looked suspiciously like Carl’s 2008 Ford Focus and sped off. I’m positive my coworkers were watching that video when I walked into the break room that Monday. I could hear them from the hallway laughing hysterically, and shouting “Look at this fucking idiot.” As soon as I walked in, they shut the TV off and all looked at me.
Brother, you don’t know the depths of despair I’m in right now. I need your help. Please. My coworkers are just jealous of me for having a blue sign with my name on it and I DO NOT want to put my highway up for adoption.
High on Fire’s debut album comes at the bottom of the list, but there are no bad High on Fire albums, it’s just that this album feels like it’s half Matt Pike’s former band Sleep, and half nascent High on Fire, and lacks the adrenaline of future releases. While it may have required a tune-up, High on Fire were still a well hash-oiled machine, and since we could love them at their worst, we could more than handle them at their best (or whatever Marilyn Monroe said).
The first time that High on Fire collaborated with a former Melvins Member in the form of Joe Preston, you can feel the growing pains of a band looking to solidify its sound while also branching out into unknown territory. But in the scattershot songwriting still lies many kickass riffs, and proved with a tweaking of ingredients, the proverbial cauldron that was High on Fire’s songs were going to turn us all into gods among men soon.
High on Fire’s second spin ‘round the record table ramps up the tempo, as if waking up from a “Sleep,” so to speak, to deliver an outing that was as Heavy as it was furious, suitable for Warlords of all ages and stages, lest your haters surround you. And they hate us ‘cause they ain’t us. Or they are just shirt enthusiasts, which is just as bad.
The first High on Fire album to be recorded after Matt Pike swapped out booze for the blood of his enemies to clean up his health while approaching middle age, since even rock gods need to watch their diet. This was to the betterment of us all, providing a sense of renewal, reinvigorating the sound of High on Fire, and providing some of their cleanest and meanest sounding material of their illustrious career.
High on Fire’s surprise Grammy win was also a win for the Hardcore scene as a whole, with Matt Pike giving a career best vocal and guitar performance, and giving the man, the myth, the legend Kurt Ballou some much-needed recognition, since his propulsive production prepares all for the pit for this party. It was also the final album with skinsman second to none Des Kesnel, who presumably is spending his days hunting wild beasts in the Louisiana wilderness, in order to skin them to make more brutal drums. An electrifying experience all around. Would they find a drummer just as ferocious…aaaannnnd they have Coady Willis (another ex-Melvin) now, so the answer is hell yeah brother.
Arguably the perfect fusion of High on Fire’s Sludge and Thrash Aesthetics, as the prophecy foretold, this album is based on the theory that Jesus had a twin who became a time traveler, woven into the fabric of history, possibly in the form of one of Matt Pike’s idols Lemmy, and there is proof of this. Born on the 24th of December with flowingly magnificent hair, preaching a message of love and acceptance with an appreciation for sex workers, Lem was a better Christian than most so called “Christians” today, so we accept this tribute to our Lord and Saviour at the number three spot on our list.
Both a kickass album and empirically true statement, since death binds us all, this was the first release to feature now longtime bassist Jeff Matz, doubling the amount of Matts in High on Fire, allowing this Matt-squared iteration to elevate. The mass of Matts now could mathematically equate chess moves on the fretboard of their guitars that doubled the doom, gloom, and metal thrashing mad sound of this album. In the name of the Matt, the Pike, and the fury whip, Amen.
Opening with the title track that provides one of Metal’s all time great riffs, this album is so fire that you can use it to light a fat blunt. Now look in your soul as the music makes your mind start to drift, the tunes provide a lift as you enjoy one of the best metal albums of all time from one of the best metal bands fronted by one of the best guitarists of his time. So when you fall down, just give this album a spin so you can rise up once again.
Eddie is, unfortunately, a rotting British corpse, so that’s already not in his favor. What is in his favor is how he’s pretty much been around for every world event, and while he’s probably responsible for stealing all those artifacts for the British Museum, he’s got some decent stories to tell considering the sheer amount of shit he’s done. Plus who needs a Raid Shadow Legends sponsor when you’ve got a shitty mobile game of your own.
Deathbat is lower on this list, because, unlike some of the edgelords that come after him, he seems pretty harmless. Sure he may look at those skeletons holding guns JPEG and unironically think it’s cool, but 14-year-olds need a podcast too. His podcast would probably be interviewing people about how they tricked out their Jeeps or dune buggies, but it would be well-intentioned. We all need a little cringe sometimes.
Snaggletooth is the type of dude to find something new to be pissed off about every week. His unhinged rants would be funny at first, and sometimes his anger would be justified, but after the first few episodes, his anger would get old really fast. You know you would tune in for his Lemmy stories.
When you look at Not Man you probably think he’s the stereotypical Italian deli worker who somehow recites an entire Scrabble game of random words while you try to order a sandwich and still would make the time to call your girlfriend a “broad.” The guy would be entertaining, but probably give really bad sports betting advice and would simultaneously flaunt his riches, while begging for donations on Patreon.
Chaly and Deathbat look very similar, and Chaly hates that. Chaly has some more edge, and will constantly point out the fact Deathbat is a bad ripoff of everything he does. Chaly is definitely the type of mascot who makes sure everyone who wears a Thrasher shirt is a “real” skater, even though he only started caring about skating after the Tony Hawk Pro Skater games.
It’s hard not to feel bad for the man with the Iron Mask, considering he’s in a constant state of fear and clearly a ward of the state. If you like avante-garde noise podcasts of a man screaming by himself then check it out, Bill Burr sort of made a career of it, but Man with the Iron Mask doesn’t have the same comedy chops.
It’s not fully clear whether or not Vic can actually talk. So if Vic can’t talk, why is he so low on the list? Well, as some members of the band he represents should learn, sometimes saying nothing is better than saying something stupid. Considering that Vic is often portrayed as a politician, I think the fact that he can’t talk is probably for the best. Vic may be a bad podcast host, but it’s for the best. Also, the constant chain rattling would be tough to listen to with headphones in.
Again, it’s unclear if this guy can talk, to be honest though, if he could, despite being a mascot for Danzig he’d probably talk about new-age paganism, but in a “church burn”-y kinda way. With that considered, it’s probably best if he doesn’t do much talking, there are already enough edgy black metal fans on the internet.
Violent Mind’s name alone makes it safe to assume he unironically relates to the Joker, so that’s an instantly bad sign. Aside from that, he looks like the type of enemy you encounter in a video game about 5 hours in, so his commentary probably wouldn’t be super deep. He’s got a violent mind, that’s about it. Which means it’s probably another MMA podcast.
The Guy from Disturbed is just so forgettable. Apparently, he’s supposed to be some anti-hero, savior of humanity, so let’s lump him in with the other generic edgelords and call it a day. He doesn’t even have a name, so the algorithm certainly isn’t going to help him much. If you are looking for a podcast about literature, race in America, gender identity, or even current events, then this is not for you. This podcast will only serve to make you more stupid.
What makes Roy hard to get a read on, is he’s just, standing there for every single album cover. If he’s feeling frisky he might offer you his hand, but still, not much. Roy is the type of dude who takes himself way too seriously. He’d sit there and spout the type of philosophy you’d typically see from middle-aged men on shrooms at a Tool show, except stone-cold sober.
Murray would be obnoxious simply because he’d constantly be trying to overcompensate for the fact that his name is Murray. I also don’t think it’s a stretch to say Murray looks like a fascist, so his popularity would solely be based on how much bigotry he could cram into 45 minutes.
There’s no way you call yourself “jesterhead” and aren’t trying to get into comedy so it’s safe to say Jesterhead’s podcast would be under the “comedy” category, but you would listen to it and just feel bad. His bits would consist of saying slurs and then complaining about being canceled, but nobody is actually listening or cares. He would keep getting more bitter that he doesn’t get more downloads until eventually he just talks about how many guns he bought at an out of state gun fair over the weekend.
Yeah, just a Nazi. While the band itself is anti-war, it’s hard to believe Knarrenheiz is. The dude enjoys war a little too much and is basically anti-Captain America because clearly there’s nothing fascist about America. Despite how well Ye did on Joe Rogan’s show that one time, Nazis on podcasts is still a bad idea.
While maybe not as openly fascist as some of his peers, Knucklehead is definitely the type of ex-solider to cherish his memories of bombing a hospital. He’s Lockheed Martin’s biggest fan and could somehow connect every decision he’s made back to 9/11. He’d spend his podcast making up a bunch of stories about being a ruthless war hero while giving Detroit Urban Survival Training-level of bad martial arts advice. Safe to say that’s the bottom circle of hell.
