This album ranking piece may cause you to disappear, devastate the ozone, murder someone to see if you can resurrect ‘em, rebrand your persona, and invite everyone you know to a party that doesn’t exist. Yes, Phantom Planet has more than one song, in fact they have many, and no, “The Guest” isn’t their only album, and “California” isn’t their only song. And yes, well-known nepo baby Jason Schwartzman was their drummer for nearly a decade in their early years, but we aren’t going to focus on that. People in and outside Orange County love the eff this creative and oft-slept upon group to everyone but you; something is wrong here, but it’s nobody’s fault but YOUR own.
5. Phantom Planet Is Missing (1998)
Debut albums are tough to be objective about, but if both PP and Kara’s Flowers hopped into a Time Machine and saw where they ended up 2002 and beyond, no one would be missing, amirite? Adam Levine needs to get a tattoo of this album’s cover art on his lower back stat! Anyway, “Phantom Planet Is Missing,” the band’s lone ’90s LP, is a fun listen front to back, and quite impressive because everyone in the band were just kids, but it sadly doesn’t hold up to the rest of their catalog, which isn’t a bad thing, as the band truly progressed and improved! Don’t get down on us for spilling the tea about this disjointed listen that is slightly all over the place, and don’t get down on 1998’s Phantom Planet because they were young and impressionable; to butcher Less Than Jake, “that’s the impression that we get”.
Play it again: “The Local Black And Red”
Skip it: About ⅓ of this LP
4. Devastator (2020)
Like we said, debut albums may be tough to be objective about, but comeback albums are even crazier to spout rhetoric about, especially when it is regarding a band’s first LP in twelve years, making said record delay just one year shy of a Bar Mitzvah boy’s lifespan and almost as shy as he is on the dance floor with pungent cocktail shrimp breath. Still, the opening track “BALISONG” is quite a song, and enough of a reason for said LP to be ranked higher than the band’s debut studio album; through the trees, you may soak us in either Gold or Axe rank spank bank Hoobastank body spray for publicly saying such in such an incredible outlet, but like demigod Rivers Cuomo once sang in a posthumous ballad, “You know you’re wrong.” In closing, this album’s cover art is badass, and we don’t know what “ROTK” means.
Play it again: “Balisong”
Skip it: “Gold Body Spray”
3. Raise the Dead (2008)
Fueled by Ramen Records had quite a stronghold on the globe in 2008 with acts like Fall Out Boy, Panic (without an exclamation point) at the Disco, Paramore, and pop punk mainstays Bell Biv DeVoe leading the charge on or around TRL, so it seemed that Phantom Planet was destined for stadiums by signing with said label, but it just wasn’t in the cards for the band, and “Raise the Dead” became their lone FBR release before a hiatus the very year it was released. Pity. As they often do, eventually this record became a cult hit amongst dorks and ultra-dorks alike yearning to do the panic in or outside their great aunt Marla’s basement; yes, all of these dweebs shared the same great aunt and/or a great aunt named Marla. If you want to help this record’s legacy, literally raise the dead and spin it now.
Play it again: “Leader”
Skip it: “Confess”
2. Self-Titled (2004)
Phantom Planet’s third and self-titled LP without question lost many jabberjaw fans with their new dirty garage influence, but we will die on this hill: This record is one of the more slept-upon records of the aughts. Producer Dave Fridmann, who previously sat behind the boards for four hipster bible albums: Mogwai’s gold-certified “Rock Action,” Sparklehorse’s slowcore classic “It’s a Wonderful Life,” The cool (The) Flaming Lips classic “Yoshimi Battles the Pink Robots,” and most/least importantly, the soundtrack to “The Passion of the Christ”; Jesus. If you still don’t get why we place this album in such high regard, spin tracks 1-4 right now, and realize that your crappy band could never even. Zombies may have eaten your neighbors and attention span, but PP’s self-titled effort should provide full bellies and Adderall for those focusing on shiny lights.
Play it again: “Badd Business”
Skip it: “You’re Not Welcome Here” purely because it isn’t welcome on Spotify or Apple Music for some reason
1. The Guest (2002)
Before we discuss whether you dumbos believe that “The Guest” is a sophomore slump or comeback of the year, of which you should know the correct answer to, we must say two things: 1) The bassline for “Lonely Day” rivals many James Jamerson basslines, and that is a not hyperbole. 2) The current Phantom Planet lineup which includes Alex “I Was In Donnie Darko” Greenwald on vocals/rhythm guitar/various other stringed and non-stringed instruments, Sam “I Am In Maroon 5” Farrar on the aforementioned bass, Darren “I Am Not Mrs.” Robinson on lead guitar/oohs, and Jeff “Big City Rock In A Bigger City That Has A Lot Of Freeways But Nothing Free” Conrad. Also, “The Guest” is a “play it again” album as a whole sans any “skip it” tracks, and “Tchad” is a weird way to spell a name regardless if it’s for a Blake or not.
Play it again: Fox television programming in it’s prime
Skip it: Fox News always
If you ever meet someone who says “Hey, want some gum?” and then hands you a tiny nugget of Dubble Bubble then you need to run in the other direction. That person is a psycopath and should be locked up. I’m convinced they stopped making this candy in the 1930s and we as a society are still working our way through the unwanted inventory.
Tootsie Rolls are a classic Halloween candy, and if you love ripping out your fillings while eating something that looks like a tiny nugget of crap then this is for you. Personally, I like candy that tastes good. If any of my kids want to eat this, I won’t stop them, but I might stop showing them affection.
I gave each of my children a half dozen eggs and told them to go to town on anyone handing out candy corn. If I ever met the CEO of Brach’s I’d spit in his face for continuing to manufacture this garbage that adults pretend to enjoy because it reminds them of being a kid. I guess I can’t blame them, I get strangely nostalgic for my childhood anytime the inside of a car smells like stale beer.
There is an old man at the end of our block who gives out Circus Peanuts for Halloween each year. Two years ago his wife died, and he had a falling out with his kids so he’s very lonely. I assume his wife killed herself and the kids stopped calling because he insists on giving Circus Peanuts to kids.
Another candy that was invented before the Industrial Revolution. If you spend your money on this and hand it out to children you should be put on a watchlist. Every Halloween I start a trash can fire in my backyard so I have a place to put any Bit-O-Honey my kids bring home.
Wax Lips are not meant to be eaten, but they still taste better than anything I’ve listed so far. My kids will put these to the side so I won’t have to make up a lie when I end up stealing them, popping one in my mouth, and then staring at myself in the mirror for seven hours until the sun comes up.
Have you ever heard the joyous laugh of children as they share candy and suddenly someone says “Oh pass me a gray one”? No, because nobody has ever enjoyed a Necco Wafer. I assume this is the type of candy they give people being detained at CIA dark sites. Hated since 1847.
Honestly, I’d rather drink a gallon of room-temperature salt water than consume one single piece of salt water taffy. This isn’t Cape Cod in 1915, we have good-tasting candy now, candy that makes me want to lie to my children, candy that demands I neglect sleep and think about where my life went wrong. This is not that candy.
The CEO of the Tootsie Corporation must dabble in illegal arms sales to hostile nations, because there is no way this company should still be in business. If my kids want to a good example of what disappointment actually tastes like then they should dig in.
Remember during the George Floyd protests when random pallets of bricks would show up seemingly out of nowhere, just begging for someone to throw a brick so cops had an excuse to spray people with tear gas? We assume those same people deliver Sixlets to random houses on Halloween in order to bum out children, and the parents of children that want to eat their candy. Sixlets isn’t candy, it’s entrapment.
Another swing and a miss Tootsie Co. I’m pretty sure if you applied a little bit of heat to Dots and melted them down they would make an industrial-strength adhesive. If any of my children showed an affinity for Dots I’d assume they were switched a birth.
Junior Mints seems like a candy invented to trick police into thinking you haven’t been drinking and driving. If you’ve kicked back one too many just pound a box of these and the cop will just think “clearly this guy was just at the dentist.” Just try not to vomit.
The absolute worst chocolate bar to ever be invented. If someone presents you an unwrapped Mounds you might dig in thinking “I can’t wait for some caramel and nougat inside this delicious milk chocolate.” Then BAM, it’s a bunch of fucking coconut that gets stuck in your teeth until you die. I accidentally ate one in a candy-stupor last year and I swear I’m still chewing some.
Only slightly better than the Mounds because the almonds add some texture. I honestly feel deep sorrow for any almond unlucky enough to end up inside an Almond Joy. I’d rather like the bottom of a Dunkin’ Donuts dumpster in August than eat one of these.
These look like the medicine you would take to help stave off Alzheimer’s. My youngest tried eating some of these last year and has had nightmares every single day since. These candies should be made illegal, if we can’t do anything about guns in this country maybe we can do something about Good and Plenty.
Oh nice, it’s the only candy that weird independent gas station on the edge of town sells. You know the place, it’s the gas station with one pump, no exterior lighting, and the oldest living man ever behind the counter. The one where there are all those blank squares on the wall from the recently removed racist signage.
Two years ago my middle son was trading people actual good candy for Smarties. The next day I took him to the doctor and told him what happened and the doctor suggested we euthanize him. I strongly considered it, I really did. I don’t know why he eats this crap. I won’t touch it.
This is candy deconstructed. When you actually see how much sugar you are eating the appeal is gone. I want all that poison hidden away. But there is a small chance I’ll steal a couple of these from my kids and do rails of them off our kitchen table and reminisce about the days I went out and had fun at night.
Fun Dip follows the same principle as Pixy Stix, it’s a bunch of sugar in a sack and you degrade yourself every time you eat it. But Fun Dip also comes with a stick, my ex-wife would actually eat the stick, when I watched her do it I thought to myself “I hope she didn’t pass this poisonous trait to our kids.” The only thing I’ll pass to our kids is crippling anxiety and alcoholism.
The only reason the Tootsie Pop is so high is because the red, and only red, outer shell tastes pretty good. The other flavors can rot in hell, and the dumb owl that tries to get to the center of a Tootsie Pop is a moron. Stay away from the center, it’s crap.
Let’s start off with good ol’ Mr. J himself, Pope of Trash John Waters. “Multiple Maniacs” may truly be Waters’ masterpiece, superior at times even to “Pink Flamingos” and “Desperate Living” (both films that would rank negative numbers on this list). But this film is fun… with the right crowd. There is the type of person who would thrill at watching Divine fornicate with a giant lobster. There is a type of person who considers a chill-hang sesh to include graphic sex scenes intercut with images of the Crucifixion of Jesus Christ. These people are few and far between and should be treasured. But alas… as stated, they are few.
“Suspiria” is awesome. The colors are more colorful than any other colors have ever been. The soundtrack, oh my God, it’s so loud. And it is CON-STANT! To be fair, with the right crowd, “Suspiria” is loads of fun. It’s exciting, the kills are creative, and there it influenced later horror films like “Saw,” but don’t watch it with the squeamish. There’s a scene in this where you see a close up of a knife go into someone’s beating heart.
Here’s the thing, your friends will piss and moan and complain about you putting on a silent film. That’s why you should never tell them what you’re putting on in advance. Once they adjust, though, they’re gonna have a wonderful time. Truly. “The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari” makes for a perfect introduction to silent films. It’s fast, it’s genuinely scary and the dream-like atmosphere leant by the silent aspect actually helps the film’s overall effect. Make your friends watch it. We guarantee they’ll give it five big, wet, sloppy kisses on the mouth out of five.
What’s fascinating about this film isn’t just that it exists, but rather that it exists as the Japanese answer to “Jaws.” This film follows a group of school girls who go to stay with one of their aunts, a reclusive old pianist who lives in the mountains. Based on childhood fears and blatantly artificial, this film is a darkly comedic acid trip that your friends may not want to take at first. But as it chips away at them, they’ll be glad they did.
Oh, what a lovely horror film. It’s like if Wes Anderson directed “Don’t Look Now,” my God, the colors are impeccable, Toni Collette, Ann Dowd, Gabriel Byrne, why… HOLY SHIT HER HEAD’S GONE! And from that point on, this is not a film that makes for a pleasant evening in. The most uncomfortable scene of all is not even related to the horror elements, but in simply watching a grieving mother wail and scream: “I JUST WANNA DIIIIIIE!” It’s a gutting film. And while friends may help to cut the tension, it’s not something that leaves a good taste in the mouth. Maybe watch “Dream Warriors” instead.
This is another one that can be hit or miss. If you have a more intellectual group of viewers, “It Follows” hits just right, as a paean to classic slashers and a meditation on aging, maturity and the sexualization of women. With the wrong people, though, this reads as an abstinence lecture. And that’s what we recommend. Showing this to your sluttiest friends and chastising them. We all practice abstinence here at The Hard Times. Not a popped cherry in the house. When we see naughty-muffins in the magazines, we have to go home and spray ourselves with the hose.
So you’ve decided to vvatch “The VVitch.” How wonderful for you and yours. Your friends are excited by this one. It’s the film that more or less put A24 on the map. You tell them it’s scary. One of the scariest films you’ve ever seen. And it is. What you don’t tell them is that it’s a slow-burner that moves, often at glacial speed, and that all the dialogue is written faithfully to the style of the 1690s. That realization will dawn on them slowly, as they watch the extended opening scene, all shot in close-ups, in which the main characters are banished from their home.
So you managed to get them on board with you after “Hereditary?” They tasted a little Ari Aster and now they want more. So you put this on. “Midsommar” is the perfect movie for brunch day with the girlies. You say that it’s a “feel-good break-up, road-trip rom-com” about a young woman getting her groove back. And then, you let it play. Bonus points if you put on the three-hour director’s cut. It’s really the superior version, anyway.
The fact that this entry is so high up on the list should be a pretty good indication of where we’re headed moving forward. There is not one second of this film that’s comforting. It’s dark, stilted, blisteringly amoral and strangely funny. All hallmarks of Yorgos Lanthimos and good absurdist filmmaking. But this one is especially unsettling, especially to your friends who are hypochondriacs. So whether it’s the opening shot of open-heart-surgery that bothers you, the scene in which Alicia Silverstone messily tries to seduce Colin Farrell or the scene in which Nicole Kidman tries to convince her husband to murder one of their kids because “we can have another,” your friends are guaranteed to have a terrible and off-putting time.
Listen, by this point you should’ve gathered that we’re trolls. The thought of duping your friends into watching these ponderous, pretentious pieces of art thrills us. And if you’re looking to trick your friends, look no further than “The Wicker Man,” Robin Hardy’s 1973 folk-horror film about an uptight Christian fundamentalist cop searching for a missing girl on a pagan island. It’s the kind of film that will truly have your friends saying: “Oh God… it’s a fucking musical?”
The last gasp of pre-code Hollywood, made right before Will Hays decided that American film should deep-throat his censorship code, “The Black Cat” by Edgar G. Ulmer is one of the most interesting and risqué of the classic horror, poverty-row canon, and a real showcase for Lugosi and Karloff. There are a lot of really great moments in here that are simultaneously scary and cringey. For instance, Béla Lugosi sniffing a sleeping woman’s hair, Boris Karloff inspecting a collection of murdered wives and (in the movie’s most iconic scene) Lugosi skinning Karloff alive. It’s that rare combination of just campy enough to be fun and just weird enough to be scary. And just old enough for your friends to not want to watch it.
Without question, this is one of the sexiest movies ever made. The fact that Jim Jarmusch made it definitely makes that odd, but let’s not judge the Musch. This film stars Tom Hiddleston and Tilda Swinton as Adam and Eve, two ageless vampires (him a pretentious, drone-rock musician, her an itinerant traveler) traveling the world, shacking up in Detroit and pretty much just being “that couple.” This movie is slow, not very scary and a really pretentious person’s idea of sexy. It’s an absolute 10/10, and an absolute 0/10 for a chill night in with the buds.
Without question, this is one of the sexiest movies ever made and this time I mean that as a threat. The basic concept of this film is: What would happen if the most “should be divorced” couple you know met the most “my wife and I noticed you across the bar” couple you know hooked up on vacation? There’s a lot in this movie, brutal and graphic nudity, full-frontal violence and semen from the most passive-aggressive handjob ever put to film. It truly is “A Clockwork Orange” for the 2020s and if you would show “A Clockwork Orange” to your pals I think I might run away from you.
Do you ever find yourself wishing that “Pan’s Labyrinth” made you feel like getting a tetanus booster? Or that “Skinamarink” was scored by Trent Reznor? Well look no further. It’s “Moon Garden!” This film follows a young girl rendered comatose after falling down the stairs navigating an industrial dream world, trying to make her way back to consciousness while being stalked by a rancid tooth monster, and encountering all sorts of weird little guys. Who can forget the iconic character of: Guy who plays that weird piano? Or: “That dinner table guy that looks like Gerard Way in the 1800s?” Or my favorite: “The non-sequitur princess?” This is the kind of film to put on when you need to make people ask: “Wait, what just happened… go back… no wait, I said go back! Fuck you!” Bonus points if you show this to your anxious friends so they can recoil watching the domestic argument scenes.
Without question, this is one of the sexiest movies ever made and I mean that in the most hellish way possible. Let’s face it, David Cronenberg, for all his talents, is a weird fucking freak. Especially about sexuality. His movies make it seem like he views sex the same way you might view a dead squirrel by the side of the road. Taking a stick and poking at it just to see what’s going on. Relishing in the freakishness. This movie is about an adult film channel programmer, a radio psychiatrist (played by Debbie Harry, in a performance that can be described as Sadomasochist Frasier Crane) and an underground resistance movement. There’s really nothing like it, especially when it treats its viewer to “surprise BDSM.”
This is the kind of film you should put on if you want to piss off that friend of yours that has like… fifty, really trashy Chucky tattoos and thinks that horror isn’t good unless someone is getting impaled with a machete. This is the slow-burning story of two men stuck in a lighthouse, sitting around, drinking, masturbating to scrimshaws (and each other), having mermaid sex dreams, and slowly going out of their minds. There is one really excellent scene that involves the bludgeoning of a seagull. And you know us. Just the mere thought of a dead animal is hilarious.
One of the greatest (and least legally made) “Dracula” adaptations of all time. “Nosferatu” is a film about love, life, death and real estate. Surprisingly a lot about real estate. And that brings me to my main point. We love silent films here at The Hard Times. We love going to those shows where acne-scarred bands play instrumental doom-metal with silent films in the background. But “Nosferatu,” for all its beauty and grotesque imagery is… well, it’s a bit boring, isn’t it? I mean, just a little bit. We all can admit that, right? Like, your friends will be bored watching this. They’re probably not going to have fun unless they are H-I-G-H, stoned.
Speaking of getting high, if you’re looking for an adorable trick to play on someone you’ve fallen out with, then invite them over, give them a live-resin gummy. You know, the kind that makes you think you’re gonna die, and then pop this bad boy on. “Carnival of Souls” is one of the most existentially gutting films of any genre, a film that makes you question reality, life, death, and the space in between them. Bonus points if, after the film is done, you pretend you can’t hear them for a bit when they start talking to you.
Because “Cat People” is just too fun. “The White Reindeer” is, among other things, an anthropologically fascinating film. For one thing, it is, to date, the only Finnish film to win a Golden Globe Award and the first Finnish film to compete at Cannes. What’s that you say? Finnish? You mean there’s… s-s-s-subtitles? Why yes. Yes, there are. But relax, this film is actually quite easy to get into (once you get past a little bit of animal cruelty). Just sit back, relax, enjoy the beautiful snow-scape of pre-Christian Lapland, and squint hard at those white, white subtitles on that white, white snow.
I’m all out of hope. One more bad embrace. Could bring a fall. When I’m far from home, don’t call me on the phone to tell me you’re alone… “Eyes Without a Face” is one of those films that influenced a thousand others, from the mask of Michael Myers to the fairy tale films of Guillermo Del Toro to the music of… well, Billy Idol. Now, you can tempt and tantalize your “Saw” loving friends with promises of graphic face-removal surgery, only to drop the bomb that it’s really a slow-moving meditation on the obsessive quest for perfection. And worse… iT’s FrEnCh.
There are some genuinely terrifying moments in Michelle Garza Cervera’s “Huesera: The Bone Woman.” That staircase scene for instance. But more than that, “Huesera” is a fascinating look at queerness, motherhood, belief, and freedom that’s also deeply invested in telling a story rich in Latin culture and heritage. It’s honestly a masterpiece and if you give it time to work its magic trick, it’s a brilliantly unnerving film. You know who’d really like it, though? Your friend who has misophonia. Especially if they’re bothered by the sound of bones clicking together. They’ll love this film. You should show it to them.
Type O’s sophomore effort is their most tongue-in-cheek record. “The Origin of the Feces” is a fake live album, complete with canned applause and Steele’s between-song banter to no one. The majority of its material is re-recorded, renamed, and rearranged songs from “Slow, Deep and Hard” (see below)—which is to say, inferior versions. The one improvement “The Origin” has over its predecessor is the musicianship, especially original drummer Sal Abruscato’s playing. It’s the heaviest Type O ever got, coming much closer to the thrash of Carnivore (Steele’s previous band), with uneven results. In this way, the record is best viewed through a what-if lens. “The Origin” ends with crickets chirping—a nice touch—which is entirely fitting: this mostly entertaining record lands with little impact relative to the others in the band’s catalog. Even if the joke is the substandard and recycled quality, it’s still substandard and recycled all the same.
“World Coming Down” is (mostly) a return to goth metal following “October Rust” (see below), and is the only of the band’s albums with genuine emotion. Steele suffered some tough losses in his life between “October” and “World,” so naturally he wrote about death: “Everyone I love is dead / Goddammit!” This is their heaviest record lyrically, with self-loathing and addiction being throughlines. To match the weighty subject matter and haunting melodies, Steele and Silver coat the record in a thick comatose haze, especially Hickey’s excellent playing. “World” would be ranked higher had they not decided to include (and end!) the record with a sarcastically fun but glaringly inappropriate Beatles medley. It’s more out of place than Lauren Boebert at a Mensa gathering. That’s the band’s only real fault: a pathological need to shoehorn a joke into everything.
Type O’s penultimate record finds them facetiously playing with arena goth rock. “Life Is Killing Me” is the band’s overtly mainstream album, filled with earworm choruses, satisfying melodies, neat riffing, and soaring leads. It’s the sort of crass commercialism that Disney can get behind. Meanwhile, Steele’s sense of irony has fully returned following “World,” as he pairs big dumb rock songs with gleefully resentful lyricism: “Even though I still miss your lips / You’re about as real as your tits.” Steels also takes time to explore some Weird Al-esque silliness: “Appointment made, waited three hours / Did not realize you had such power / I’d rather see a mortician.” The takeaway, though, is this: “Life is” is the best display of the band’s superb pop songwriting.
Their seventh and final album is a sample platter of their career up to this point, which—thanks to Steele’s untimely death—turned out to be the entirety of it. “Dead Again” has the thrashy riffage of “The Origin,” the goth metal of “Slow,” the beautifully melodic balladeering of “October,” and the arena rock ambitions of “Life Is,” with many of its songs employing some combination of those. As such, it’s the most logical entry point into their catalog. (In other words, start here if you’re lazy.) Being the band’s heaviest record since “The Origin,” it’s also a helluva lotta fun. While the lyrics feature multiple winks at the end (“I can’t believe I died last night / I’m fucking dead again”), the spritely music suggests a rejuvenation: Hickey never played with more purpose, while Steele overacts vocally throughout the record, chewing scenery at every opportunity. “Dead” isn’t their most consistent work, but it’s a strong note to (unintentionally) end on.
As the title hints at, Type O’s fourth full-length is their bleakest. It’s also their most poetic. Steele’s sarcastically touching writing suggests decay is everywhere he looks: nature (“Winter’s breath of filthy snow / Befrosted paths to the unknown”), love (“All of the flowers I gave her / She burned them”), and Christmas (“The stockings are hung, but who cares? / Preserved for those no longer there”). He didn’t discard his biting wit, however. Here he is discussing a threesome: “They keep me warm on cold nights / We must be quite a sight / In our meat triangle.” Musically, “October Rust” is the band’s gentlest offering, composed largely of goth rock ballads with lovely melodies and pillowy arrangements. It’s their prettiest, and least metal, album for sure. The band’s debut (see below) ended with the line “Suicide is self-expression,” and “October” provides the soundtrack for it: perfect-temperature bathwater to lay in and open a vein.
Type O Negative came out fully formed and didn’t do any of that hand-holding shit on their debut LP. This is the band’s satire at its blackest—topics include racial hatred, the angry ex-boyfriend hurling misogynistic invective, and suicide being a kind of art—and features Steele’s career-best biting, sarcastic delivery. His exaggerated performance allows him to sell the album’s best joke, ending “Slow” with the lines “You think I’m insane, but I have no regrets / One more time won’t matter, no question / Suicide is self-expression.” Musically, “Slow, Deep and Hard” contains genuine hooks here, as well as several cool riffs, but Steele’s compositional skills weren’t fully developed yet. That’s OK, though, because “Slow” is still an excellent first effort. To wit: some of this material is so strong, the band would reuse it for their follow-up.
Type O’s third and best album is both a classic of gothic metal and its best parody. Steele’s writing and singing is so tongue-in-cheek that there musta been a hole in his face after recording. His smug-drenched condescension, combined with the band expertly providing space for him to perform, is a thing of beauty. “Bloody Kisses” is a CD-capacity sarcastic song cycle, and also probably the funniest gothic metal record ever. The song lengths and the overlong fadeouts seem sarcastic. Even the sarcasm feels sarcastic. So when Steele sneers, “We don’t care what you think,” it’s both a fuck-you to any criticism of goths and to goths themselves. His succinct crotch kick to the absurdity of fake identity posturing within and without goth culture—“You wanna go out ’cause it’s raining and blowing / You can’t go out ’cause your roots are showing”—remains incisive, funny, and relevant 30 years later.