Metal is full of silliness (see Spinal Tap, Steel Panther, or Gwar) and the type of faux-sincerity that leaves people wondering whether there really is a population of Satan-worshipping, tattooed and pierced pseudo-goths congregating around a single genre of music, or if it’s all just an antagonistic ruse. That ambiguous attitude toward idolatry is exactly what makes Austrian Death Machine a particularly funny joke—but one that outlasts its punchline via real music (as opposed to Richard Cheese’s albums, for instance (no comment regarding live performances)).
Every bit of the band—the name, the lyrics, the song titles, the album titles, the artwork, the vocal style(s)—is a parody of the epic legacy of Arnold Schwarzenegger. The joke is largely the creation of the fellow bicep-obsessed As I Lay Dying frontman Tim Lambesis, who, incidentally, recently pled guilty to hiring a hitman to murder his wife (the assassin he hired was, in fact, an undercover police officer).
Is an over-the-top joke about an over-the-top action hero famous for his on-screen body count told by a death-worshipping would-be wife killer funny? Humor is subjective. Lots of people never laughed in the first place. But if you’ve ever laughed at an Arnold quote, there’s a good chance you’d get a few chuckles out of any of Austrian Death Machine's three albums.
As a middle-school youngster, I used to listen to Harry
Chapin’s Greatest Stories Live like
an addict—sometimes multiple times per day. The second track, “W.O.L.D.,” was
never my favorite on the album, but that didn’t stop me from memorizing every
word of it by heart. Regardless, fellow poster Retropath has already
contributed more commentary about the song that I would have, so I’ll move on
to another radio tribute.
“Midnight Radio” is a song from the rock musical Hedwig and the Angry Inch, written by
Stephen Trask. The version above was first covered by pop-folk artist Dar
Williams a decade after Hedwig’s
premiere as the penultimate track on her 2008 album Promised Land. It’s a moving song of reminiscence for those who
have sentimental emotional memories of feeling connected with the world in a
new way because of the radio (which, it would seem, applies to most people who
read and write about music).
The lyrics illustrate the narrator becoming a star
vicariously through the strong female voices on the radio: “Here’s to Patti /
and Tina / and Yoko / Aretha / and Nona / and Nico / and me.”
This song is always the first that comes to mind when I think of snow songs. I have to admit, that's not very often, nor had I ever even considered the existence of a genre such as "winter pop" until I scoured the internet comments and forums for discussion of this song.
The ever-enlightened, scholarly groupmind of SongMeanings repeatedly amusesaconnectiontococaine, but I can't find anything in the lyrics that clearly prompts such an interpretation on a basic level. With hints of depression, failed communications, a frustrating relationship, and the importance of the season's change, this song is an unreceived broadcast to a partner with Seasonal Affective Disorder.
Mew's homeland of Denmark has a relatively cool climate with heavy, wet winters, during which the daylight time dwindles to just about seven hours—not nearly long enough to even get to enjoy a single, cold moment of sunshine for those of us running on U.S. cubicle work hours. Seasonal Affective Disorder can carry a person's mood quickly into a new personality, a slow shift that grinds the gears of a relationship's communications.
"In winter you're an affliction," the singer of this song tells their partner. There's an argument brewing. Jealous accusations of new interests and demands for evidence. "Enable [me] to bring out the something you want to know beneath the snow," the singer tells the accuser. "Bring out the someone you want to see for jealousy."
Things end on a sour note. The singer's "arms retreat," as the option of immediate reconciliation fades, and the only option is to try again on another day: "I'll find you somewhere / show you how much I care / know that there is no / escape from my snow brigade."
Singer Jonas Bjerre's voice carries the same shrill, tenuous beauty of a tightly-tuned violin string, simultaneously raising the listener's hackles and petting them on the head. This is undoubtedly the first thing that catches the newcomer's ears, but underlying musical experimentations that combine, at times, elements of progressive metal, ambient, noise, and indie pop should not go unappreciated.
Capable of producing albums of catchy singles, like 2003's Frengers, Mew also demonstrates clear understanding of the capability of the album itself as a limit, as No More Stories... and their 2005 album And the Glass Handed Kites both construct single-song façades through the use of song transitions and titular divisions.
Taking theme to the screen as well, Mew enlisted the aid of director Martin de Thurah to deliver a trio of music videos for singles on their release of No More Stories...: "Introducing Palace Players," "Repeaterbeater," and "Beach."
Star Maker Machine does not accept music submissions from artists or promoters. However, most of the contributors here do accept submissions for our own blogs, listed below. Please visit our blogs, take the time to listen to what we post, and then feel free to contact us if you feel that your music would be a good fit.
