Warrior Soul – ‘Rock ‘n’ Roll Disease’
Livewire/Cargo Records UK
Release Date: 07/06/2019
Running Time: 30:35
Review by ‘Dark Juan’
0/10 (Minus 100,000,000 According to our reviewer)
Rick Here. I have two reviewers who have massively different views on the band Warrior Soul and both wanted to review their latest album, so I thought why not let them both write one. Here is the Anti Warrior Soul review!
Good evening. This is Dark Juan and I have just returned from my nightly invocations. This is why I am still in my Third Invocation Robes (Summer Weight) and looking mighty fine, if I do say so myself. Anyway, our mighty, puissant and apparently indestructible Rick has invited me to share my thoughts in a review of two halves, this time. This should be interesting…
You should be made aware that I reviewed Warrior Soul’s previous (apparently critically acclaimed, according to the blurb I was sent… Not as far as I was concerned, it wasn’t. It was a steaming pile of diseased elephant turds covered in monkey vomit) album and I did not like it very much. To reduce it to specifics, it was fucking awful and I had to purge myself for several months afterwards. With bleach and sharp knives…
Just looking at the title of this album by Warrior Soul is challenging my intelligence. What is a rock and roll disease? Rampant egotism? Alcohol and drug issues? A dose of the clap? A man so far up his own arse he can lick his own tonsils from the bottom end up? What a load of shite, mate. It’s just banging a word after rock and roll. What was wrong with rock and roll turkey? Rock and roll reasonably priced automobile? I can think of many MANY more rock and roll things than disease. Girls, guitars, friends, hellhounds… These are just a few of the words that go after rock and roll and are acceptable and aren’t fucking boneheadedly stupid. Hopefully, the title of the album will not be a reflection of the music within…
Oh, my god. Oh my good fucking god…
It sounds like it was recorded in a submarine several miles from the nearest microphone whilst it was being torpedoed by the entire US Navy. The bass guitar is far too prominent, lending the listening experience the impression of having one’s head placed in a honey filled helmet and playing the record through speakers on the outside. It’s woolly and deeply unpleasant. The drums fade in and out of the mix in an alarming fashion, apart from the snare drum which sounds like someone has made it themselves out of a bin lid, some guitar strings and their leather trousers and then there is Kory motherfucking Clarke’s godawful, cracked voice. He is fucking incapable of hitting the correct notes in the right order and he still sounds like he has flayed his own vocal cords with a cheese grater. I can’t even call it singing. He’s just doing some bizarre howling at the microphone which has no real relationship to the music behind him. He’s also pretty breathless in delivery a lot of the time. It’s especially noticeable because Kory has made sure you know Warrior Soul is his band by pushing his voice so far up in the mix that it just overpowers every other instrument being played. Which is a shame because the rest of the band are good players. And he simply doesn’t have the chops to make it stick and it’s a clear case of ego outstripping talent, once again. So far, so perpetrating all the mistakes of his last travesty of a record. I haven’t even begun on the lyrics yet… I shall allow you to read a selection of some of the lyrical gems on offer here.
Up the dose, coast to coast, I’m pedal to the metal when I’m on the road. (Probably fleeing his drug dealer.)
Like Hitler on E. Oh, what a movie! (Just what? Have you been on another heroin binge, Kory? Drugs are for losers, kids!)
I gotta feel good and feel nice so I can do to you what I please. (Misogyny 101. Unless he is not into ladies… In which case I applaud his sexuality and openness.)
You get the idea. He’s still (and bear in mind this man is now in his fifties at least) swimming in a turgid sea of drug and booze clichés, retarded sexuality and his own overweening, inflated sense of self importance. Kory Clarke offends me on a cellular level. I hate this record so much I want to drown its kittens in a curiously misplaced act of vengeance. I want to use a CD copy of it as a projectile and cut his head off with it so he will fucking well SHUT UP! The only problem being I’d be afraid of what I might catch from the resulting blood spatter.
There isn’t a single fucking song on this record I can find a redeeming quality on. It perpetrates the worst excesses of heavy rock music, when it was a joke and people used to laugh at rockers with poodle hair and spandex. This record is a fucking bad joke even for back then and nowadays is about as relevant as steam technology and middens.
Kory, JUST FUCKING GIVE UP FOR CHRIST’S SAKE! There’s nothing rebellious about singing about drugs and booze and shagging anymore. Also, the word “rock” is not a euphemism for fucking. Dammit. It makes you sound like a clown, man.
Truly, truly awful, third rate rock and roll for old men with receding hair, but still mulleted, denim waistcoats, and massive beer guts chasing young skirt in the same corner of the same bar they have frequented for 40 years and getting pissed off when said young skirt tells them to fuck right off. You know the type, the people in rock bars who think they are royalty because they were around when Iron Maiden released their debut album in 1980…
I’m going to be sick. I have had to turn it off. This record mutilates everything I hold dear about rock and metal and leaves it violated and bleeding on the floor.
The Patented Dark Juan Blood Splat Rating System does not give a flying fuck about Warrior Soul and awards them a truly magnificent MINUS 100,000,000 out of 10. Zero just does not cut it when you listen to the horrors of this record. I am feeling dirty because of Warrior Soul.
01. Up The Dose (Of antibiotics because you have been sticking your cock where I wouldn’t put the ferrule of an umbrella, Kory?)
02. Rock N Roll Disease (Just shut up, you spectacular bellend. Rock and roll is life, not a disease.)
03. Off My Face (As I will be on Saturday, in order to forget this travesty.)
04. Melt Down (What I suffered about five tracks in. I need therapy.)
05. Rock On (Aye, lad. Go on. Rock on off over there. Preferably over several seas.)
06. War Ride Children (I hate titles that make no sense and this is just word salad.)
07. Going Mental (Yes, I was! And not in a good way by the time I reached this song. I have been deeply traumatised.)
08. After The Show (Kory gets back into his rock and roll koffin, hooks up the Jack Daniels, cocaine and virgin blood drips and falls into deep unconsciousness until the next show, whereupon he is woken by electric shocks and the promise of hot chicks, all of whom are wise enough to stay out of arm’s reach.)
Kory Clarke – Vocals/Drums
Adam Arling – Guitar/Bass/Vocals
John Polachek – Guitar
Dennis “El Guapo” Post – Guitar/Vocals
Christian Kimmett – Bass/Vocals
Ivan Tambac – Drums/Vocals
John Besser – Drums
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