Archives For Album Reviews

I vaguely remember this record coming out in my senior year of high school. One of the entertainment magazines we got at home deemed it worthy of a couple sentences of review, not really saying whether it was good or bad. At the time, I was not yet into doom metal, and I had not yet learned to read anything printed in any news source with automatic distrust (hey, I was naive). My reaction was brief: “Oh, the guys who did that ‘Cinnamon Girl’ cover put out a new record. I didn’t know they were still around.”

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As I continued to explore the Type O Negative discography and deepen my fandom and appreciation for this band, I had a number of moments that filled my listening heart with joy and recognition, even if I was hearing the song for the first time. A moment that said “ah, now this is something only Type O Negative could do.”

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“A brilliant piece of work. I love it…I think it’s the darkest thing Type O has ever done…it’s blacker than black. None bleaker. The songs were really from the heart…I’m very proud of that volume of work.” – Josh Silver, discussing this album

The Type O Negative keyboardist is right of course, from a lyrical perspective. Yet World Coming Down’s reputation as a nonstop dirge of doom and gloom is a bit overstated.

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1996 was one of the weakest all-time years for rock and metal releases. Luckily, Peter Steele and Type O Negative did not get the memo. “Topics for the next album will include paganism, lycanthropy, nature worship, Promethean gifts, social Darwinism, totalitarianism, and global acquisition,” the band’s frontman promised in the buildup to October Rust’s release.

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“You know, there was a time when that picture would have been considered racy,” someone expressed their disapproval of this album cover to me. “Not anymore.”

The cover of 1993’s Bloody Kisses depicts two black-lipsticked women going cheek to cheek in a sickly shade of green. I’m sure Howard Stern at least got a kick out of it.

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When being asked to choose between rock and roll and sex, Lemmy Kilmister had no trouble calling it as he saw it (I’m paraphrasing): “Well, the average show lasts about two hours, coitus could be half an hour tops…so to me it’s pretty obvious which is better, you know?” Punctuate with long puffs of cigarette smoke and long pulls at a Jack and Coke for greater effect.

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It was a wedding day whirlwind of activity. My friend Joe needed a song for the ride over to the church that would not only de-stress his bride-to-be, but also one that would psych him up for the most important day of his life. He tosses his iPod over to his best man (who is driving), points at him with a no-nonsense expression and says, “‘Back At the Funny Farm.’ Now. Go.”

[Insert joke here about how being married is like being at the funny farm here].

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It was a frigid, gray morning as I drove down a long, empty stretch of the Massachusetts Turnpike. Idle snowflakes fell down around my car as I settled into the home stretch of the drive to Boston. I needed some noise to power me through the last leg.

Looking down at the shotgun seat next to me, I caught sight of Lemmy Kilmister and his two bandmates standing in a desert landscape, bedecked in a combination of black leather and old West cowboy gear. Why not?

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