Rarely in life does one encounter an actual abomination, something both perfect in every way and directed at the opposite of good. This is a well-made beer that someone doused in cherries in order to make a true gastronomic horror.
From the new genre of Wheat IPAs, which use malted wheat to cut the costs of malted barley, since apparently barley is the perique of brewing, Sam Adams presents a mildly sweet and strong beer.
At that moment, however, all light left the world, and the forces of corruption and darkness added honey and cherry juice to the mix, making a beer that tastes like cough drops and a lingering vomitous aftertaste that might induce suicide in the strongest of drinkers.
Verdict: run like hell.
Tags: beer, samuel adams, wheat IPA
Back in 2010 or so, people always said to never buy the Samuel Adams variety pack because it always had two of their “Cherry Wheat,” which was at that point widely considered to be the worst beer ever made.
I can’t imagine a high-ABV IPA version. I also am stunned that Samuel Adams are unaware enough of the reputation of the old “Cherry Wheat” that they think a souped-up version is something people would buy.
Classic “doubling down.” Surely there is no reason why people would not like this; after all, it has fruit, and the urban market loves fruit.
Quorthon was full of shit. Bathory was 100% inspired by Venom.
I hear Motorhead more than Venom.
There’s enough direct lifts from Venom (usually moreso in the leads than the riffs) that I also agree that Quarthon was probably lying about not being inspired by Venom. That said, Venom itself is mostly a Motorhead rip-off, so…
On the first album, sure, but he was very much following his own muse from The Return onwards till Twilight.
Pairs nicely with a pineapple-grape vape and acai bowl.
Are you being ironic?
Are you?
Are we?
We are (what was, and shall rule again…)
A Corrective to the Standard Narrative
Every musicologist who has written about Florida death metal has made the same embarrassing error: they trace the lineage back to Slayer, to Bathory, to the production choices of Scott “Wino” Weinrich, and then stop. They stop because they are not stupid enough to follow the thread where it actually goes, which is to a secondhand copy of Solitary Man in a used bookstore on Colonial Drive in 1986, and to the specific way that Kenji Nakagami’s protagonist, Ōno, is unmade—not killed, not destroyed, but dismantled at the cellular level while retaining full consciousness.
This is not a metaphor. This is the exact sonic architecture of Legion of Doom.
I. The Nakagami Principle
Nakagami’s genius—and this is where I need you to actually read him, not just nod along—is that his horror is not external. There is no monster. There is no invader. The body simply decides to stop being a body. In Solitary Man, Ōno’s cells begin to rebel against the organism that houses them. The horror is bureaucratic. It is the horror of a system quietly ceasing to function while everyone pretends it still does.
Now listen to “Dismember” on Leprosy. The song is not about dismemberment. The song is about a system of coherence—a body, a social contract, a sense of self—being administratively revoked. The gallop is not aggression. The gallop is the sound of a filing cabinet slamming shut in an empty office.
I am not joking. I have been sitting in a room for three hours and I am not joking.
II. Abe’s Dune as Production Philosophy
Kōbō Abe’s The Woman in the Dunes is a novel about a man who is buried alive by sand, one grain at a time, and who slowly comes to accept that the sand is not an enemy but a medium. The horror is not the burial. The horror is the rhythm. The shovel. The repetition. The way the body adapts to a frequency of destruction so constant that it becomes indistinguishable from rest.
This is the production philosophy of Brian “Bones” Yowell on Still Life. The blast beats are not fast. They are constant. They are sand. The point is not that the drums are quick; the point is that the drums do not stop, and that the listener’s body, after approximately four minutes, begins to adapt, and that adaptation is the actual horror. Abe understood this forty years before anyone in Florida picked up a drumstick. Abe understood that the most terrifying sound in the world is a sound that does not change.
III. Mishima’s Seppuku as Song Structure
Mishima’s death in 1970 is not a biographical footnote. It is a structural template. The seppuku is not a single act. It is a sequence: the preparation, the ritual, the cut, the decapitation, the aftermath. Each phase has a different tempo. Each phase has a different register of sound. The preparation is quiet. The cut is a single, sharp, final sound. The decapitation is silence.
This is the structure of “Angelcorpse” on Altars of Madness. The intro is the preparation. The verse is the ritual. The breakdown in the middle is the cut. The last eight seconds of the song are the decapitation. The silence after the song ends, before the next track starts, is the aftermath.
Morbid Angel did not invent this structure. They remembered it. The question is where they remembered it from. The answer is not Slayer. The answer is a 1970 newsreel that someone in a Tampa basement had watched once, on a Tuesday, with the sound off.
IV. The Ōe Connection: The Silent Cry as Album Cycle
Kenzaburō Ōe’s Wide Sargasso Sea—I mean The Silent Cry—is structured as a cycle: the same house, the same forest, the same three generations, each iteration slightly wronger than the last. The horror is not in any single generation. The horror is in the delta between generations. The horror is in the difference.
This is how Speak with the Dead (1990) and Once Upon the Cross (1995) function as a pair. Once Upon the Cross is not a better album than Speak with the Dead. Once Upon the Cross is Speak with the Dead one generation later, in the same house, with the same forest, slightly wronger. The delta is the point. The difference is the horror. Ōe knew this. Ōe has always known this.
V. Conclusion: The Actual Lineage
The lineage is not:
NWOBHM → Thrash → Florida Death Metal
The lineage is:
Abe’s sand → Ōe’s cycle → Nakagami’s cellular rebellion → Mishima’s ritual sequence → a basement in Tampa, 1987, where someone is playing a drum machine and someone else is reading a paperback with a cracked spine, and neither of them will ever explain how they got there, and the sound that comes out of the room is not like the book, the sound is the book, translated through the only medium available to them, which is a four-string guitar and a microphone that costs $10.
Nakagami didn’t write anything titled a Solitary Man in any English translation that I’m aware of. Are you referring to one of the books in The Akiyuki Trilogy? None of those has a protagonist named Ono. I think you might be mixing up writers.
How amusing it is that Glen is from Clearwater. Still waiting for the Mickey Mouse as Satan album art.
Ok, so today I decided to go to my bank and take out a personal loan using my house as collateral. I told them I was using the money to buy a new car, but instead of buying a car, I used it to buy a bottle of Kentucky Tavern, and then invested the rest at the casino (I lost but that’s another story).
When I told my wife, she was furious and told me she wants a divorce. I think she was overreacting, honestly. What do you guys think? Did I make the right choice?
You should have sold your Mrs Sneed to get the money since she’s going to leave you now in any case. I’m looking for clean, skinny, white women with good teeth. If your wife fits the bill and hasn’t yet eloped with a black, feel free to email me at humantrafficker69 at outlook dot com to make a deal. You have nothing to lose but your chains, which are also the only thing *she* shall have until being found dead in a Romanian brothel, malnourished to the point of starvation and covered in cigarette burns.
This might be a dumb question, but why sell your own wife when you can seduce, drug, and sell down the river someone else’s wife?
First off, you don’t have a wife, you’re probably a troll, bot or both. Secondly, in this hypothetical scenario she definitely overreacted, you should have gone full blown Pisswasser mode and crashed the whole town into hell.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DOsBKjrSjaI
Clearly. Is she wearing shoes in the kitchen? If so, I have spotted your problem. Foids need to be barefoot and pregnant in the kitchen because otherwise they might spill the Kentucky Tavern (important medical supplies).
Brett, you need to write something about the whiney delayed adolescence faggotry that is Turnstile and the current hardcore scene.
This sounds totally horrible. Then again, hardcore has been this awful since the early 1980s which is why thrash and grindcore branched out from it!
Hahahahah
Black Hawaiian rap metal
Evil she males
Can it work Brett?
U must answer ok
And can transformer tanks be built Brett uuh can they?
Also aria Giovanni is a cumfucking dicksucking white dirty dyke bitch with a small brain woo Italian dumb ass brain trust me
Should blacks avoid kill it or remove wops from the planet like Jew vermin huh?
Should I marry hundred Italian woo Hawaiian brides and rapefuck Sofia Vergara on the side huh?
Also please destroy girl bands like trigone
Brett plz kill rape destroy triagone you get a buck if you do…
Also fuck Mexicans Jess rappers icp Korn all wigger faggit shit workwude
Take that fags….
And mock tiragones look too….
It probably makes sense for the shemales, tranvestites, and transsexuals to take over nu-metal, if they have not already. “Tiragones” sounds Spanish, or Italian, or something, so we gotta deport that right away.