Iowa Slipknot Primary Artist
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To paraphrase an adage from the last century, out of the mouths of rubber-masked, livestock-threatening chaos-mongers often come gems -- especially if you're among those who share Slipknot's overriding philosophy that People = Shit. The thrashing, gurgling nine-piece doesn't have much use for subtlety (or, truth be told, for melody or songcraft), but as this album proves, there's more to Slipknot than meets the eye. Death rattles and gnashing wails are the order of the day on most of the tracks, notably Disasterpiece and Left Behind, but once you get beyond the clichéd raving, there's some interesting stuff going on here. Torrents of percussion, which rage on the brief intro 515 and Metabolic, border on the avant-garde, and subtle interludes like the Goth-tinged My Plague and the moody, epic title track seem to give a peek behind the mask. And while the over-the-top scatology and blind hatred that permeate the lyrics run the gamut from the ridiculous to the inane, it's virtually impossible to discern what exactly this band is about -- white-hot suburban rage, or high-concept artistic critique? You be the judge. Iowa's top-notch packaging may give the nod; the fold-out lyric sheet is printed on art-festooned parchment. But unlike their closest competitors, the special-effects shop-cum-rock band GWAR, Slipknot betray no discernable sense of humor to leaven this ear-shredding spectacle.


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