Dymytry Vance
08/27/09, 05:37 PM
Dr. Acula - Below Me
Record Label: Uprising
Release Date: July 29, 2008
In a world where we're currently going through an economic recession, where rumors of death panels in our government policies are being taken seriously, and where Twilight is the best thing to happen to the literary world since Bronte and Dickens, I thought nothing could infect our country with a worse venom. Then my friends, came Dr. Acula.
I was interested in this band when I found it in the back (rightly so) of my local record store's shelf. I was intrigued by the sticker that said “For Fans of The Number Twelve Looks Like You, Duck Duck Goose, and Vessels Cast From Crippled Hands.” And considering it was only six dollars, I was sold. I anxiously unwrapped that stupid little plastic wrapper packaging from the case's edges, and downloaded it onto my iPod before even listening to the record. It was off my iPod within an hour.
Now I live by the motto, “My first clue should have been the neon and the illegible band name.”
Dr. Acula creates a “unique” sound by meshing (what else) techno, dance, rap, post-hardcore, and deathcore (which does a huge injustice to all those genres listed above) and making it as musically untalented, vocally unappealing, lyrically shitty, and Fruit Loops Fruit Loopy as possible. With seven band members (who surprisingly don't have ridiculous stage-names like Se7en 2.0), you would think the band would have a better chance at producing better lyrics, music, and vocals than other bands of this genre, right? Wrong.
First off, the lyrics possess the humor of a drunken wannabe frat boy trying to get down in “da hood,” with such shining gems as, “I came here to do two things, kick ass and chew bubble gum, and I'm all out of bubblegum.” Secondly, the musicianship could be better made if the band used retarded koala babies. The slow alternative plucking (which is probably supposed to be tremolo) executed by the guitarists just make me want to hurl (and by this point in the record I'd be puking neon colored Cobra shirts). The drummer is semi-talented, but I've heard the same thing executed (very rarely more horrific) by every other grindcore band. And then there's the bass which is unheard 99 percent of the time.
Finally, the vocalist has mediocre growls, heaping amounts of pig squeals, horrible singing, chicken squawking, and a laughable combination of all the aforementioned. All these factors combined may lead you to believe that this breakdown-after-breakdown album will be forgotten, but I will always (unfortunately) remember the crap that Dr. Acula produced. This album can below us all.
We Butter the Bread With Butter; I Set My Friends On Fire, but with worse singing and less catchiness; Brokencyde; Millionaires; Hyper Crush; Blood On The Dancefloor
Record Label: Uprising
Release Date: July 29, 2008
In a world where we're currently going through an economic recession, where rumors of death panels in our government policies are being taken seriously, and where Twilight is the best thing to happen to the literary world since Bronte and Dickens, I thought nothing could infect our country with a worse venom. Then my friends, came Dr. Acula.
I was interested in this band when I found it in the back (rightly so) of my local record store's shelf. I was intrigued by the sticker that said “For Fans of The Number Twelve Looks Like You, Duck Duck Goose, and Vessels Cast From Crippled Hands.” And considering it was only six dollars, I was sold. I anxiously unwrapped that stupid little plastic wrapper packaging from the case's edges, and downloaded it onto my iPod before even listening to the record. It was off my iPod within an hour.
Now I live by the motto, “My first clue should have been the neon and the illegible band name.”
Dr. Acula creates a “unique” sound by meshing (what else) techno, dance, rap, post-hardcore, and deathcore (which does a huge injustice to all those genres listed above) and making it as musically untalented, vocally unappealing, lyrically shitty, and Fruit Loops Fruit Loopy as possible. With seven band members (who surprisingly don't have ridiculous stage-names like Se7en 2.0), you would think the band would have a better chance at producing better lyrics, music, and vocals than other bands of this genre, right? Wrong.
First off, the lyrics possess the humor of a drunken wannabe frat boy trying to get down in “da hood,” with such shining gems as, “I came here to do two things, kick ass and chew bubble gum, and I'm all out of bubblegum.” Secondly, the musicianship could be better made if the band used retarded koala babies. The slow alternative plucking (which is probably supposed to be tremolo) executed by the guitarists just make me want to hurl (and by this point in the record I'd be puking neon colored Cobra shirts). The drummer is semi-talented, but I've heard the same thing executed (very rarely more horrific) by every other grindcore band. And then there's the bass which is unheard 99 percent of the time.
Finally, the vocalist has mediocre growls, heaping amounts of pig squeals, horrible singing, chicken squawking, and a laughable combination of all the aforementioned. All these factors combined may lead you to believe that this breakdown-after-breakdown album will be forgotten, but I will always (unfortunately) remember the crap that Dr. Acula produced. This album can below us all.
We Butter the Bread With Butter; I Set My Friends On Fire, but with worse singing and less catchiness; Brokencyde; Millionaires; Hyper Crush; Blood On The Dancefloor