MOST DEFINITELY THE WORST HARDCORE / METALCORE / GRINDCORE BLOGSPOT ON THE NET

HTTP://WWW.DEADONTHEDANCEFLOOR.COM
HTTP://DEADONTHEDANCEFLOOR.BLOGSPOT.COM

VOTE WEBMASTER FOR PRESIDENT 2012 (SO THAT FILTHY HALF-BREEF NEGROID HAS NO CHANCE OF RUNNING THE SECOND TERM ONLY TO RISK HIMSELF FROM BEING TORCHED ON A BURNING KKKROSS)!







THE TRANSCENDANCE TO A PINK LAYOUT IS THE FINAL MANIFESTATION OF MY EXTREME HOMOSEXUALITY I'VE WORKED SO HARD TO REPRESS ENTIRELY THROUGHOUT MY MISERABLY CONFUSED LIFE! I CAN'T HIDE THIS MY BLATANT HORMONES ANY LONGER! PLEASE FUCK ME WITH YOUR AIDS STICK YOU HOLY FUCKING FAGGOTS?

DISCLAIMER: IN ORDER TO FIT IN WITH EVERY OTHER HALF-ASSED LAW-ABIDING PUSSY-ASS ALBUM BLOGS OUT ON THE NET, I WILL HAVE TO REMIND ALL YOU PARANOID SCHIZOPHRENICS THAT I DO NOT HOST ANYTHING ON THIS WEBSITE BUT MERELY REDIRECT YOU TO LINKS OF RIPPED ALBUMS THAT SOMEHOW MIRACULOUSLY PRE-EXISTED ON THE INTERNET DUE TO STRANGE FORCES OF NATURE. PIRATE THESE ALBUMS AT YOUR OWN CONSEQUENTIAL RISKS YOU FUCKING COWARDLY METALHEAD FAGGOTS.

(BOOKMARK THIS SITE SO YOUR OBESELY UNEMPLOYED MOTHER REALIZES THE BULLSHIT YOU'VE BEEN JERKING OFF TO WITH HER INTERNET BILLS)


TOTALLY ANONYMOUS AND ABSOLUTELY NO REGISTRATION REQUIRED!

Saturday, March 13, 2010

An Embrace of Angels - 'Ere January Be Unwintered

1. Long Awaited Pleas For Audible Sound
2. Strings Around Arms Tangled In Stars
3. This Coming Fall Line Colors Change
4. Suit My Fancy Said Success
5. This Sky Breathing Machine
6. The Kiss The Smile The Switchblade
7. Icarus The Beautiful Mathematician
8. Adoration


BRIEF REVIEW:

THE OVERUSE OF ALLEGORICAL SUPERNATURAL FIGURES IN THIS BAND AND ALBUM MAKES ME FEEL LIKE I'M FUCKING TRIPPIN' BAWLS ON LSD WHILE SITTING IN AN ANGELIC OPERA-ESQUE CATHEDRAL WHERE THE UPCOMING DOOMSDAY IS BEING PREACHED. I DON'T UNDERSTAND WHY TEENAGE METALCORE BANDS HAVE TO USE RELIGIOUS AND THEOLOGICAL METAPHORS IN ORDER TO CONVEY THE SADNESS IN THEIR LITTLE POOR SUBURBAN EMO-HEARTS. IT MAKES LITTLE TO NO SENSE TO ME... I MEAN, WHEN I GET DUMPED BY MY GIRLFRIEND (OR BOYFRIEND, DEPENDING ON WHEN MY SWINGING PHASES OF FAGGOTNESS WILL LEAD ME TO FALL IN LOVE WITH), I'M EXTREMELY DOWN TO EARTH WITH MY EXPRESSION BY EXCLAIMING "THAT FUCKING DEAD FAGGOT DUMPED ME AND NOW I'M GOING TO SLICE THEIR REPRODUCTIVE HERMAPHRODITE ORGANS OFF AND PLACE IT IN A JAR DISPLAYED IN A MUSEUM FOR BIOETHICS". BUT NO, NOT WITH THESE SAD POETICALLY ARTISTIC FAGGOTS. THEY'LL PUT IT IN SOME OBSCURELY INCOMPREHENSIBLE ART FORM, FOR EXAMPLE, "BLEEDING ANGELS WITH SLIT WRITS HAVE FALLEN OFF CLOUDS OF THE KINGDOM OF GAYS. LAST CHAPTER OF REVELATION IS COMING TRUE RIGHT BEFORE YOUR BLEEDING VAGINA OF BLOOD-LEAKING ARMAGEDDON. I'M A HUGE FAGGOT WITH NO CREATING WRITING BACKGROUND AND THAT'S WHY NO OTHER COLLEGE GIRLS WITH A GAY WASTE-OF-A-LIBERAL-ARTS-DEGREE LIKE ME." IF YOU CAN'T EVEN UNDERSTAND WHAT IT MEANS, PERHAPS THAT'S A SIGN FOR YOU TO STOP COMPOSING MUSIC YOU FUCKING MISERABLY POETICALLY-INCOMPETENT  FAGGOTS.

IT'S FUNNY BECAUSE THE SHEER ANGST OF SOME OF THESE BANDS WOULD MAKE ANY LISTENERS AUTOMATICALLY ASSUME THE SEVERE HARDSHIP DURING THEIR CHILDHOOD AND YOUTH, THUS SYMPATHETIC OF THE ARTISTS IN QUESTION. BUT WHEN WE EXAMINE INTO THE TYPICAL DEMOGRAPHY OF MOST POST-HARDCORE AND METALCORE BANDS, WE SEE THAT THEY'RE ALL PRETENTIOUSLY RICH FUCKING  WHITE SUBURBAN MALES DRIVING THEIR PARENTS' BMW'S AT THE AGE OF SIXTEEN. WHAT A FUCKING HARD KNOCK LIFE YOU PATHETIC LITTLE SHELTERED KIDS MUST HAVE LIVED, LET'S EXPRESS ALL THIS SHEER ANGST THROUGH ANOTHER GANG-CHANT OVER A SLOW-TEMPO BREAKDOWN!

I'M SICK OF THESE ROMANTIC ALLEGORICAL IMAGERIES IN METALCORE AND DEATHCORE LYRICS THAT MAKES AS MUCH SENSE AS SHITTING IN AN URINAL (WHICH I HAVE OBVIOUSLY DONE BEFORE WHEN I NEEDED TO PISS URGENTLY BUT WAS UNABLE TO PULL MY CROOKED DICK OUT OF MY ASSHOLE AT THE TIME, AND THE MINUTE I SQUATTED DOWN, PILES OF SHIT DOWNPOURED RAMPANTLY LIKE A HURRICANE KATRINA FULL OF DEAD NIGGERS HHAHAHAHAHAHA.) BUT THEN I REALIZED THAT ANY YOUNG VOCALISTS DEVELOPING THROUGH PUBERTY WILL PROBABLY FALL INTO AN EXISTENTIAL CRISIS SOMETIME IN THEIR TEENAGE LIFE WHEN THEIR INTIMATE RELATIONSHIP WITH THEIR LOCAL CATHOLIC PRIESTS EVENTUALLY ABSTAINS, SIMPLY BECAUSE THEY'RE BECOMING TOO OLD FOR THE PASTOR'S PERVERTED TASTE. SO IN ORDER TO OVERCOMPENSATE FOR THIS LACK OF ROMANTIC FULFILLMENT, THEY CRY TO THE SEVEN KINGDOMS FROM ABOVE AND WRITE ABOUT SORRY GOTHIC ILLUSIONS ON HOW GOD HAS BETRAYED THEM WITH AN EMPTY HEART AND AN ASSHOLE THE SIZE OF THE SECRET HYPERDIMENSIONAL WORMHOLE IN THE CENTER OF ANTARCTICA. WANNA DO SOMETHING ABOUT YOUR FUCKING MISERY, YOU LITTLE CRYBABIES? WALK INTO HOT TOPIC AND BUY AN ENORMOUS SLIPKNOT-BRANDED DILDO BEFORE DRILLING IT INTO YOUR OWN SHITKNOT.

PROBLEM SOLVED

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