Michael Bay’s Transformers is the loudest movie I have ever seen. And yet, despite the crushing decibel level that threatened to send blood flowing from my ears, I nodded off. Twice. It’s a curious beast indeed that can be action packed, high octane, and fever pitched, yet remain a stupefying bore from start to finish. Despite the claims that the summer blockbuster has been reinvented and re-energized, this is simply the same old thing, nicely coated with a nostalgia that might only go back a few dozen years. It’s very strange, these people barely out of their twenties waxing poetic about the beloved toys of their youth, as if the Reagan era could only be recaptured by examining sepia-tone photographs and dusty archives. That’s not to say that Transformers weren’t the ideal toy for a growing boy. Combining a love of outer space, fast cars, and, in a later incarnation, dinosaurs, Hasbro knew exactly how we wanted to spend our free time in the years before we discovered dad’s Playboys. But who on earth sensed that these clever toys were due for a resurrection? Sure, the big-screen cartoon from 1986 had no business being the final word on the subject (despite pulling Orson Welles away from his wine for a bit role), but had there really been a serious push by anyone other than Hollywood cynics in need of a new market to exploit? I can only imagine what this mine sweep of the worst decade for pop culture in our history will dredge up, but I’m sure as hell not betting against Cabbage Patch Kids Redux.

Above all, Transformers is the ultimate cock movie. It worships the phallus in all of its forms, even the steel-plated variety, and is so teeming with masculine urges and fantasies that it nearly explodes in righteous orgasm every other frame. First, it selects as its hero a young nerd, Sam Witwicky (Shia LaBeouf, the “it” boy of the moment), a goofy loner type who has the good fortune of not being all that nerdy in that he’s reasonably appealing and wants to be like the popular kids by owning a hot car. He knows that it’s the ticket to quality pussy, what with girls being so easy to trick into the sack and all. As expected, he lusts after the sizzling Mikaela (Megan Fox), a vapid vixen who just happens to be the girlfriend of the football team’s captain, as well as the go-to gal for all things automobile. No word on her skills with an Xbox. After his father pitches in a few thousand bucks, Sam gets the car of his dreams, which just happens to be the Camaro that will forever shape his destiny. So before we even get started, we have a kid every young man can relate to, a cool ride all the gearheads can get wet over, and a set of tits that is the object of his (and our) fantasies. It’s the requisite setup for the usual Michael Bay pyrotechnics, set to a thrilling score of jingoistic excess that may never be equaled in our time. Though I hear a sequel is already underway.

A film this bloated doesn’t really warrant a play-by-play, but rest assured that all of our good friends are back: Optimus Prime (voiced by Mr. Trailer Peter Cullen), Megatron, Bumblebee, and Jazz. They all have their unique talents, I suppose, though with the usual Michael Bay sandblasting approach to editing and composition, they all seemed like a blur of bullshit to me. Despite what a cavalcade of nerds will no doubt be telling me in the weeks ahead, these machines didn’t really have distinct personalities, outside of Prime’s directive that “no humans are to be harmed.” As for the rest, they like to piss on bad guys, complain about ugly dogs, and fight to the death, but all things considered, they are still dehumanized hardware. I know I’m in the minority on this one, but it’s not all that easy for me to get a hard-on over a semi. Sure, it’s a virtual feast for the eyes and loins, but I prefer the face-to-face, hand-to-hand variety of combat, not the bloodless warfare of enraged circuitry. Ah, but it’s all too clever, for warfare is now too difficult to romanticize when limbs cascade from the heavens and the burnt husks of our boys clutter the airwaves, so if it can be fetishized at the level of our weaponry, then our young can soon be shuffled back into our recruitment decks. All young men love a good fight, but at no point are they to believe that they won’t walk away from battle. Inflicting casualties is still the soldier’s trade, but a sense of invulnerability is the only way to ensure a compliant and effective warrior.

The robots are, of course, central to this training film, uh, adventure story, but more important is the spotless account of military life. Not only are our fighting men heroic, tough, and rugged, there isn’t a scandal or civilian atrocity to be found. This is the military we always thought we had, only to see that trailer park refuse like Lynndie England had suddenly redefined the terms. Sure, the Pentagon maintains the highest level of secrecy (aliens buried beneath Hoover Dam?), but now we have a Secretary of Defense (Jon Voight) who smashes glass, takes up arms, and kicks more ass than a thousand deskbound bureaucrats. The whole picture of government is a striking fantasy, but as with all dreams of the silver screen, how else to envision what we really want when the shades are drawn? We’re tired of stalemates, holding the line, funding fights, and occupations without end. Now, more than ever, the American cock wants to save the world with flair; no ambiguity, no compromise, and no second chances. You can see awesome little toys all you want, but here, pounded into our skulls like so many jackhammers, is a new sense of Independence Day. If we can’t control the Iraqis or the terrorist threat without liberal panic, then by god, we’ll crush the living hell out of them uppity tanks, helicopters, and Mountain Dew soda machines that are their stand-ins. Oh, and there’s that evil cop car, emblazoned with the words “To punish and enslave.” Hell, it might as well have been carved in Arabic.

As for the Cube and Allspark and saving the earth from ruin, it all runs together as action movie gibberish, as no one on hand cares for anything else than watching shit get blowed up real good. It was nice to see downtown Los Angeles get reduced to ash and flame, but the destruction was so sanitized that we are left to believe that the morgues and hospitals didn’t experience even the slightest uptick in business. Fuck, even as Prime shot through entire office buildings, the scampering people inside seemed to step aside just in time, likely returning to work in a matter of hours. As such, it’s the coward’s release, as every erection can be maintained in a guilt-free environment. For all that we know, Bumblebee was the only one ever in trouble, and even his death would be little more than waking up one morning to a dead battery. But if there isn’t death, there’s the expected level of gay, never more so than when Prime instructs Sam to put the cube on his chest and get behind him. Trust me, Prime’s tone makes it sound more ominous. And of course there’s the time an Autobot “unzips” himself and provides a much-needed golden shower for John Turturro. Sure, Sam gets the girl (must all films of this sort end with our hero making out on the hood of a car?), but as he wants to keep Bumblebee around (and on a short leash), I imagine Mikaela is not long for his world. And even when flesh is replaced by metal, two big lugs wrestling for supremacy is nothing more than channeling lust into an acceptable form. As always, human being or machine, men fight in lieu of fucking. It governs our universe much like the law of gravity.

But whatever. Transformers is a dumb movie for a dumb citizenry for a dumb time of year. It hasn’t the sense to be shorter than Ben-Hur, and it screeches with a vehemence often confused for entertainment. No one’s asking for Shakespeare in the round, but surely we can do better than this. It’s brainless, thoughtless, witless, and dull, which are all the necessary ingredients to ensure a $300 million domestic take. But it’s a world we seem to need at the moment. Black men are sassy when sexy, jolly when fat, and always bursting with homophobia. Chicks are half-nude and vulnerable, and when a hot Australian babe is asked to portray a computer expert, she displays enough leg and breast to dismiss all doubts as to her real purpose. Qatar is explained as being in the Middle East not once but twice, which is likely the geography lesson we’d need for Iraq, even at this late date. Geeks fuck, jocks crumble in the face of clever barbs, and a line like, “Freedom is the right of all sentient beings,” can be uttered without a tongue being anywhere near a cheek. It’s a regeneration through violence, a revenge fantasy, and a massive dose of Viagra for our collective impotence. Even if we claim to love the sheer silliness of it all, we must always ask ourselves why. Escapism still resonates, and mindlessness is no excuse for armchair bloodlust.

Long gone are the days when you could show at a Type O concert and find an honest crowd of respectable heshers and skinheads. Now it’s nothing but dykes, goths, and assorted urchins wrapped in fishnet or patent leather trenchcoats, parading through the venue as if they were the very height of fashion. One young man thought it would be funny if he wore an executioner’s mask. It wasn’t. The redeeming part is that Peter Steele, eons past his Playgirl centerfold prime, still manages to lure gaggles of scantily clad females to his shows. While most are hopelessly fat and bespattered with moles or makeup, the occasional hottie in a short skirt and heels shines more like a supernova than a mere diamond.

We showed up just in time to catch the last two tracks from Brand New Sin — one of the lamest bands I’ve seen in some years. I’m not sure if it was the particular songs they decided to close with that were Creedishly awful or whether they really do sound like a heavier version of Scott Stapp’s monstrosity. The chorus on their final jam sent me straight back to the bar, where I paid eight dollars for another Jack n’ Coke without flinching. On that note, the price of this little shindig was a god damn travesty. Twenty-five bucks to see Type O and Celtic Frost? Fuck me, maybe 10 years ago, but to shell out that kind of money for what basically equates to visiting a convalescent home is ridiculous. These guys are older than sin!

Celtic Frost (Martin and Tom) are so old, in fact, that it took several minutes for me to realize they were wearing corpse paint. Needless to say, they were devastatingly heavy. Sure, I like Monotheist, but hearing “Circle of the Tyrants” made my night. There’s no denying CF’s influence on all things metal, and it was a treat to see them live despite Martin’s corny banter in between songs. Although their new material is engaging, it’s unlikely that Celtic Frost will ever be able to emerge from its own ’80s shadow, which is probably why Tom is so vague regarding comments about past albums. Also, has anyone figured out why he had a beanie permanently sewn to his head? Is he that sensitive about his hair loss?

As for Type O, I’m a huge fan of the first two albums, but when they abandoned their misogynistic hate campaign in favor of a weepy, gothic funeral procession, I sort of lost interest. However, knowing that they always pull through live, I figured, why not? I can’t begin to tell you how geriatric these cats have become in recent years. I’m talking Cro-Magnon here. Josh doesn’t even look human anymore. His four feet of crimped coiffure is whitening faster than the dog shit in my yard. And Peter! Oh man, Peter resembles the very face of death itself. I swear he fell asleep for a moment in the middle of “Profits of Doom.” No doubt pained by a combination of arthritis and exhaustion, he was forced to take a seat several times throughout the show. And don’t say it’s because of the wine; everyone knows he started filling those bottles with Metamucil years ago.

Disabilities aside, Type O still kicks a fair amount of ass. As soon as I heard ”Xero Tolerance” and “We Hate Everyone,” the memory of their obscene cover charge dissipated, at least momentarily. Not surprisingly, Kenny has pretty much taken over the responsibilities of front man in the band, as he’s the only one that can stand upright at this point. They labored through a good set, shorter than usual, and despite an uncharacteristic intermission (to defibrillate Peter) they kept their songs upbeat and abridged, closing with the usual “Black No. 1.” Sadly, though, it was just barely worth the 25 bucks, but since that can be said for 90% of all shows, I’m not too dejected. After all, I saw them on their Bloody Kisses and Life Is Killing Me tours, so I’ve always got that to remember. At any rate, if you’ve never seen Type O, see them soon, for fuck’s sake. I honestly can’t imagine another tour after this one.

Greetings Lord Worm! Let’s get right down to business. How many live earthworms do you think you’ve consumed over the years? Are you able to digest them, or do they come out looking the same way they went in? Our readers are curious…

I’ve had a couple hundred, easily, though fewer than a thousand, for sure. They’re the ultimate sushi, in a way. Let me take a moment here, though, to clarify one point: I don’t chew them. People, don’t chew your worms! I’m fairly certain it’s quite nasty. And they ARE digestible, by the way, being almost pure protein.

Everyone is overjoyed by the fact that you’re back with the band. While I respect Mike DiSalvo and his early work with Infestation, his vocals didn’t quite cut the mustard with Cryptopsy. What prompted your return to the band and how successful was the Back to the Worm Tour?

All it really took was a call from Flo (and the assurance that rejoining the band was NOT going to drive me to the poorhouse, as it more or less had before (long story: some other time). The tour went fairly well, I guess, possibly better once we factor in that we weren’t promoting a new release.

I once heard a rumor that you (Lord Worm) are an elementary school teacher in Montreal. Is this true? Please explain. If it is not true, have you ever considered a career in teaching? How do you feel about children in general?

I’m a private language instructor; so happily, I have very little contact with urchins. They like me, I avoid them, and let’s face it, dogs are better than people, anyway. The rumor mill only ground out a half-truth that time.

So Alex is looking a bit like Devin Townsend these days. I mean, he’s clearly going bald, but opts to keep the long hair with the wispy frontal tuft. Granted, it’s not quite as absurd as Devin’s, but, well, has he ever thought about cutting his hair? The evil-bald look is the latest thing in metal right now and I think he’d pull it off nicely. Thoughts?

As far as we know, Alex will remain as he is. It’s not really all that bad…really… [Mike Note: Canadians!]

What do you think of Black Metal? Do you listen to any BM bands? Have you seen The Other Top Ten Most Ridiculous Black Metal Pics I’ve put together? Make no mistake, I’m a BM fan, but am I wrong to think that it’s all a bit corny?

I’m almost exclusively Black, [Mike Note: OK, I’m not entirely sure what Lord Worm means here. Mike Smith might have something to say] but I know what you mean: if one takes oneself too seriously, one runs the risk of looking like them there photos (I still can’t believe the Taake cock-shot). For the most part, if you try to remain mysterious and out of focus, you stand a better chance of having people wonder about you and spread the word that way.

How do you feel about the new material set to be released and the impending tour with the mighty Suffocation? Did everything run smoothly in the studio? What level of alcohol consumption occurred during the recording process? On that note, are Cryptopsy big drinkers on the whole? Who is the most aggressive drunk in the band?

Curse you and your compound questions! We’re pretty confident about presenting the new stuff live. People have had a chance to hear “Carrionshine” on our net-site, so at least that one will be familiar. The godly Suffocation have always been total pros and great guys, so another tour with them is like coming home. Studio life is studio life, so you tend to mix business with gluttony. While one guy is busy recording, for instance, the others are busy drinking or stuffing their guts, or whatever. I don’t believe anyone really overdid it with the beer this time around, unlike when we were recording None So Vile, when the booze consumption was almost biblical in its proportions, leading me to forget most of it. We all drink, of course, but I’m the only one who treats it as an art. The other guys just dabble in it to a lesser or greater extent.

Do you prefer California wines or French wines? White or Red? Elaborate…

I don’t remember ever having tried a California wine, but the couple of French ones I’ve sampled were alright. Aussies are pretty good, too. I’m a carnivore, especially vis-à-vis game meats, so red is the way to go. Beer and whiskey are still the Royal Family, however.

Many people that initially joined the Ruthless Horde live in Canada, hardly the hub of metal in North America if you know what I mean. Quite frankly, aside from SYL, Kataklysm, and Cryptopsy, what does Canada really have to offer the world, metal and otherwise? I sure can’t think of much….

Gaily-colored money (which, more and more, is beginning to resemble Italian lira), some classic hardcore bands (Dayglo Abortions, SNFU, 7seconds), more metal bands from way-back-when (Razor, Annihilator, Sacrifice, Voivod, Anvil), world-class beers (Unibroue, Wellington, MacAuslan), ice wines from the Niagra Peninsula, hydroelectric power, wood, Alberta beef (often free of Mad Cow disease), the chance to practice the letter “A”…lotsa stuff.

Where do you conjure your lyrical inspiration? We’ve found the word “unjesus” to be very inspiring. What is your muse and how much of it revolves around your contempt for humanity?

I’ve often experienced mild instances of dyslexia, which served to make me see words in an inspiring context (“panoramic view” became “paranoid view”, for example). Very often, something in a book or in a movie will do it for me. Richard III has some great lines, as does early Clive Barker. Humanity disappoints me, so I mostly try not to dwell on its myriad failings, mine included.

Many Americans think of Canada as the retarded, maple syrup-slobbering little brother to the north — a country that remains safely under the wing of America’s military might and economic prowess. What do Canadians, and you specifically, think of America?

Please permit me to utter an uncontrollable note of derision: HAW-HAW-HAW. Thank you. Next. [Mike Note: I think he meant, "Horgh!"]

Many, many thanks for your time. Any last words, thoughts, grunts, invocations?

What? No queries about the epic size of our genitals? How, then, are we supposed to brag? You gotta ask the pertinent stuff, boy. Other than that, thanks for the “chat”. Let’s hope we can have a brew together on the road, at some point.

The wonderfully stunning Wisconsin Death Trip is unlike any documentary I have ever seen, but then again, its story is unlike any ever told. The quiet town of Black River Falls, Wisconsin, seemingly like any other in turn of the century America, was suddenly and mysteriously overtaken by violence, jealousy, and hysteria. No explanation is offered, and instead of judging these folks as products of a less enlightened age, filmmaker James Marsh, at least in my interpretation, the madness that occurred so long ago. I say this not only because the film is a stunning collection of crisp cinematography, lush vistas, and well-crafted re-creations, but also out of respect for the film’s ambiguity. Had this been an attack on religious fundamentalism, or the exposure of a hideous disease, we might feel sympathy or even sorrow, but is content to present these bizarre events as if they are the most common things imaginable. Using actual newspaper reports from the 1890s, the film’s narration (provided largely by Ian Holm) is matter-of-fact, detached, and not at all pained by murder, brutality, and a rash of suicides.

There are archival photos in this film, but nearly all that we see has been staged by actors. And believe me, everything is entirely believable, as the style of the film is somber, respectful, and in no way similar to the sort of nonsense you might see on America’s Most Wanted. The filmmaker also returns to present day Black River Falls on occasion, for no reason that is apparent, although one could argue that he is attempting to present a contrast between the two eras. Or is he? Because the tone is so obsessively objective, I simply cannot believe that Mr. Marsh is more approving of the current residents of this troubled town. Everything in modern Black River Falls looks “ideal;” lush lawns, grand homes, football games and parades, and the sort of small town simplicity that has been romanticized for decades. But given the lack of judgment about the bloody past, Marsh could be saying that the town, while relaxed and harmless, is less attractive than before as passion (brutal or otherwise) has been stripped from the landscape. People may no longer kill each other without explanation, but they are “poorer” as a result. They have substituted a muted, robotic sameness for the savagery of their heritage.

And while the contemporary images are appreciated, it is in the past where we belong. To hear the newspaper articles read to us is to acknowledge that no one in town had a more exciting form of employment than reporter. In the span of a few years, and almost as if inspired by the forces of nature, a peaceful community was transformed into a hellish pit. A mad woman, with a fondness for cocaine, set about breaking every window she could find; women drowned their children in a nearby lake; young ones are thrown on trains and abandoned; jilted lovers shot their rivals in broad daylight; tramps gunned down sweet old ladies who offered them a bite to eat; drunken husbands bashed in the brains of their newborns; nude corpses were found frozen on the streets; despairing gentlemen were found sprawled out on railroad tracks; and on and on and on. Children dropped dead without notice, bodies were dug up only to discover that the poor victims had been buried alive, and not a day went by when someone wasn’t sent to the local asylum. Was it a UFO? A plague? Desperation resulting from a recent economic downturn? No one knows.

While it appears that an entire town went nuts for a brief period of time, I’d like to believe that the townsfolk were just expressing the more eccentric sides of their personalities. As much as we might recoil in horror at such behavior, I am fascinated; so much so that I’d argue the human experience would lack character if such things were to be avoided. There’s a hint (based on some scattered dialogue, attributed to no one in particular) that Wisconsin is just simply a wacky place to live and grow, and that may hold the clue to what Marsh is after. From its immigrant past of somber Scandinavians, to its radical political climate (socialism has always felt comfortable here), to its modern contradictions (Senator Russ Feingold competing with Governor Tommy Thompson), to its peculiar predilection for serial killers, Wisconsin is one of America’s most unique states. And as I have stated, Marsh is proud of that fact; not that the Badger State is a corpse-ridden, homicidal nightmare, but that one hundred years later, we can talk about these events, adding color, spice, and charm to any conversation about the times in which we live, and those who have come before.

Scorecard:

Axel, horny doctor, hacksaw across the neck and head twisted off, dies in the cooler of the morgue.

Nurse Morgan, whore, stabbed and eviscerated in lab at morgue.

Tubs McHitchhiker, obese and unnamed drifter, stabbed from behind while inhaling a banana along the roadside.

Sammy, resident babe, stabbed through chest while sulking naked in an inflatable raft.

Paul, resident hunk, stabbed in the groin after swimming back from discovering Sammy’s body.

Teri, creepy twin, speared in back while moping in the rain.

Mrs. Jarvis, mother figure, method unknown, though she looked scared out of her mind.

Jim, psycho and lousy lay, meat cleaver to the face while fetching a bottle of wine.

Tina, other creepy twin, grabbed from bedroom window and thrown fifty yards onto a car.

Ted, resident jokester and Italian stereotype, stabbed in back of head through movie screen.

Doug, resident sweetie-pie, eyes gouged and skull crushed while taking a shower.

Sara, resident virgin who finds love, axe to the chest while wearing only a towel.

Gordon, pet dog, thrown from window, presumed dead.

Rob, camper/hiker/hunter obsessed with Jason, stabbed and beaten in basement.

Jason Voorhees, killer, butchered like a slab of veal, presumed dead for the third time.

Make-out sessions/fuck-fests:

After a Puritanical turn in Part 3, the ante is upped once again and the kids resume their fucking. There were five separate and distinct sessions, including a romp in the shower and Crispin Glover being asked for seconds. More than ever, Jason appears pissed that orgasms are a part of Mornings in America, though one character is slaughtered after declaring her love for her boyfriend. Still, they weren’t yet married, so off to the slab with you.

Biblical overtones:

Most obviously, Jason literally comes back from the dead to resume his work. He is risen! No longer a mindless killer, he is again an Old Testament avenger; beware his mighty wrath. And yes, there were two examples of crucifixion imagery, one involving Crispin Glover (arms spread, attached by nails in a doorway), and the other the “good girl”, Trish, who jumps from a window and lands with a thud, only to appear from Jason’s vantage point as the Savior himself on the cross. And yes, it continues to rain day and night.

Memorable lines:

“Axel, I am not going to fake any more orgasms for you.” — Nurse Morgan

“You’re the Super Bowl of self-abuse!” — Nurse Morgan

“Holy Jesus dumping Christmas shit!” — Axel

Signs of the Times:

Tommy’s video game is but one step removed from Pong. Cut-off jean shorts rule the roost, while Izod makes more than one appearance. Dead or cut phone lines actually mattered in this pre-cell phone era, and the rock music played by Glover could very well be Krokus.

What surprised you?

Shockingly, not the four minutes of flashbacks, as that seems to be the standard for this series. I now accept it. But why did Tom Savini return for the make-up effects? Still, two things genuinely surprised me — one, it took a good ten minutes of screen time before Crispin Glover came completely unhinged; and two, how did Jason plunge a knife through the bottom of an inflatable raft without causing so much as a leak?

Examples of superhuman strength:

Jason, as usual, goes above and beyond. He lifts people off the ground with one hand, twists off heads with little effort, destroys skulls like soft fruit, throws a woman through the air like a football, and, best of all, takes repeated hammer blows to the head only minutes after having a TV smashed down on his tender cranium. Oh, and he has his hand nearly split in two by a knife, yet appraises it like a mild paper cut.

Coolest moment:

Without question, Crispin Glover’s big dance scene. It could be a seizure, or an early form of break dancing, but whatever it is, he’s totally out of control. His character, Jim, also has another moment in the sun when he is crucified in the doorway, then moments later torn down like an old curtain as Jason rushes past.

Bits & Pieces:

Of the movies so far, easily the most violent. More than that, every girl on board shows her tits at least once. Jason’s full face is also revealed after his hockey mask is knocked off. And yes, this is the one with the Corey Feldman Freakout, wherein he shaves his head (missing a few nasty tufts in the back), grabs a machete, and hacks Jason to fucking bits. The ending implies that he’ll be the psycho killer in Part 5.

I really dig John Frankenheimer. True, he has made some serious stinkers (1996’s inexcusably terrible The Island of Dr. Moreau and the Affleck fucker-fest Reindeer Games) but he has also made some of my very favorite movies, namely Seconds and Ronin. And, regardless of what many people say, The French Connection II is a great film. Here in The Holcroft Covenant, Frankenheimer is in top form. Even better, so is the rest of the cast. Like a few movies I have watched recently (The Bourne Supremacy, The Assassination Bureau) Covenant takes place all over Europe and at its core is intrigue. I guess I am bored to death and in need of a good vacation. No matter… I will always have Ruthless…

Michael Caine leads the cast as Noel Holcroft, a “foreign born American citizen” who has made quite a life for himself as the head of an architecture firm in Manhattan. The only thing is, his father was a Nazi. More to the point, his father and two other men made a “covenant,” that a large sum of Third Reich money would be swaddled away into a Swiss bank and forty years later, each of their eldest sons would then be given cash so that they may perform, well, lets just call it “deeds.” Then the three Nazis drank to the “future,” and killed themselves. Quite a great opening, really. The Nazi-money swells and swells and swells in the ensuing years to the tune of $4.5 billion dollars. Noel Holcroft is to be put in charge of the money, and he is to be the Covenants spokesman. This news, given to Noel by the always fun to watch Michael Lonsdale (he’s playing a Swiss banker named Manfredi), is quite a shock to the “foreign born American Citizen.” I keep quoting that, because to great effect, Caine says the line at least a half dozen times throughout the film.

Noel’s mother is very against Noel signing the Covenant and thereby putting all that money in play. See, Mrs. Holcroft knew her ex-husband very well, she knew what an evil genius he was. She tries unsuccessfully to explain to Noel that the Covenant can only lead to bad things. There is NO WAY that her dead Nazi husband established all that money to do any kind of good in the world. Noel, like ALL of us would be, is totally blinded by the thought that $4.5 billion will soon be his to control. I mean, if I say $4.5 billion out loud to myself, all I can think is hookers, cocaine, Presidential Suite at the Hotel Del Coronado in San Diego, fresh hookers, etc. So, now matter how more or how wisely mamma pleads with him, he won’t budge. He is signing the Covenant.

Almost immediately after Noel finds out that he is going to get to play with all that money, people start trying to kill him. While we never find out exactly who is trying to kill Noel and why, the lack of info doesn’t actually matter. Basically, the movie conveys the idea that there are lots of people who don’t want the children of notorious Nazis to get their hands on billions of dollars. Enter my favorite character from a film honestly littered with great characters, inspector Leighton, played masterfully by Bernard Hepton. A bit of a dandy who, while obviously playing all sides against the other, Leighton steals the film on the strength of his line delivery alone. Classics like, “Oh, dear, oh, dear. Assumption, Mr. Holcroft, is, as they say in my profession, the mother of fuck-up,” and “We must get moving. This place is crawling with all sorts of monsters, most of whom work for me.” If we start giving out retro-active Ruthies, Hepton is in line for the Kingsley.

Also fantastic is Anthony Andrews as Johann von Tiebolt, one of the three eldest Nazi sons. Turns out Johann has some very disturbing designs on the money. More importantly, Andrews delivers one of the best “I’m the bad guy and I’m going to tell you everything before I kill you” monologues in film history. And he actually kills the person he is telling his dastardly plan to. I like using the word “dastardly.” Also very good in their roles were Victoria Tennent as Johann’s sister and Noel’s lover (actually, she’s Johann’s lover, too. Kinky!) and the awesome Richard Münch (he played Col. Gen. Jodl in Patton) as the sufficiently creepy Field Commander Oberst. To me perhaps most interesting of all, were the pre-Ronin car-chase shots. True, there were no actual car-chases in The Holcroft Covenant (well, sort of one), but Herr Frankenheimer was so damn obsessed with the amazing techniques he invented in Grand Prix and later perfected in Ronin, that he had to slip them in whenever Noel was in the car. Stuff like his bumper POV and the really low angles. He even has Noel in a Mercedes 450 SEL, the same car that Robert De Niro launches a rocket out of in Ronin.

The only really negative thing I have to say about Covenant is that it is a tad too predictable. At least three times I called out the what was going to happen five seconds before it happened. Once, I even called the line that was about to be spoken. Er, actually twice. I got a witness, too. Here’s my theory in two parts; first of all, the movie is based on a novel. I’m just “assuming” here, but I am going to bet that the novel was a standard procedural, and by this point in my life, I have witnessed every “device” in existence two hundred dozen times. Which leads me to my next point. I’m thinking that The Holcroft Covenant was such an original and influential film, that all of the scenes I figured out before they occurred is because of the film’s cinematic reach. Seeing it for the first time twenty years after it was made is a no-no, because I was unaware of the movie’s massive prestige and that thriller conventions it introduced have been copied a thousand fold and are now commonplace and the norm. Yeah, lets stick with that one. Anyhow, you should see The Holcroft Covenant if you haven’t already. You’ll dig it.

One Of The Hardest Drummers In All Of Death Metal

We reunited because we were all in a position to where it could fit into our lives without causing grief or a half-assed attempt. We never lost the love to play, we just temporarily lost the love we needed to play successfully together. I’m satisfied with the turnout of the album. It touched all bases of what Suffocation is and it leaves enough room for us to completely destroy on the next album. [Ed Note: Yes! Another album!]

How has the response been to Souls thus far? I’m assuming it has been positive because the merch section of your website has more garb than a fucking Puerto Rican sweatshop. Please elaborate…

We never had a real merch outlet for any Suffo gear in the past, so this is truly the first time fans can access everything we have to offer from the beginning to now. We have a whole new generation of new fans that need it all and need it now. We are here to serve the fans as well as promote ourselves fully, something we definitely lacked in the past.

As for the response to the album, it has been insane and the multiple tours have all been successful. The turnouts have been huge and we are far from being done with the touring requests for this release. To tour nearly two years on one album is what many wish to do. We are fortunate to have a big Earth to conquer and many show requests to satisfy.

The vocals on Souls are much raspier than Frank’s previous material, even the Despise mini disc. Were the super gutturals sidelined intentionally this time, or is Frank just getting to old for that shit?

Our goal was to make the vocals as discernable as possible without abandoning the growl. We spend time writing lyrics and it’s nice to understand them sometimes. So he is now attempting to mix the guttural with a bit of clarity and pronunciation, and I guess mature the role of the singer a little. He’s getting too old for a lot of shit but his signature growl will still blow your wig back more than any.

Have any band members gotten into physical fights with one another in the last 15 years? Drunken yelling matches? Arm-wrestling competitions? Duels? Basically, what I’m asking is, have you ever beaten the shit out of anyone?

There are always drunken yelling matches and we disagree on plenty, mostly work ethics. Myself and Terrance had to get physical for a moment just so we both understood each other this time around. It’s funny that you think I am the bully of the band. For the record, I am the most laid back, level-headed member of this band, but you are correct because I definitely will be the first to choke-out and break down a fool who chooses to disrespect me or any in my camp, just out of principle. I truly believe a real ass-whooping will do more good than bad for a fool who is unfocused; it makes them think about their actions next time and in turn makes them better people. So I guess when I beat someone’s ass, I do it for the good of MANKIND. I am definitely no bully, I just have no patience for stupid people, AT ALL! [Mike Notes: I believe Mike Smith just threatened me]

So the picture on the back side of the liner notes of the Effigy album is the coolest, but also the fucking trashiest, metal pic I’ve ever seen. What were you guys thinking? Mike, you look like a serial killer, Josh looks like a deranged trucker, and Frank looks like a god damn heroin addict with that Trump Plaza shirt on. How old were you guys back then? How did this picture make it into the album?

We were thinking this is death metal, and nobody had shown us any different, so we will come as we are. The last thing we were going to do was put on a front for the people and dress up. No spikes, no chains, no blood needed, we will destroy you with skill alone. That was our attitude at the time and pretty much still is. I was 17, the rest were 19. It made it into the album because no one knew any better, including Roadrunner records [Mike Note: Frank was only nineteen?!! Fuck me, he looks thirty-five in that pic].

Other than the upcoming DVD, what else is Suffocation currently working on? Any plans for another record? Seriously, Ruthless will front the money if Relapse won’t. Now that I think about it, what will be featured on the DVD?

We are working on writing new material and fulfilling tour obligations. What will be featured on the DVD is what the fans have suggested on our website forum. Way too much to list in this interview.

Speaking of Relapse, how have they been treating you guys? Personally, I think they’ve set the standard with many of their releases over the years, but they can be pretty darn stingy sometimes. Not once have they ever sent Ruthless a CD or sampler. Thoughts?

We handle the majority of our decisions and affairs. We don’t rely on the label as a crutch. I suppose if we were to ask for anything in particular they would seriously consider it, but we don’t ask much. The relationship we have is a good one. No bad blood, just good relations with all involved.

How do you feel about bowling? We are big bowling fans here at Ruthless. I used to drink and roll once a week in a really seedy bowling alley, I mean like 40-year-old single women with mullets doing karaoke in the bar and shit–basically, a truckstop whorehouse. Good times. Did I mention I’ve also bowled in 8 different states? Uh, when was the last time you bowled?

I don’t feel anything about bowling. It’s almost as exciting as golf. [Ed Note: Blasphemy!] There is nothing wrong with the truckstop whores that frequent the lanes though. That would be the sole reason I would go–to show off my “Ball Skills.” The last time I bowled was maybe at a friend’s birthday party or something back when I was still growing my first pubic hairs and actually going to birthday parties. I got something for those truckstop whores now though.

What ever happened to Doug Cerrito? Why did he leave the band? He was a pretty integral part of Suffocation for a long time. Is everyone still friends, or did you have to whoop his ass?

No, I never beat up on Doug. We both respected each others’ style and avoided crossing it. All I know about his life today is that he runs his own biz that is very successful and that’s about it that I know for a FACT. Anything else is just guessing and assumption, which I don’t do [Mike Note: I, however, do make assumptions, and I’ll assume here and now that Doug still has his perm].

What’s the story with Breeding the Spawn? Don’t get me wrong, I love all of Suffocation’s material but compared to the other full-lengths, Breeding sounds like horseshit. What happened?

The story is, when you let the label dictate your moves and actions you often get unthoughtout decision making. Either way the material will still make the supposed “best” cringe trying to figure it out how to play it correctly (ask our new bass player and guitarist how it is to learn Breeding material). Bad sound, but insane writing for that time. It contained a lot of the styles and musical approaches that are out today.

I said that Souls was a much needed album because the current state of death metal is a fairly sad one–what I like to call the crippled and gangrenous death metal horse. Being the veterans that you are, having seen the rise and fall of greats like Pestilence, Carcass, Gorguts, Obituary, etc., where do you think the genre is headed?

The genre is on the verge of success, as well as destruction at the same time. The biggest disappointment to me is that it has become norm for the drummers to avoid groove and diversity at all cost, which is sad. If you listen to Pestilence, Carcass, Death, or Gorguts you will see the difference. The need to grind 100% of an album will be the death of us all. If a drumming great like Buddy Rich or Neil Peart were to listen to the majority of the bands, I truly doubt they would be impressed with anything other than the stamina required to do so. Other than that I would feel the need to explain why it is I chose the same groove and tempo for every single song on my album. It would be a sad awakening for sure.

Lastly, how do you feel about black metal? You’ve played with black metal and pseudo-black metal bands, most recently Behemoth, and surely you’ve noticed the shinguards, corpsepaint, shoulder-pads, spikes, bullet-belts, battle axes, etc. Granted, there are some excellent black metal bands out there, but am I the only one who thinks it’s a bit over-the-top? Even slightly homoerotic?

I don’t feel anything in particular for or against black metal. If the costumes and religious beliefs are what sell your albums, then continue on. My version of black metal is myself and Terrance Hobbs without the spikes and love for the devil. [Ed Note: Horgh!!!]

TRUE BLACK METAL KULT!!!

A Finnish Legend’s Thoughts On Death Metal, Beer, LARP, White Russians, Finnish Chicks, Beer, Orgies, American Politics, Drunks, 80s Action, Being Drunk, Ruthless And Wimpy Norwegians Who Can’t Handle Thier Liquor/Battle Axes

Hail Wilska! So, I’ll just skip all the introductory nonsense and get right to the good stuff– the Finnish metal scene. It has kind of exploded in recent years, has it not? Throughout the 90s, Finnish death/black metal was definitely overshadowed by what was coming out of both Sweden and Norway. Now, it seems as if you guys aren’t quite the bitch-slapped, red-headed stepchildren everyone initially thought. What are the reasons for this? Despite bands like Beherit and Impaled Nazarene, why did it take more time for the scene to really get going in Finland?

Well, the scene was up, running and going places since the beginning of the 90s. It just took a lot of time from you yobs outside our borders to catch up. I guess the scenes elsewhere in Scandinavia were so much cooler and media-friendly than us rednecks up here, so they had sweeter asses to kiss. I think while everyone else was busy copying that troo grim Norwegian BM sound or the Swede Deathcrunch for their albums, the Finnish village idiots stayed at the rehearsal place developing a sound of their own, and yes, we have our copycat bands but still there is a healthy idea of getting your own sound and ideas going ’round here. Why then didn’t a lot of these supposedly great Finnish bands ever get noticed you may ask? Well fuck me if I know, but to your original question, yes, the Finnish metal sort of got famous really quickly, and I do believe a lot of bands deserve all the attention they get. You can just see the diversity of bands that are coming out of here in recent years.

What kind of response has Finntroll received since being backed by Century Media? How has this been good for the band? Are you now singed to Century Media, or have they simply licensed the new material from Spikefarm? And why in the flying Finnish fuck have you not come over and toured the United States? Sure, we all know this place sucks, but c’mon, any plans to come to Los Angeles? Hell, you can stay with us while you’re here. Do we have a deal?

Yes, we have a deal indeed. I can here and now finally state that we are flying over there to kick your collective arses in the spring ‘06, after we release the next album. Considering the label situation, we are still signed to Spikefarm and licensed to Century Media. But who knows what will happen in the near future…I don’t, really. Century Media has done a lot of great promotion for us and we actually do have a great relationship with CM Europe guys. They come to our shows, we all get shit-faced and party…same thing with Spike. As to why we have not come over there before, nobody has booked us, duh. We have had negotiations on a few occasions but nothing happened.

As much as I enjoy Jaktens Tid and the older material, I really think the Natfödd-Trollhammaren session resulted in the most accomplished Finntroll material to date. The song writing, vocals, and production are top-notch. How do you feel about the progression of the band over the last few years? What are you guys currently working on, and when can we expect another release?

Thanks mate. I see this band’s career as constant evolution. That’s what makes it interesting and worthwhile for us as musicians. After I joined the band in 2003, we have been touring a lot, way more than they did before, and I think that has been a big factor in bringing us together as a band and people. I also think that doing stuff like the Visor Om Slutet, acoustic, ambient music, proved to us that we can pretty much do anything we want and there will be people who allow us that leeway and appreciate what we try to accomplish. Still, I think making music for us has always been a lot of fun and when it ceases to be that, we’ll do something else. Now we are working on the next album. We should be going to the studio in September and getting it out in February next year. Expect the unexpected…

As you might have guessed, most of the people on the Ruthless staff, me included, are big drinkers. We drink a lot of beer. In fact, Jonny brews his own award winning beers. How often do you drink? Is there an official Finntroll beer? Vodka? I prefer Finnish vodkas like Finlandia over the Swedish variety myself. Absolut is absolute dogpiss for the most part. Thoughts?

As you might have guessed, the Finntroll gentlemen occasionally enjoy a drink or two, for purely medicinal purposes of course. I am just in the process of writing a tour report of our last tour in Europe and here’s a rough estimate of what we consumed on those 34 days on the road: 100 cases of beer, 50 litres of vodka, 15 litres of whisky, 20 litres of tequila, 30 litres of assorted treats (Bailey’s, Bokma, local booze surprises), 100 bottles of red wine.

I personally like good cocktails like Screwdrivers, White Russians, Bloody Mary’s when I’m out and I’m really partial to British type dark beers and real ales. If I am home I go out to bars almost every weekend, although as I’m getting on in years I have had to tone it down a notch. The official Finntroll beer? Free beer. As for vodka, I do like Finnish vodka a lot but there are some truly great Russian varieties that piss on all other products. Absolut? Hmmm…there are some flavoured Absoluts that are kinda ok but I prefer other brands. There is actually an “official” Finntroll drink we consume and share with others all the time. It is called Fiskarens Fiende (Fisherman’s Foe) or Ze Infamous Brown Water. You make this drink by taking up a litre of any decent vodka, taking a gulp of the bottle, then introducing a bag of Fisherman’s Friends candies into the bottle. Close and let the candies melt into the vodka until it is disgustingly brown in colour. Consume in good company while yelling, growling, and slamming the bottles to the table after every swig. The best part is that this drink can be used to replace brushing teeth on tour.

In Ireland, there is a small population of people called “Tinkers” or “travellers.” Essentially, they’re a nomadic group of uncertain ethnic origin, probably pre-Celt. They speak Shelta, a language that is not spoken by the mainstream Irish population. They are generally looked down upon and considered to be ugly, primitive, and mischievous. Finland has its own population of “travellers,” the Sámi, who also speak a different language/dialect. How are these people looked upon by the Finnish majority? What political stance does Finntroll take in regard to a subculture that has 400 different words to describe reindeer?

It was not until the 1970s that the “witchcraft” section was taken out of the Finnish law, which stated that if a Finnish person meets a Sámi person practising witchcraft, i.e., Yoik-singing or playing a witchdrum, it was legal to kill the Sámi on the spot. The Sámi culture is fascinating, and we have taken some aspects of that culture into our music and lore. We have used Yoik-singing and taken stories from the Lappish sagas. They are a minority that live far away, on their own, and a majority of the Finnish public never encounter their culture. But yes, what can you say of a people who sing incomprehensibly, drink a lot, and castrate their reindeers by biting? Fascinating.

Ruthless is big in Finland, as well as the rest of Scandinavia. At one point, just after the release of the Top Ten Most Ridiculous Black Metal Pics, 12% of our traffic was coming from Finland. Why do you think Ruthless and Finland have come to love each other so much? Also, what do you think of our 80s Action Guide? Do you enjoy the candid violence, gun-worship, and rampant homosexuality of 80s Action movies as much as we do? If so, please give us your personal top five 80s Action movies…

I actually didn’t know we get along so well. There is something special about the Finnish sense of humour that doesn’t go down too well in various places in the world. And I think your site matches that quite nicely. 80s Action movies…oh man. I was actually always a bit more into the really trashy 70’s exploitation flicks–Ilsa series, Dolemite, Russ Meyer’s tittyflicks, etc. There was this video store (well actually a gas station) near my house that was a virtual goldmine for us kids seeking good clean wholesome fun. I mean, the amount of great action and horror shit me and my bro El Peso got from that place…we actually still from time to time have these quality movie nights with beer, popcorn and old Lee Van Cleef or Bronson movies. I still collect movies a lot so here’s my Top 5:

1. The Exterminator: this movie was amazing when I saw it at the gentle age of 15 and it is brilliant still, unmatched in sheer brutality, violence and lyrical storyline.
2. Octagon, Delta Force: Chuck Norris movies are the shit. It’s impossible to name an absolute favourite but these two stuck in mind the best, total slugfest and Chuckie’s dry humour.
3. Shogun Assassin: can a movie with ninjas where over 500 people get killed in very graphic ways be bad? Fuck you, says I.
4. Death Wish series: what can I say about Charles Bronson that has not been said a million times? Ol’ stoneface excelled in westerns but really hit the jackpot with these totally immoral and cynical vengeance sagas. Four thumbs up!
5. Commando: there is something so inherently gay about this Governator movie, but still one of the coolest “how many guys can we possibly waste in one scene” flicks in movie history.

Turisas are a fellow Finnish metal band. Perhaps you know them? What do you think of this picture? Has Finntroll ever played naked?

Turisas are actually quite good. The picture, what can you say? If ya got it, flaunt it. With risk of sounding Ruthless I would say, if you cannot use your head, show your cock! That was actually the title of one great old Finnish punk song. We have never played nude because that would be just too fuckin’ cruel to the viewers. Our keyboardist had a habit of playing shows without pants under that sack cloth thingy he used to wear. Brutal! Offstage we show our manhood to anyone even remotely interested. Very few people actually are.

Everyone seems to describe Finntroll as a Humppa, or polka-metal band. I’d rather refer to you as a very unique and diverse death metal band, but to each his own I suppose. What concepts and instruments do you borrow from this traditional form of music? Are there Humppa clubs in Finland where people go and dance? Have you ever been to a Humppa club? Don’t you fucking lie to me either.

Well that is an easy label for people to put up on us. The things we take from Humppa are the alternate picking bass lines accompanied with the drumbeat, and the use of accordion. That’s about it. But especially for Germans it’s an easy enough label to pin on us. (Ed Note: Fucking Germans!) There are not really Humppa clubs, but there are these smaller dance halls all over the countryside where people gather to dance the traditional Humppa, tango, waltz, and yes, I have been to those. When I was younger and growing up in the country, we used to once or twice in a summer just go to one of those places in my friend’s ‘65 Chevy Bel Air, dressed in black suits, and drink a lot of booze and get into trouble. Great fun at the time. Plus I have sung in a dance music band like that for one year as a very cruel inside joke in which I will not go into any further.

So Abbath and Immortal have decided to challenge Finntroll to an old fashion Midsummer’s Eve brawl. Your national pride is on the line, Norwegians vs. Finns. Immortal show up drunk, wielding the very weapons featured on the cover of Sons of Northern Darkness. While you (Finntroll) outnumber Immortal 2 to 1, you are only armed with your instruments. Yes, Trollhorn will have to fight with his keyboards. It all comes down to the last man standing. Who wins?

We do. You said that they arrive drunk? Norwegians can not compete with us if there is alcohol involved. This has been proven many, many times with for example members from Dimmu Borgir. The only Norwegians that have taken and prevailed in the Finntroll drinking challenge are our mates Enslaved. Those fuckers can really pound it with the best. Well, back to the brawl. Do you really think a souvenir axe is a match to a Gibson Les Paul? You can do some REAL damage with that baby. But still, I think this would end in the best possible way as we are not violent men. We’d probably just skip the violence and proceed to settle this by a good-hearted drinkfest until we all speak the common language known as “drunken idiot.” The misty morning would find a merry bunch of men singing lewd songs with Trollhorn accompanying with his keyboard. Then we would raid the surrounding countryside for moonshine and farmers’ daughters. Just basic Scandinavian midsummer activities.

Skrymer plays guitar for Finntroll and also does all of the cover art and illustrations, which are exceptional. Does he work as a professional artist in Finland? What kind of side-jobs do you drunks have?

Nah, he just sits at home–high–and draws. Last time he had a job he was behind the counter in a record store. Most of us have day jobs, as we are not yet huge, filthy-rich rockstars. I work in a music store and do tech support for studio equipment and software. Trollhorn has a job making sounds and music for games. Others have odd jobs or study.

So tell us a little bit about Finnish women. Is it easy to get them in bed? How kinky are they on the whole? Does Fintroll have its own harem of groupies? If so, how often does the band engage in sexual activity with said groupies? Has Finntroll been involved in an orgy of any kind? Please explain…

Finnish women–can’t live with ‘em, can’t practise heterosexual sex without ‘em. Finnish women are not easy to get in the sack, except while drunk. And they drink as much as us men so this has never been a major problem. Then…define kinky? Heh, I guess all women all over the world get pretty down and funky when given a chance and a consequence-free environment, and Finnish ladies are no exception, believe you me. Finntroll doesn’t have a groupie harem; we have a small clan of wives and girlfriends who are able to kick our asses thoroughly so we refrain from the groupie scene. Not that many ladies would be willing to put up with this bunch of drunken, over-weight Finnish goons anyway. All the so called groupies we encounter seem for some reason to be either considerably older or suffering from severe mental problems. Orgies? As a band, no way Jose. I could put it like this: You are in a room, naked. There are ladies and then there are your band mates. All of you have erections. You see the erections of the other guys and are still able to retain yours? Hello!!! Is there anybody in that closet? So, no, but as private individuals? Do really believe I’m going to tell? (Ed Note: I knew it! Finntroll are gay.)

Are you familiar with the term LARP? Has Finntroll ever practised Live-action Role Playing, or LARP? By that, I mean have you ever dressed up in chainmaille and other assorted garments and fought each other or anybody else with padded weapons or imaginary magical powers? Have you ever re-enacted an ancient Finnish battle of any kind?

Does drunken fighting among the band count as re-enacting? Guess not. Well, I am familiar with the term, LARP, but I never got into it much as I HAVE A LIFE!!! The idea of running around in woods with other geeks wielding padded swords is so fucking alien to me that…dunno. Then I was slain by an elf…

Lastly, I and the rest of Ruthless want to thank you and the rest of Finntroll for the interview. Any final comments?

Not really. I can just say I enjoy your site way more than I enjoyed this interview and you owe me a stiff drink when we head your way next year. Nah, just keep up the good work, and to all ya’ll people out there in la-la land: drink beer, worship Satan, listen to Black Sabbath, and elect Scott Baio for your next president…he’s the true American hero. Or Ron Jeremy. Cheers!