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Tombstones - Not for The Squeamish

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 August 5 2010 at 06:08:59 PM



I’m your Huckleberry. If Impetigo is an all road kill patty on an expired sesame seed bun smothered in char-grilled chicken hearts, Tombstones is a Bubba Burger drowned in Velveeta. Pub grub aside, my experience with death metal is split between two camps of independent thought and process.

For some, collecting McFarlane’s Monster Series figures and dusting off the Evil Dead trilogy for weekend viewing is not just a rite of passage; it’s a reason for living. Theirs is a world of Repulsion and Abscess back patches, house party gigs, and weekends built on beer crutches. Baseness is sometimes necessary to get one’s point across. When the point is “Death,” the slope is slippery. But that’s not logic that defies footholds; it’s gore.

For others, it’s triathlons, body sculpting, and fighting revolting stagnancy. Spicy food and fast cars don’t always “work.” We often need something more. Something personal. Something goal-based. I can relate to these needs, and the people who need them. Some death metal is very much of this faction—refined, muscular, and cut of all unnecessary fat as my favorite writing is. Were Tombstones running a marathon, it would do so on a walker constructed of rusty, bloodstained scythes. They certainly would not come in first, but they’d take a few lives before they crossed the finish line.

The first time I listened to Not for The Squeamish I convinced myself Tombstones was death metal. Then my listening experiences netted a curiously different result each time. The second time was pure filth, like licking Eyehategod’s van carpeting after a 40-date tour. The third time was very metal, transcending anything released by Earache or the post-fight comments from your pick of the UFC. The fourth time was death metal. But not the sculpted, refined sort I’m particularly drawn to. This death metal will not overload small rooms with a too-big sound. It will not threaten you. It will not make you question the invisible barrier between band and audience, or some bands’ need to indulge their childish gross-out tendency. That’s fine. To evoke Robert Christgau, perhaps my tastes will “broaden” rather than “evolve.”

For now, I want Tombstones’ brand of death metal like I want morbid obesity. Collecting plastic figurines always seemed as odd as women who can’t purchase enough shoes. And I’ve never been a fan of Repulsion, Abscess, house parties, or beer. Maybe I’m not metal. (I’m certainly not as metal as Tombstones.) But that’s fine. When I need to smell figurative blood, and imagine myself as an ageless Pugsley Addams, I’ll listen to Tombstones. Maybe…

[Stewart Voegtlin]

Tombstones
Not for The Squeamish
Razorback Records
2010

Comments (5)

  • 15 comments
    FF
    11:52 AM on Aug 13, 2010 // reply »
    boo yaw
  • 1 comment
    wr43f3
    8:55 AM on Aug 16, 2010 // reply »
    Not a Repulsion fan? What the fuck is wrong with this guy? But then I remembered you're the same person who apparently dislikes God of Emptiness. I think you live too close to a power line or something.
  • 5 comments
    Autonocuous
    4:19 PM on Aug 31, 2010 // reply »
    Music is all personal taste and you cannot force anyone to like anything they have already made up their mind on. That being said, You, sir Voegtlin, are not metal. You are however a pretentious douche bag who occasionally has something interesting to share. Those occasions are becoming fewer and fewer these days. If you really collect action figures than that makes you a fucking nerd as well. This fuckin' guy...
  • 374 comments
    VOEGTLIN
    5:21 AM on Sep 01, 2010 // reply »
    Gee, Doc. The couch is reee-leee comfortable and all, but if that's all you got, I'm seeking the sec opinion, dig?
  • 40 comments
    The Right Hand Path
    6:48 AM on Sep 08, 2010 // reply »
    The typical The Left Hand Path style \M/
 

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