admin
22 December 2023
LOVE
“A.18? That’s the band’s name? What the fuck is that supposed to mean? And what’s up with these trite ass suicide photos on the packaging? Oh, this review is gonna be great.”
That’s exactly what I thought when I opened up Forever After Nothing, A.18’s latest release on Victory Records. There really are photos of people acting out suicide, and I really did think I was gonna use this disc as a clay pigeon. But luck o’ the Irish, these guys are anything but the crybaby hair band that I thought they would be. On the complete opposite end of the spectrum, this Southern Californian quintet comes out of the gate like a full throttle, pissed-off gorilla that hasn’t been laid in months. Wait a minute,.. that's me. Anyway, the tempos are fast, the lyrics are piercing, and the mood of the beats is enough to make a grown man cry for his binky. Just imagining what one of A.18’s live shows is like brings images of severed tongues and splintered bone to mind. My sexual fantasies aside, Forever After Nothing is true, eardrum-smashing hardcore, through and through. It’s definitely a welcome break from the cookie-cutter pop-punk that’s oh-so-rad these days. Go to victoryrecords.com for more info.
HATE
In the endless sea of fecal that makes up the radio airwaves, there are a few gems that slide past Clear Channel’s anti-quality filtration system. The yet-to-be-named, first full length album from Ill Kidd, however, is NOT one of those gems. Nope. It’s shit swimming in shit. Scapegoat Wax gone wrong, this guy makes Fred Durst look like Che Guevara. It’s like the soundtrack to American Pie 2,.. only worse. Listening to this is like dropping out of high school to become a truck driver, and then having to moonlight at Denny’s so you can afford Similac for your fifth baby with your third pregnant girlfriend. What’s that? You want to know what the actual “music” is like? Well, imagine every college radio song you’ve ever heard where some kid turns his hat backwards, gets drunk, smokes a blunt, and suddenly he’s hip-hop. Imagine all of that mixed in with the leftover drum loops and guitar riffs that fell on the cutting room floor during the late ‘90s tsunami of dead grunge and twenty-something butt rock. I’m talking about the shit the fucking Goo Goo Dolls wouldn’t even touch. Yeah, that about sums Ill Kidd up for me. If you’d like to learn more, go to illkidd.com. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.
“A.18? That’s the band’s name? What the fuck is that supposed to mean? And what’s up with these trite ass suicide photos on the packaging? Oh, this review is gonna be great.”
That’s exactly what I thought when I opened up Forever After Nothing, A.18’s latest release on Victory Records. There really are photos of people acting out suicide, and I really did think I was gonna use this disc as a clay pigeon. But luck o’ the Irish, these guys are anything but the crybaby hair band that I thought they would be. On the complete opposite end of the spectrum, this Southern Californian quintet comes out of the gate like a full throttle, pissed-off gorilla that hasn’t been laid in months. Wait a minute,.. that's me. Anyway, the tempos are fast, the lyrics are piercing, and the mood of the beats is enough to make a grown man cry for his binky. Just imagining what one of A.18’s live shows is like brings images of severed tongues and splintered bone to mind. My sexual fantasies aside, Forever After Nothing is true, eardrum-smashing hardcore, through and through. It’s definitely a welcome break from the cookie-cutter pop-punk that’s oh-so-rad these days. Go to victoryrecords.com for more info.
HATE
In the endless sea of fecal that makes up the radio airwaves, there are a few gems that slide past Clear Channel’s anti-quality filtration system. The yet-to-be-named, first full length album from Ill Kidd, however, is NOT one of those gems. Nope. It’s shit swimming in shit. Scapegoat Wax gone wrong, this guy makes Fred Durst look like Che Guevara. It’s like the soundtrack to American Pie 2,.. only worse. Listening to this is like dropping out of high school to become a truck driver, and then having to moonlight at Denny’s so you can afford Similac for your fifth baby with your third pregnant girlfriend. What’s that? You want to know what the actual “music” is like? Well, imagine every college radio song you’ve ever heard where some kid turns his hat backwards, gets drunk, smokes a blunt, and suddenly he’s hip-hop. Imagine all of that mixed in with the leftover drum loops and guitar riffs that fell on the cutting room floor during the late ‘90s tsunami of dead grunge and twenty-something butt rock. I’m talking about the shit the fucking Goo Goo Dolls wouldn’t even touch. Yeah, that about sums Ill Kidd up for me. If you’d like to learn more, go to illkidd.com. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.
artid
1151
Old Image
5_6_love&hate.jpg
issue
vol 5 - issue 06 (feb 2003)
section
entertainmental