Suddenly I feel like going back in time and bumping my last review of EUGENIC DEATH up a solid point. Why? I had OVERTHROW, and their newest release, "Adjust to Darkness", dropped on my lap like a plate of hot tomato soup. Not only do I not like having hot soup dropped on me, but I also don't really care for tomato soup, either. So it's a double whammy of misery making a beeline for the testicles.

Having said that, there is a lesson in this. Remember several reviews back I made the case that I should never let my Editor-in-Chief decide what to review for me, because he has the precognitive ability to know what I will despise? Well it seems I must have suffered some kind of temporary brain damage, amnesia, or random-onset-retardedness, because I thought, for some reason, it would be a good idea to let him just pick something and send it my way.

In a nutshell, this album is shit. A shit sandwich with a shit-olive attached to it via toothpick. A shit sundae with liquid shit sauce. A Shit steak with shit gravy. A Shit-shotgun with an under barrel foregrip, also made of shit. This band has been labelled as "Thrash Metal", and, correct me if I am wrong, but I don't hear anything like Thrash Metal stemming from this album. Mostly it just sounds like some Norwegian trying to sound like both a California surfer bro and Macho Man Randy Savage simultaneously. It not only doesn't work, but you can't understand a fucking word this guy is saying. I swear parts of the second song sound like he is yelling "CHOCOLATE SAUCE!" ad nauseum - he might be, in all honesty. On a related note, what the fuck is with modern Metal music and its obsession with un-understandable lyrics? Is this like some overwhelmingly complex prank being played on me? Because it's working spectacularly.

There is a very good reason your amateur, local band never really goes anywhere. Sure, maybe it's just because of selfish, egotistical record companies that don't give a shit about the artists, who care only for sapping what profit is there to be had until the teat is naught but a shriveled, pink raisin emitting only sporadic puffs of dust. Or maybe it's just that your band is so terrible that the only thing a record exec would consider signing them to is a piece of loose-leaf paper with the words "Fuck You" scribbled on it in crayon.