Chris Krovatin

Say what you like about the armed forces or gun control or murderers, but if you think that weapons aren’t a natural part of being a smart animal, you’re not paying attention.

In the movie Airheads, metal singer Chazz Darvey (played by Brendan Fraser) has to come clean to his hot blonde girlfriend (played by the smoking Amy Locane) that he was once a huge nerd.

Opinions, as the old saying goes, are like assholes: Everyone has one, and they’re usually full of shit.

It’s 1999, metal music is officially in the crapper, and all my friends are dying their braids green. One day, while grabbing a copy of Korn’s Issues, I saw a copy of Darkane’s Rusted Angel on the rack.

Baalberith, are you ready to—woah. Hold on. Wait. You are NOT going to Gigantour dressed like that.

Man, weren’t the holidays great? What a blast. Now, time to get dressed and start a new year of…huh. That’s strange, my pants don’t fit.

As Dark Angel once poignantly put it, death is certain—life is not.

Body parts shaken during Clutch’s set: Money-Maker, Groove Thang, That Ass, Tailfeather.

Deep within the icy bowels of the Northlands, Klaus lashes the last of his fetid parcels to his flying doom-engine, known only as the Open Slay.

“Well, that’s a tough one,” I said, “because you’re looking at two very different entities altogether here. Metallica are a band driven by very different motives from Slayer.