Apologies for the feature-related interruptions of this section of late, but time and words—as I’ve learned the hard way—are definitely finite resources. Moving forward you can expect about the same deviation as you’ve been getting, but rest assured, when I don’t have something more substantial already cooking, I will be here, churning these things out all the same.
With Punxsutawney Phil’s surely scientific prediction that this winter will be a short one looming, let’s get at this before the insidious bastions of Sol are loosed once again on this frozen slab of dirt we call hearth, home, and happiness.
Alright, TOGTE is officially back from last week’s brief commercial interruption, and given the 5 straight days of CMJ jangle-core I just siphoned into my ear hole, it’s back with vengeance. Needless to say, don’t touch that dial.
Alright. Here we go. This One Goes To Eleven is officially back from the August dead, and just in time too, with one of the craziest metal weeks of the year waiting in the wings. Grab those headphones, credit cards, and PBRs and let’s get down to business.
Happy early Independence Day, everyone. If you’re looking for a fireworks factory worth of new metal to help get you from here to wherever it is you’ll be watching Randy Quaid fly a fighter jet into the g-spot of an alien space station this weekend, then we have just what you need. Crack something domestic and give it a spin.
The Mets have the best record in baseball, the Rangers are on to the second round of the Stanley Cup Playoffs, and spring is pretty much in full swing. In other words, that bud of contentment in the pit of your being is in serious danger of blooming into actual, terrifying happiness. Thankfully, however, we’re here to help with another dose of soul-crushing noise that is sure to help alleviate those symptoms. Enjoy (but not too much).