If you gave a bunch of musicians a crash course on “What Rock Should Sound Like” and then let them make a record, soulless junk like this would result. Eat Me is an unintentional mockery of rock heritage. Eat and drink Manson's record and receive only horrid gas in return. I like a cartoony Marilyn that creeps around on stilts wearing a diaper and declaring himself some kind of deity. That's what I want from my antichrist superstar. If I'm looking for introspection—you know, like how real people do—I'll rustle up a folk singer.
Even if you're sick of garage rock, Brimstone Howl's toting enough punk and blues along to keep things interesting. Perfectly crummy and lo-fi, you know these players serve it up drunk and sweaty in Nebraska's bars and house parties. Still, their raw sound is awfully tight. It's a well-rehearsed crudeness, but never too practiced or careful. What's the saying? Make a song. Work your song. Don't let your song work you. The lyrics are great, too. Find yourself shouting along, “Touch down, touch down, touch down, cyclone!” or “I am a man, I am a man, M-A, M-A, M-A-N woo!”
Josh Holme is probably never going to make another Songs for the Deaf. Get comfortable with that. He's not one to repeat himself. Era Vulgaris is taking a lot of flak from fans for being so damned odd. I'm enamored with this disc—by its ability to be so bizarre while still weaving what I can only call pop hooks over and under and through. If you like the other stuff, buy this one. It won't spark immediate rocking, but in a couple of months, Era Vulgaris will be in your stack of faves, worn from all that eventual cuddling.