3 Inches of Pleasure
Everyone’s favourite retro metal traditionalists/parody band returns with their new offering. It seems like they’re getting more traditional and ‘true’ with every album, though that isn’t necessarily a good thing as this, like their last album, falls a bit flat. Advance and Vanquish was so ridiculous and over the top as to be beyond criticism of any kind, even containing a trilogy of songs about Pirates that didn’t make me want to vomit diarrhoea for insulting Running Wild (unlike the tediously shit Failstorm). Then, sadly, 3 Inches of Blood made the fatal error of believing they were a proper band with some serious ideas and Fire Up The Blades was fairly wank.
The problem with their last album was that practically all of the core original members left and were replaced by proper beardy metal heads that weren’t just having a bit of a laugh trying to re-write Maiden and Priests back catalogue but more over the top as they were with the first two. Here Waits Thy Doom, however, scores massive points for not being produced by every generic shit metal fan’s favourite midget drummer, Joey Jordison, and was apparently mixed by someone with the surname Douches.
This album falls somewhere between the two in terms of quality, with the band finding an almost Grim Reaper-esque NWOBHM quality on many songs which is obviously amazing, especially ‘Rock In Hell’, about which Grimmett must be kicking himself that he didn’t use the title first.
A definite plus is the departure of the bell end that did the screaming vocals, because they sounded shit, gay and basically just blocked off the awesomeness of Cam Pipes’ ridiculous high notes, which themselves now have a rough edge no doubt brought about by the years of touring. While the riffs and solos are not quite as instant and in your face as they were on ‘Advance and Vanquish’, songs like Battles and Brotherhood, with its promises to ‒take the posers down” and the Manowarian themes of Fierce Defender and Call Of The Hammer are very welcome indeed, especially if you’re drunk, and as far as I can tell, the chorus of Silent Killer goes ‒Never seen, never heard, a sausage way of life!” Halford would definitely approve.