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Dog Fashion Disco | Adultery | review | metal | Lollipop
Dog Fashion Disco
by Scott Hefflon
Stupid fuckin' name or not, Dog Fashion Disco is always a fun time. Like that weird dude from System of Down (who makes an appearance here) and "art rock" I steered clear of cuz I didn't wanna get my ass kicked by my deathneck buddies, DFD is "weird" and "alternative" and dances naked in the back of your mind, while jackhammering your defensives with coy melodies, Mike Patton theatrics, spiraling jazz sax, and grinding death metal fist-fucking.
Yeah, one or two songs and your mind will hurt, and you'll realize just how safe "alternative" music has become. Even references like Tool and Acid Bath (also on Rotten, god bless their blackened souls) seem really straight-forward in comparison.
Things settle down after a bit, the songs shaking their spy zombie asses all jerky like Dead Kennedys, and then Foetus in swank mode slithers up to the bar and shoves a forked tongue in your mouth and biker-ringed finger up your ass.
Like the greats, Dog Fashion Disco can whip out emo metal ("The Darkest Days") as easily as they can hypnotize with the Cash via Misfits spaghetti Western ("Desert Grave"), and then Slayerize your senses with "100 Suicides," which flip-flops effortlessly into a trippy, mellow croon. Older fans of art punk clusterfuck who long ago gave up on music cuz it's all posturing mop-top allowance-spending rebellion you can get in variety packs at the mall, and newer fans of System of a Down and anything Mike Patton touches who wish there were more bands like them - preferable smarter than Mushroomhead and American Head Charge and other "weird" bands who are 2% weird and 98% hype - well, here's another find for ya. I get flashes of Foetus' malevolent schmaltz, and anything that does that is worth recommending.