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Fear Factory
The Toll of a New Machine
Featuring
Rotting Christ, Call & Response with Sigh, Harvey Milk, Arsis, Q&A with Richard Christy, Only Death Is Real book excerpt, the making of Saint Vitus's Born Too Late
Also
Orphaned Land, Sacrifice, Hysteria, Holy Grail, Hacride, Monarch!, Annotations of an Autopsy
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Kittie
In the Black
A less profitable trend is still a trend | E1
Give it up to the ladies of Kittie—the former nü-metal wunderkinds have navigated the arduous road from novelty to legitimacy better than most. The gallop-chug-gallop odes to Ride the Lightning and Spreading the Disease on In the Black make it easy to forget Kittie broke back in 1999 with “Brackish,” a milquetoast semi-anthem overflowing with the screechy guitars, Jonathan-Davis-jock-riding mumble-shriek vocals, and trippy faux electronica breakdowns endemic to that thankfully bygone era of frayed JNCO jean bottoms, wide enough for a flower child to snort in derision, swallowing young feet beating paths through malls to Spencer Gifts for bondage gear lite and wearable Nightmare Before Christmas knickknacks.
If past really were prologue, Kittie would be sharing a mirrored vanity set with Vixen and Precious Metal in obscurity purgatory right now. Instead, the band stuck it out, scuttled the bombastic jejune high drama of its early work/image, gradually de-slut-ified its look—a quasi-revolutionary act when the baby doll dresses of some contemporary metalcore ladysingers could be charged with two counts of battery for crimes against their own constricted, exposed cleavage—and, most importantly, released a series of ever-heavier, more substantive records. Kittie passed Max Cavalera on the heavy metal escalator and, incredibly, the pretty girls pale enough to make the fey, marginally male vampire from Twilight look like a tanning bed addict were the ones headed the right direction. Alas, there is no shortage today of young bands biting off ’80s thrash even as the actual aging titans rise to clash again. Hell, Metallica made a public fuss out of digging through their own haystack of ’70s cock rock for that elusive Ride the Lightning needle. With its surprisingly clever riffing and Morgan Lander’s maturing Jeff Walker growl, In the Black continues an admirable evolution, but remains still not quite ahead of the curve. —Shawn Macomber
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