Nov 042012

Written by: Phro

It’s a dark and rainy night. The kind of dark and rainy night where you stay home and jerk off your cat with one hand while counting the number of people who love you with the other. (It’s zero people. No one loves you.) Then, when your cat won’t cum and you’re at the darkest depths of despair, you hear a knock at the door. It’s demure,  yet violent; lusty, yet apprehensive. You pretend to sigh as if annoyed at the interruption, but in the shallow, tepid depths of your heart, you know you’re happy.

Removing your sweaty hand from your pet’s raw genitals, you stand and go to open the door and struggle to control your shock and turgid pleasure at seeing this lovely face:

With the heavy breathing of a pedophile learning he’s gotten a job as Naked Bathtime Mickey Mouse at Tokyo Disneyland, you stammer stupidly.

She giggles, takes you by the hand and leads you to your bedroom, where she tells you to strip and remove your clothes. Without pausing, you comply, as eager as a teacher’s pet diving head first and mouth agape into the naked lap of your obese, hairy, sweaty junior high math teacher. Continue reading »

Oct 232012

(In this post, Phro provides an introduction to the music of Japan-based Darkcorpse.  It has something to do with a wolverine’s urethra.)

Hey. I’m Phro. It’s been a while, but your asses are still surely elastic. So stretch ’em out and get ready for some really gritty black metal.

Darkcorpse is a band. They make music that sounds like someone injecting gravel into a wolverine’s urethra via a sandblaster. They have two demos, and you will love them (demo 2, in particular). That’s not a prophesy or a request or even a demand. It is a fact of life in the same way it is a fact that life isn’t worth living if you can’t go out to clubs, meet nice strangers, bring them home, cut large holes in their stomachs, shove in some rabid rodents, and then sew them up and watch the fun on an ultrasound.

Their Bandcamp page informs me “Darkcorpse play a no-frills crust inflected brand of Black Thrash with a touch of doom.” I, literally, have no fucking clue what that means. I mean, I recognize the words, but when it’s all together in sentence form, it kind of makes my brain feel like a cum-sandwich smoothy bubbling up from beneath my eyeballs and rolling down my cheeks. (“My milkshake brings all the boys to the yard.”)

However, if we look at the individual pieces of the sentence, it all makes sense. The vocals, in their crusty/black/trashiness, sound more than anything like the aforementioned wolverine howling in furious anger (not in pain though, that little fuck is more annoyed than anything) just before it rips free from it’s steel bindings and bites clean through your genitals. Continue reading »

Jul 102012

(Our Blog Break is now over, and what better way to get things back to (ab)normal here at NCS than with a review by Phro of the debut EP by a Finnish “duckgrind” band — Artists Are Idiots. The album is entitled The Subduck Scum Shall Fall.)


Islander sent me this band to check out. I pretty much blew every load I had just based on the name and then dry-came until my balls were bloody. I can’t guarantee you’ll like their music, but only because I can’t guarantee that you’re not a brain-dead jackal.


The cell is dark. It smells of feathers and feces. Naziduck shit has a particularly revolting aroma to it, and they know it. Which is why they always, inevitably, shit on their prisoners during interrogation. They want you to stink of their shit to remind you exactly who you belong to.

But I’m still shit free. I wonder for how long.

In the background, I hear the oddly jovial sound of a brass band taking up their instruments. It’s confusingly cheerful. But who knows if Naziducks can smile? They don’t even have fucking lips. That thought reminds me of the Anti-Naziduck commercials they show before each film at the old dime cinema. It’s always the same. An image of regular ducks flapping about a farm yard at first dashing between cow hooves and mindless chickens. Then, without warning, the next morning the farmer awakes to find the chickens have all be killed in the night, along with the cow, and the ducks are digging mass graves. The farmer turns to run to get his shotgun, but it’s too late. The drakes set upon him, tearing his clothes off, taking turns shoving their long, twirling, rapid-fire erections into his brain via his nasal cavity. “Naziducks: Are They In YOUR Barnyard?” the commercial demands before the movie starts. Continue reading »

Jun 242012

“Metal Kitty” by bloodspit.

(This post was written by Phro. He brings us head asplody things.)

In the metal world, there seems to be a lot of anger, hate, filth, and skullfucking. I approve of this. In fact, I approve of this so hard that I sometimes get rage boners for no other reason than that I love how much negativity there is in the metal world. That said, a bit of humor goes a long way to making a good band a great band. And a shitty band an almost tolerable band.

But what we don’t have (for better or for worse) is much cuteness.

Now, that’s to be expected when you get a lot of misanthropes, bitter assholes, badasses, and posers all in the same general area. (I’ll let you decide for yourself which one of the four you are.) But, hey, it’s the weekend, so you have some free time to remove the corpse paint, take off the studded bracelets, hide in your room, and indulge in a little childish, high-pitched squealing and giggling.


Baby Metal has released a new video. I love it. I’m not being ironic, sarcastic, or coy. It’s just fucking absolutely nothing more than shitty Jpop with a few rejected riffs and some random douchebag doing “death metal growls” in the background. But I still love it. (I may have brain damage.) Continue reading »

Jun 202012

(It appears Phro has taken the early results of the NCS Reader’s Poll to heart. Not the part about hand jobs or using more polite language. The part about writing more shit for NCS. Below, Phro reviews new releases by Strong Intention (U.S.), Wake (Canada), Dephosphorus (Greece), and Chemical Tomb (UK).)

Hi. It’s morning. I’m pissed about that. Also, I have three things I’d like to shove in your ear hole. Don’t worry, it won’t be a pleasant experience. Least of all for the cockroaches. Probably you’ll have the second worst time of it. Unless you’re one of these girls. Don’t worry, that’s totally safe for work if you work in the vomit porn industry. Or a daycare. Very informative for children. Teaches them the dangers of not listening when Daddy tells not to touch the drugs. (Bad Phro, no touching Daddy’s drugs.) But Phro wants to play!  Phro wants…


First up! Strong Intention’s Razorblade Express!

Daddy…uh…I mean, Islander sent me some albums for review. The first one was the Rumplestiltskin Grinder album from last week. (Great album, isn’t it?) The other two were short grindcore releases. Usually, when I think of grindcore I think of stuff like Wormrot and Circle of Dead Children. Strong Intention wear their hardcore influences a bit more prominently. In fact, like a lot of hardcore, you can actually almost make out the lyrics. I think. Pretty much all I can accurately catch is “Hate this life!” (Which is incredibly apropos this morning.) It sounds as if there’s a screaming, howling, angry wood-chipper fronting the band. (Daddy says not to play with the wood-chipper or he’ll shove my arm in to teach me a lesson.) Continue reading »

Jun 132012

 (I manipulated Phro into reviewing the new album by Rumpelstiltskin Grinder, because I can. Ghostmaker will be released by Candlelight Records on June 19.)

Islander sent me Rumplestiltskin Grinder’s new album Ghostmaker for review. As with most things our Glorious Leader does, no one really knows why he wanted me of all people to review it. But I did. I thought I’d share the experience with you. It went something like this…


The night is dark like the eyes of a blind corpse. The cold air dangles its long fingers from the sky and runs them listlessly through your hair and over your skin. The sound of a dog whimpering and choking on something fatty in the distance is the only noise in your ears aside from your throbbing heart and timid footsteps.

In your right hand is a bucket of goat cocks, pig testicles, horse vaginas, and frog eyes. In your left hand is a small shovel. And in your hip pocket is a Swiss army knife, because your father told you to always be prepared. You forgot your flashlight, though, because, let’s face it, no one’s memory improves much after a few dozen shots of Jack Daniels. Fortunately, the moon is full, and its obese, pimply face, glistening like a glitter-covered Santa Clause climbing a few flights of stairs, sheds enough light for you to see.

You’ve been walking for a few minutes, having parked your car at the edge of the cemetery, but soon you see what you’ve come for. The headstone is simple and uninspiring, and the name is illegible in this light, but, let’s be honest, it matters little who lies beneath.

You set the bucket down, careful not to spill any of its contents, and begin digging a small hole. After a few minutes, a hole no bigger than your head lies gaping in the fresh soil. From your front pocket you pull out a portable music player, set it on the head stone, and press play. Continue reading »

Jun 062012

(Phro reviews the 2012 free EP by “2 Polish and two English scumbags stuck in the shit hole known as Plymouth”, a/k/a Chemical Tomb.)


Can you think of any genre label more accurate to the genre it describes? Not even “death metal” carries the visceral weight of “holy-fuck-who-just-shoved-a-chainsaw-in-my-ear” that is imparted by the two syllables of “grindcore.” And when you make like a bath salt abuser (salter? bather?) and start chopping wildly at random appendages and slice off the “core,” you just get “grind”: simple and glorious like unrepentant morning wood, standing ready to fuck everything with violent dissonance.

Which brings us to my early morning discovery today: Chemical Tomb.

They seem to have a thing for pot, based on their movie samples. I forgive them because they made my ears cum and bleed at the same time. (Cleed? Blum?)

This EP, if it’s long enough to be anything more than a single, is all of 5 minutes. Perfect for a quickie before work or, if you put it on a loop, to help you get through a few rounds in a cage match. I think. I’m not actually sure how cage matches work…do they involve whiskey? They should. Everything is better with whiskey.

Anyway. The music. Well, obviously, I’m gonna just put that handy little bandcamp player after this. But maybe you’re at work and you can’t listen to music. So you need words—my words, sweaty with exertion and flush with eagerness to please—to give you an idea of what you’re missing out on. Continue reading »

May 282012

(We’ve been discovering a lot of good new Icelandic bands recently, and Azoic is the latest. In this post, Phro reviews their debut album, Gateways.)

So, this evening, I opened up my e-mail inbox at PhroMetal (shameless self promotion alert) to find a message from…Iceland? Wow, that’s pretty cool. I don’t know anyone in Iceland. I’m pretty sure I’d have a hard time just trying to find it on a map. (I’m really bad at cartography.)

Anyway, the e-mail was from a band called, Azoic. I don’t know what that means, but it sounds like the kind of noise that the Joker would make if he accidentally inhaled a balloon filled with laughing gas after being punched in the gut by Batman. They were nice enough to ask me to review their new album, Gateways. (I’m not sure if they’ve read anything I’ve written before, because, really, if they had, they’d probably know better than to send me anything besides death threats. But they included a download link, so, hey, I’m not complaining.)

The e-mail called them a black/death metal band. I think that’s pretty accurate, though also functionally vague. (Which really isn’t their fault. Genre labels are important and helpful most of the time, but once we start breeding subgenres with subgenres, we usually end up with mutated bastard children who have difficulty establishing personalities beyond what their parents gave them.) So, we’re gonna have to get our fingers poopy and talk about this album from the butthole out. (That means we’re going deep, hard, and probably somewhat uncomfortably.) Continue reading »

May 152012

(I just want to apologize in advance for the fact that Phro chose to use the privilege of having the following piece posted at NCS to write in graphic detail about fucking your mom. Because I know he would never say things like this about my mom.)

Ugg. It’s that time of year again. The sun is staying up longer, the temperatures are getting higher, the high school students who smoke dog turds and put bags of flaming pot on my porch have more free time, and, apparently, metalheads will soon be venturing out of their caves to do horrible things with their penises and vaginas in large groups. I suppose it’ll be like Woodstock, but without all the hippies with their long hair and drugs. Oh. Wait. Nevermind.

So, like a good Phro should (according to his mommy…hi, mom!), I’ve found some tours and the bands playing them and analyzed their names. I’m kinda like Tom Hanks in that one movie about Jesus having sex with the Pope crossed with Phillip Seymour Hoffman in that movie where he huffs gas fumes. Now, before we go on, I just have to say that huffing gas fumes is a horrible, horrible idea when smoking pot. There are just some things that you shouldn’t multi-task. One drug at a time, kids.

Also, I got really drunk and fucked your mom last night. Happy Mother’s Day! (I told her it was a present from you. Kinda like this.)

To the tours!

First, apparently there’s a Shockwave Tour. What a stupid fucking name. How about calling it the Brown Note Tour and handing out bullhorns for the audience to fart into? Continue reading »