The Arockalypse

by

Lordi

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I stumbled across Lordi on DIVX Stage6. As an idealistic and therefore disenchanted Boomer, I'm an unlikely candidate for "death metal". However, Lordi presents a refreshing paradox. In spite of their peculiar subject matter, these folks crank the Marshall amps with such tongue-in-cheek zeal (and so many pyrotechnics) that I can't help but like them. Then, when I found myself humming "Who's Your Daddy?" and smiling in the middle of an otherwise annoying business meeting, I knew I had to buy a copy and rip it to MP3! How could I not support such joyfully in-my-face iconoclasm? When the CD arrived, I was delighted to find that a bonus video was also included. The video clips of Lordi making their way through Athens in full costume are absolutely precious! What a wonderful farce. Rock on!

Lordi comes across as so blatantly calibrated for chaw-chewin NASCAR buttwipes that it's really hard to believe they are from Finland. That's like saying the top ballet school in the U.S. operates on the tarmac at Oakland International Airport. These twits are like Jerry Lewis, sans Dean Martin, banging pots and pans in the basement.

I'm sorry, I don't get the joke, other than that built into the mix is an unspoken Grand Joke by design. If it's such a tongue-in-cheek, farcical, fist-pumping party-down good time, why is it so boring? Tired chops no more biting than Journey and a snarl that brings to mind Wolfman Jack and makes me think surely Alice Cooper is rolling around in his above-ground grave -- oh yeah, but he's a sellout; thanks for reminding me, beatbajer!

Anyhoo. I'm sure none of this is getting through, your brain-cheese stuffed with axle grease, your eye whatzits spinning in reverse, locked into laptop chick meat and bbq pork rinds.