It’s a guarantee in this job that I’ll get the opportunity to
review some absolutely fabulous discs, and be able to sing the
praises of artists and bands who may one day be topping the charts.
It’s also a guarantee that for every one such disc, I’ll have to
wade through quite a bit of mediocre CDs from bands who might have
some promise, but just aren’t at that level yet.
And then, there’s the final guarantee – or is that threat? –
that I’ll be forced to listen to some discs which will make me want
to claw my eardrums out with a gardening tool before the first song
is over. Ladies and gentlemen, meet Seven Foot Spleen and their
debut disc
Enter Therapy, a CD that no poison control center should be
without, since it’s guaranteed to make you want to puke.
Featuring a band whose members are too cool for last names and a
singer (Jon) who has a voice like Joan Jett being forced to drink
battery acid, this punk/thrash quintet tries to display their power
over the course of 70-plus minutes and 12 songs (we’ll get to the
unlisted track later). All the listener will hear, though, is
unfocused, meandering music which doesn’t seem to know which
category it wants to belong to. If it were merely confusing, I
think I could forgive Seven Foot Spleen – but this music is just
bad.
At times, it feels like the group purposely stretches out a song
in order to prove they can write songs longer than three minutes.
Nice try – but trying to flesh out a song that doesn’t have much
there to begin with is kind of like strapping a prisoner in the
electric chair and making him wait while you jokingly push the wall
around the button, never actually hitting the button that will end
the agony of waiting.
Does it sound like I’m being a little rough? Then try sitting
through such sludge as “It Smells,” “Rag Acne,” “Power” and “Clean
Catch Urine Specimen” for yourself, and see how long it takes for
you to yank this disc from the player and smash it against the
wall.
If all this wasn’t enough, the band offers listeners a “gift” at
the end of the disc – the bonus track. The untitled twelfth track
is nothing more than a sound loop, which at times is actually
better than the crap that Seven Foot Spleen included on the disc
proper. But the constant, repetitive drone of this loop is enough
to drive you crazy after two minutes – and it stretches on for far
longer than that. Note to the band: Just because a CD can hold 74
minutes’ worth of music doesn’t mean you have to fill every second
of it.
Enter Therapy is the kind of disc which just might drive
people back to therapy. If there was ever a time to undergo
elective surgery, it might be time to have Seven Foot Spleen
removed.
