Wastoid Say Your Prayers
Self-produced
By Anna Novitzky
Remember when you were fourteen and just knew you were going to be in, like, the heaviest metal band in the world, like, ever? Then you grew up a bit, possibly your tastes matured slightly, and you realised that perhaps your glorious vision for the resurrection of the lost splendour of Iron Maiden wasnt the sure-fire winner you had hoped. Well, no ones got around to telling Wastoid that.
The best word I can think of to describe Say Your Prayers is adolescent, closely followed by schizophrenic. The box, with its pentagrams and cod-mystical engravings, promises spandex-and-studs hair metal from the Spinal Tap mould, and from track four onwards this is indeed what is delivered. An unexpected outbreak of medieval recorders and the kind of lyrics youd get in a greetings card with Good Luck On Your Magical Quest emblazoned on the front herald the arrival of unashamed Maiden-worshipping that hangs around for the rest of the album. All the proper elements are there: tinny organs? Check. Short guitar solo? Check. Startling lack of originality? Check. However, the first three tracks come off like the confused offspring of Sid Vicious and a small yappy dog, weak post-punk ramblings that sound as if they wandered in from a different album. The metal songs are all devils and druids, while the interlopers all have the word rock in the title and are obsessed with rescuing the genre from some unnamed fate (indeed, according to the cover art, Wastoid are five warriors from the depths of Hell, come to save rock and roll).
To their credit, the band have got oomph, but its directionless, derivative oomph that carries no message and will turn no heads. You want to save rock and roll, sweetie? Go away and come back when youve realised Manowar arent gods, and then perhaps well see.
3/10
Official Wastoid website
Self-produced
By Anna Novitzky
Remember when you were fourteen and just knew you were going to be in, like, the heaviest metal band in the world, like, ever? Then you grew up a bit, possibly your tastes matured slightly, and you realised that perhaps your glorious vision for the resurrection of the lost splendour of Iron Maiden wasnt the sure-fire winner you had hoped. Well, no ones got around to telling Wastoid that.
The best word I can think of to describe Say Your Prayers is adolescent, closely followed by schizophrenic. The box, with its pentagrams and cod-mystical engravings, promises spandex-and-studs hair metal from the Spinal Tap mould, and from track four onwards this is indeed what is delivered. An unexpected outbreak of medieval recorders and the kind of lyrics youd get in a greetings card with Good Luck On Your Magical Quest emblazoned on the front herald the arrival of unashamed Maiden-worshipping that hangs around for the rest of the album. All the proper elements are there: tinny organs? Check. Short guitar solo? Check. Startling lack of originality? Check. However, the first three tracks come off like the confused offspring of Sid Vicious and a small yappy dog, weak post-punk ramblings that sound as if they wandered in from a different album. The metal songs are all devils and druids, while the interlopers all have the word rock in the title and are obsessed with rescuing the genre from some unnamed fate (indeed, according to the cover art, Wastoid are five warriors from the depths of Hell, come to save rock and roll).
To their credit, the band have got oomph, but its directionless, derivative oomph that carries no message and will turn no heads. You want to save rock and roll, sweetie? Go away and come back when youve realised Manowar arent gods, and then perhaps well see.
3/10
Official Wastoid website
