Volbeat Doesn't Shed Much Blood

If I were you I'd focus on the technical acumen behind Copenhagen metal band Volbeat's "The Devil's Bleeding Crown". That's because zeroing in on the mythology centered lyrics is only going to confuse you. "The Devil's Bleeding Crown" can help you work off some of those unwanted pounds in the gym but beyond that you won't be encouraged to make much of a transcendent investment. As I hope you've noticed since Day One of my blog I derive no joy from doling out a negative review of any song, regardless of the genre I cover. All the same I don't perform a useful service for you if I'm entirely gifting acts with rainbows and butterflies. Volbeat better not have a rainbow jones building up because disappointment shall ensue. This song reeks of exclusivity. That is if you don't already have completed homework turned in regarding Volbeat's left of mainstream wordplay then you'll grow irritable when you can't totally appreciate the depths to which Volbeat flexes its beamed in from a long ago civilization pecs. Like I said before, technical abilities aren't my huge hangup. Michael Poulsen has ideal vocals for a band committed to going on exotic journeys through time and space. The echo effects on display up the overblown drama to so bad it's good levels. Rob Caggiano demonstrates he didn't merely show up for the seek of assuaging his mates' fear of undesired dead air. You asked for a stick out your tongue, stick it to the man guitar solo? Rob seeks to satisfy your craving. Jon Larsen infuses literary novel worthy drumming to this jousting session. Man, whether disciple of metal or mere mortal can't complete or enhance his walk by guitar solo and vocal rabbit out of the hat stylized tricks. We shouldn't need language translation distracting us from kicking back, with or without malt liquor, to enjoy a heaping helping of comically hammed up metal. You didn't think Europe had that market sewn up eons ago with "The Final Countdown" did you? Not on your life. Turns out Denmark dudes can be equally shifty-eyed. Don't go looking to "Falling from the sky, they're cast out from the heaven's light drenching the soil with blood, baptized in the fire hole" if you don't wish to send your party guests screaming into the night. Besides they'll be too busy making sure the sanitarium has a straitjacket sturdy enough to contain you. I'd also advise against parroting "The Devil's spawn no longer breathes, descending angels and fallen kings. Raise your hands, what do you hold? The Devil's bleeding crown." In the current political climate that's hardly true. The Devil's spawn not only still breathes but has positioned himself as the Republican candidate primed to tangle with Madam Clinton. But, in the name of good clean fun I digress. There's nothing wrong with rock bands and their fans cultivating a secret society over the years. Sense of belonging keeps one on steady ground psychologically. But when the lyrics give off the unwanted odor of elitist snobbery then that's not helping a band's chances for cash-ins at the cash register. World of Warcraft nerds may take "The Devil's Bleeding Crown" to its collective bosom but for us non gaming group average rank and file folks this crown is head hemorrhage heavy. It's natural for heads wearing crowns to experience some discomfort. A throbbing headache brought on by social isolation is another unpleasant matter entirely. As your music maven advocate I urge you to devote blood on behalf of a worthier trek through absurdity based metal.