Scientists seem to be forever discovering hideously ugly living examples of supposedly extinct prehistoric animals. One experiences a similar [I]frisson [/I]of excitement upon discovering that [a]Megadeth[/a] are still alive and rocking. Christ! The Cold War’s over, the Berlin Wall’s nothing more than a backdrop to an annual Ravey-Davey luv-fest, but [a]Megadeth[/a] – the band who turned the fear of nuclear annihilation into 15 platinum LPs – are [I]still[/I] going. Amazing.
So – do they still rock? Fuck no. In fact, they suck the 666-distended anuses of a multi-arsed satanic shitgibbon with arse cancer. And that’s being polite. This mishmash of pseudo-political lyrics, wheezing power chords, MTV-oriented generic ‘rock’ and jazz-wank operatics is excruciatingly lame. ‘Risk’ is the Yank equivalent of the shamelessly retro, hippy-dippy corpse-flogging indulged in by the likes of Travis or Kula Shaker. It’s awful. Offensive, even. Utterly unlistenable, corporate mock rock from beginning to end.
Song titles like ‘Insomnia’, ‘Prince Of Darkness’, ‘Time: The Beginning’ and (snigger) ‘Time: The End’ suggest that [a]Megadeth[/a] are aiming for that psychotic pit bull thousand-yard stare modernist/ mystic thing that Metallica manage so effortlessly. Instead they stand revealed as a bunch of hippies with their hairy heads firmly up their even hairier arses.
To paraphrase the late Sir John Betjeman: [I]”Oh friendly bombs come fall on [a]Megadeth[/a]/They’re shit”[/I].