Review of The Number Twelve Looks Like You - Put On Your Bloody Rosy Red Glasses

I am starting to see the big picture in the new genre aptly dubbed “spazzcore”. My first taste of it came when I heard The Red Chord. At the time, I thought it was choice. Actually, I still like it quite a bit because it’s death metal in the spazztic sense. Then I listened to Between the Buried and Me, and that was just too much bi-polararity for my liking. It sounded like sensitive college boys trying to over-emphasize their emotional diversities. Glass Casket waddles into the picture and completely solidifies the style by remaining death metal and not going overboard by pushing buttons every now and then. Well, now it’s The Number 12 Looks Like You, and it is starting to look like this style is getting quite popular. Just as Glass Casket started young, I believe #12 LLY has started even earlier and has taken the trophy for youngest punk to record vocals, as they have gone directly into the hospital nursery and recruited the loudest, most obnoxious whining toddler they could find. The first cut, “Don’t Get Blood on My Prada Shoes” isn’t as intolerable as the rest as far as vocals are concerned. “Jesus & Tori” follows and I hear a guttural death belch, and I am thinking I am in for a good match up here. Not so. What ensues is some of the most sickening Billy-Corgan-as-a-misunderstood-youth emo boy whining I have ever heard. He screams like a girl and squeals like a pig. And it’s not just one angle of torture. It’s layered toddler temper tantrums at all possible pitches. If this record were a straight instrumental disc, I would most likely be spinning it heavily, as there is decent material under these atrocious yelling fits 75% of the time. The other 25% drifts into either acoustic or completely non-metal “deep & emotional” passages, that sorry to say, have already been covered by the earlier mentioned bands in this genre. As the record drifts forward it starts to lose some of its heavier metal qualities and favors somber interludes w/ random spoken words about some situations we have no idea of (does that make you more “mysterious”?), which is also something that has been covered by Glass Casket. The music becomes more grounded, not as jumpy, but it’s grounded as acoustic or clean tone floating happiness, reminding me of my unpleasant experience w/ BTBAM. The last cut, “Civeta Dej”, I believe is the best track on the record, with heavy jazz infusion, although it’s not completely metal. But guess what destroys its potential? The biggest “Mommy I want a new toy and I want it now” crying fit of all time. What on earth motivated this guy to put these vocals to tape; not to mention completely trample and degrade some otherwise good songwriting? This is an insult to metal and belongs on some teenage emo record. It’s unbearable.

I think this band is good at what they do, but not the best. Certain elements they have chosen to weave into their music have gone disastrously overboard. So much so that I’d show great enthusiasm force feeding their vocalist a shotgun blast. To adjoin two barrels with the back of his teenage throat, pull the trigger, and revel in the end product would be the highlight of my day. This record tends to drift a little too far from metal though. Even though it may seem without structure, there is a blueprint behind it, it’s just not a very solid one. The songs don’t establish a consistent mood of their own. I can tell each song from the other not because there’s only 7 of them, but there does seem to be a discerning riff in each one. Does this make the record a quality one? Not exactly. For the best of this style in METAL fashion there is no question. Glass Casket & The Red Chord are the front runners, and will most likely please metal fans looking to taste a new style still within the realm of metallurgy. #12LLY however, well, you’d really have to live and breathe this style to appreciate the album as a whole, because the crying kid vocals will certainly deter plenty of people. I think I’ll head to the clinic to get a vasectomy now.

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The Number Twelve Looks Like You

Put On Your Bloody Rosy Red Glasses

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