Despite all the insult-flinging in our direction, we Villagers just had to have Captain Graves (of Advent Varic) back for another review in typically pugilistic fashion. Today: Tartarus Horde's self-titled debut. Enjoy! - Ed.
I've been summoned to The Village once again. This time for some music out of my realm of normal listening. You know The Captain prefers a more depressive style. They sent me a weird device called a "tape," I've never seen anything like it. I searched far and wide at the stores to find a mundane object here on your planet to find a way for it to play. On Saturn 9, I usually just take whatever files I feel, maybe this was a smart move, or a way to prevent me from stealing their music. I bet this was this was the work of the Necrosexual, that Weak bastard.
It's been a while since The Captain has made it down to the Stoned Village,* or I mean, Sleeping Village, what's the difference? I've been up on Saturn 9 laying down some new track for the world to decimate themselves to.
Here we have The King's Pistol. These fools don't even know what they've gotten themselves into with the likes of me. The bass player, Andy, seems to be scared of my threats, and is worried I'm going to come to his work. He gave me the address, the silly bastard. Why would you give The Decimator of Worlds your location, doesn't he know I have a space ship?
The Village has accepted me as one of their own. I'm not entirely sure why yet, as I will sacrifice them all to our Mighty GOD, Varic. Not one of these sleepy fools even cares. How much weed are they smoking around here? A lot, the answer is " a lot."* Damn stoners, and losing their inhibitions. Regardless, I am here, and they will be an offering for Varic.
On Tumulus we are born into battle, or even from battle. Rising from the core of those slain. With my powers I can raise new crew members from the bodies of those I've run through. My next victim has been found, and if the crew member is anything like him. I'll surely have my work cut out for me. I haven't seen such a weak specimen in my life ( I do love hard work).
Captain Graves isn't a new name 'round these parts. We interviewed this extraterrestrial bringer of destruction (in conjunction with Advent Varic) a few weeks back, and I'll be damned if his vision of apocalyptic planetary demise didn't strike a certain nerve. You see, we Villagers appreciate a good turn of phrase, even if the scribe in question is intent on our inevitable violent expiration.
And so we bequeathed The Captain his very own review column within our humble halls. Herein, he'll be chronicling dark and heavy earthly music that suit his judicial tastes. Our time here is limited...so enjoy these recommendations while you still can.
First up: Texas' own Forebode.
Providing thoughtful reviews of music that is heavy, gloomy, and loud enough to wake us from slumber. Written by a groggy-eyed, highfalutin peasantry.