King's X: The Harsh White Light Of Reality
by Martin Popoff
Darker, mellower, doomier, where's Doug? what's wrong with Ty? These are all titterings revolving around the furtive fanbase of one of the best bands in the world now that advance copies of the absurdly titled Please Come Home...Mr. Bulbous have seeped through the duct system and wrinkled noses that are used to smelling the fragrance of fine, cloud-breaking hooks, sweet, sweet power chords and optimism infinitely aflame.
Fact is, if you wanna play Sesame Street and tell me which CD is not like the other. This is it, way out there, off behind the door, cowering and fulminating over its next cruel practical joke. Mr. Bulbous may be comical but he's also cynical and mean.
Gonna write this one different. I'm still in shock. Gonna say my piece and then let Ty simply unpack the record for you simple Q&A style. So what's this writer's take? This is my least favourite King's X album of all time. But because they are so freaking exalted, it's still going to get played over at Popoff Central many, many times. And it already has, warming with each circular bit of reasoning. It will never rise out of last place though. It's just too slow, casual, unhooky, dark, mellow, angular and Doug-less. But this is from a guy who would probably put like four King's X albums in his top fifty of all time. I'm a nut. And not a happy one right about now, which I guess was Ty's point, the man having gone through a brutal year of relationship difficulties (I hate airing that stuff, but you have to know to get it), his own personal Ice Cycle, as is elucidated within the second Platypus album, a record with about four songs that could have sat with Bulbous and be politely tolerated. OK, editorial over. Ty speak.
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