Wacky Band Thursday: The Red Chord

Aaaand we’re back after a drought. Fuck, I was not feelin’ it before, shit’s been a bit rocky but it has been rectumfied, so let’s rock’n’roll. Bitch.

I’m scared now.

In lieu of reviewing Black Christmas in July which was horribly offset by bands cancelling and low attendance, I present to you, from Revere Massachusetts, The Red Chord, who play music that uses instruments and vocals. I know you’re probably all sitting at your shitty beige box ’98 Compaq desktops wondering how The Red Chord is wacky. They’re just your everyday friendly neighborhood Technical Deathgrind band who happened to be a major influence on Deathcore, you say? Sure that may be true, but the lyrics, man. You’ll die.


It’s amazing what you can get away with saying, when you present it right.
Are you here to learn? Or are you here to sell drugs?
I heard you could do both, you just have to wake up.

Think about the things you’ve learned and how you can give meaning to meaningless.
That can’t apply if you’re house is a car.
As a parent, you just can’t drink and drug.
I’ve heard you can, you just have to wake up.

What we’re doing is giving meaning to meaningless.
I’m going back to get my grade ten.
You can’t just go crying shit wolf.
This is about the worst thing you’ve ever done.

Where is the – chicken?
It’s essential to our – operation.
I assure you that it’s not.

What’s your problem. Mr.Dick? Why do you still have an erection?
This is about the worst thing you’ve ever done.
I assure you it’s not.
Done eleven times over.
I’ve got Responsibles.
You know? I’m ashamed.
I admit it to many chefs in the same pot.
Don’t you think, it’s kinda funny the way birds of a feather flock?

There aren’t enough hours in each day.
And if everyone agrees why not just add more? No one wants to admit when they blow it.
I’m ashamed. I admit it.
No one ever wants to own up to eating nine cans of ravioli.
It’s all about the presentation, and I want it so, ever since I got out of jail.

You can’t just go taking the blame – It’s already been taken.
Stop shooting – someone’s actually hurt here.
Stop shooting – someone’s actually hurt.
Don’t make me take off my pants.
Give me a cigarette.
I’m having a heart attack.
Where’s my fucking BBQ? I know you have it.

Now if you’re a fan of Trailer Park Boys(and I’m not. Yet), you’ll see that song is comprised entirely of them. This is the work of a sick mind, ladies and djents. And some songs are just out of left field, like the weird elevator muzak stylings of Dreaming In Dog Years, not caring what the Devil wears(It’s Gucci), the drum-roll and “Hey!” at the end of Fixation On Plastics”, the odd answering machine message at the end of He Was Dead When I Got There, the a-cappella epicness Bread Pants, a bonus track on Clients, and so on.

They still don’t know whose toast it is.

Sadly enough, this absurdity tapered off as they made more albums. Prey For Eyes and Fed Through The Teeth Machine are great albums, but aren’t as full of giggles. Hell, The Red Chord haven’t softened any in the odd department, if interviews are anything to go by, but it seems they’ll just continue on this path of making songs that aren’t all that humorous. If it went any further, there could’ve been an Upper Decker II: The Aftermath or something… I just might have to make that.

Shit your balls into a blender made of gorillas.

If you’re also a huge fan of Between The Buried And Me, go check out the progressive psychedelic a-capella project, Plant Vochestra. They have 3 albums out and rip ass. A turtle is also the drummer.


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