COVERED IN SHIT: The Guilty Pleasures of Ambassador MAGMA

Behold, my friends, another tribute to the twin unifying powers of guilt and shame. I've been trying to draw an IllCon contribution out of the beautiful and talented Ambassador MAGMA (who has in fact been a Bro sice pre-blog days) for what seems like years. But ironically, it was the suggestion that he reveal his deepest, darkest, ugliest pleasure on these hallowed pages that actually ended up forcing his hand. Oh, the irony!
The good Ambassador writes Toppled Idols, and is also the sole creator of the "bong-crushingly epic wizard comics" of Symptom of The Universe. We are glad to have him.

- Cobras

Hello IllConnoisseurs, had to chime in on this shit-storm of guilty pleasure. Having worked retail for some twelve or so years, I've heard the worst of the worst and like Orpheus, have returned from the seamy underworld to gift it to you. When Shelby ripped opened your third eye/floodgates/broke the fourth wall in asking what the most embarrassing lurker on our computer was (our “basket case” if you will), I did some serious spiritual clam digging for my biggest sin.



Industrial music was really the big venereal disease of the 90s. It was fucking everywhere, it was fucking awful, it ruined many a storied metal band and I still fucking listen to it to this day.

Cleopatra Records released truckloads of tributes, industrial or otherwise to such esteemed cultural luminaries as Weezer, Cher, The Cure, U2, The Beatles, The White Stripes, The Offspring etc. etc. ad nauseum. Pretty much any big name with an insatiable fan base was fair game for forking over a little royalty money to catch some of that coveted mall goth cash.

They also paid tribute to some bands that actually deserve it, but these "tributes" are more "defamation/defecation" than tribute...

Exhibit A:

Covered in Black; An Industrial Tribute to the Kings of High Voltage




Just hearing the beginning to Thunderstruck played on a sequencer cracks a shit-eating grin across my face. I don't really know who most of these bands are, they are inexcusably awful yet truly guilty pleasures in my book.

AC/DC wrote some of the best songs in the history of music, which saves some of the piss-poor musicianship/production you will find here... the weird dub/bizarro world version of Back in Black, the lesbian-until-graduation-whisper version of Squealer, the Godflesh version of For Those About to Rock with corny alternate lyrics ("we dispute you!") to the laughable studio-chant-along TNT. Like a wheel, I hope you spin this. And don't let anybody mess you around.

(Full disclosure; they blew half the budget on designing the cover.)



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UPDATE: In doing the exhaustive research for this post, I've discovered a "remix" album tribute to AC/DC put out by Cleopatra. So you lucky devils may be in for a round two...