If you’re looking for the real filth and fury at the end of that dark alley you constantly see in your worst nightmares, then never mind the bollocks because the Sex Positions sure as hell don’t; they just love wading into the big muddy and sloshing around, knee deep in the dead.
However, there is one big difference that separates them from all the other legions of doom who sonically splatter their gory wad for public profit: a potential budding case of the smarts that varies the jackhammer beats. But it may not be a big enough difference to offset their content woes.
Granted, no one ever plays death metal to receive an uplifting Hallmark moment, so it comes as no surprise that the lead singer atonally screams his screed like a freshly reanimated Dee Dee Ramone pumped full of burning formaldehyde while striking all the requisite poses about graves and death and female betrayal.
But that only shows me that they may not be as smart as I initially thought they were. After all, a band called the Sex Positions should offer up something a little more ribald than just the usual ghoul-fueled mantra of darkness.
So even though this self-titled debut may be a rung or two above the rest of the pack in terms of musical variety, their misleading moniker definitely puts them at risk. Better they should’ve upped the erotic ante by calling this album Missionary. Then, if it sold well, they could have titled their second one On Top. Because the last thing these guys need is a Doggie.
E-mail Jeffrey Morgan at firstname.lastname@example.org.