Tom Cruise says He knows the history of Psychiatry

**Kristy** · 01-22-2013, 11:02 PM

Originally posted by LoungeMachine

The Cult is great...Especially the Sonic Temple LP

Now I know you are a fucking idiot. Temple was a steaming pile of dog shit.

**LoungeMachine** · 01-22-2013, 11:05 PM

Originally posted by Kristy

Now I know you are a fucking idiot. Temple was a steaming pile of dog shit.

Go blow yourself, CHAT SKANK

Get a real job.

**Nickdfresh** · 01-22-2013, 11:05 PM

Originally posted by Kristy

Now I know you are a fucking idiot. Temple was a steaming pile of dog shit.

You're out of your fucking mind.

**jhale667** · 01-22-2013, 11:07 PM

Originally posted by Nickdfresh

You're out of your fucking mind.

This. Sonic Temple kicks ass. Another KrustoFAIL.

**LoungeMachine** · 01-22-2013, 11:08 PM

Originally posted by Nickdfresh

You're out of your fucking mind.

It has no mind...

It only knows what the boxwine and pills tells it to post.

CHAT SKANK has nothing to offer.

**Kristy** · 01-22-2013, 11:15 PM

SONIC TEMPLE:

The Cult as sensitive all seeing rock legends. No, make that Gods. This record is like ‘Stairway To Heaven’ revisited only without the sniff of all that nasty devil worship or hint of demonic inspiration. This record is also why people sell their souls: for brilliance, fame, fortune, their own little niche of immortality. Within The Cult’s equilateral triangle of trouble souls – guitarist Billy Duffy, vocalist Ian Astbury and Bassists Jamie Stewart – don’t even come close to illuminating all the evil in Jimmy Page’s left eye. The Cult don’t want to know evil but instead just want to end up manipulating it; guided by spirit walkers, trying to make the music of the devil himself. ’Sonic Temple’ is the type of record Astbury and company like to see themselves; the music in the reality is little more than a pastiche. Maybe after all these years they realized that nobody to this day will ever used that title to describe them.

Much noble hopes run through the tracks of ’Sonic Temple’ which is an attempt to pair the “cerebral side” of the classic ’Love album with its feminine nature and a haunting feel for spirituality (as Astbury sees it) complied with the parched, white and fleshless bones of ’Electric’. Like the ghost of Mary Shelly, ’Sonic Temple’ is a feeble attempt to recharge the soul of an emaciated corpse. As an eerie Eastern backdrop unfolds for ‘Sun King’ with the drums pulsing like the arid heat of an Asian desert. Time and place mean nothing, Astbury’s constants in the lyric become fables, the mortal need to give a lost lover the fulfillment of the promised land, an Eden by the sounds of it, overrun by guitars so layered and zealous in their worship they only end up compounding the drought. The spirited ‘Fire Woman’ (which was a top 40 “hit” in its day) parades Astbury’s neighing vocals calling out for a tribute to his woman born in the Chinese year of the Fire Horse. A love song that comes on as aggressive as you let them get before you run towards the battered wives’ home.

Enchanting! Suddenly The Cult go from rockers to snake charmers with the ridiculously titled ‘American Horse’, which is the nearest they’ve come to perfection since ‘She Sells Sanctuary’. The song stands and then slides only to end up eventually slithering to the conclusion that the sensitive spirit which (somehow) possesses Astbury’s lyrics has to overspill into the music before the nectar can become as spellbinding as this. Becoming all acoustically yours with the accompliment of what appears to be eight cellists is ‘Edie (Ciao Baby)’, which, as far as I can tell, is an “ode” to Edie Sedgwick, who was one of Andy Warhol’s “playthings.” Astbury sings to ”an angel with a broken wing” with a gothic reverberance that carries her from freedom to drug abuse without being too fucking sentimental about the subject matter or better yet, glorifying her self-destructive traits. Astbury’s result is a song as fragile as life itself.

From here on out the “heavy metal” compromises (and thefts) start to leer right though the rest of the record as they first move though the lacy underskirts of ‘Sweet Soul Sister’ and revels its scheming face as a twisted vision of the famous ‘Paranoid’ riff is being stolen. It’s still beautiful though; a spacey pulsing heartbeat hangs on a single ethereal note until pierced by Billy Duffy’s seething guitar and drawn out of its body like the blood of a vampire’s victim. Perfect. This only suits to distill The Cult’s purest essence, then moves on to deal with nihilistic destruction with ‘Sweet Soul Asylum’ with the first line ”who would break a butterfly on a wheel”; a line as far as I can gather was hi-jacked from a Time Magazine editorial after the arrest of The Rolling Stones in 1967.

Astbury then follows his silver transatlantic rainbow straight to ‘New York City’ to recount his first impressions of the Big Apple’s Hell’s Kitchen only to describe the great metropolitan city as a ”Disneyland trashcan”. It’s also a retribution niche to the brash rock ‘n’ roll production that Def Jam producer Rick Rubin created, captured and eventually exploited on ’Electric’. “Hey little baby, have you heard the news?” heralds the big tom drum sound which only characterizes yet another Zeppelin riff rip off.

What’s this? For fuck’s sake, Astbury even stealing from the grave of Freddie Mercurisms into ‘Automatic Blues’. Oh please, The Cult couldn’t crack a smile in this well-used whore of a formula riff-bashing if Rob Hatford himself stuck a ticking dildo up it. The remaining tracks ‘Solider Blue’, ‘Medicine Train’, and the attempted anthem ‘Wake Up Time For Freedom’ are all more or less producer Bob Rock (of Bon Jovi, Aerosmith, and Metallica fame) fillers that become swallowed by a great jam doughnut that wallows in the truth that those who consume bullshit become bullshit itself. Not one of these songs goes anyplace as Astbury freaks and turns all Wolf Child only to end up screaming ”It’s just rock ‘n’ roll” as if that was some justification.

If there lies one single focus to ’Sonic Temple’ then is must be summed up on the line in the last track ‘Medicine Train’, with an image of a worshipped artists performing in a venue, a latter day temple ”All fired up, a desolation angel shootin’ from the hip in the sonic temple”. Yes, in this “sonic temple” The Cult sing of fallen angels, Gods, and fire purifying them all into images of goodness. All of the little ‘ol devils that once inhabited ’Electric’ have now finally been exorcised yet you get this feel that the only setback that still haunts them is a lack of self-confidence in some of their older wisdoms. And just like many limeys bands who’ve come before and after them the question remains: why continue to plagiarize when they could have made a much better album on their own? 

(and oh yeah, fuck you, F A T boy)

**LoungeMachine** · 01-22-2013, 11:18 PM

Originally posted by Kristy

SONIC TEMPLE: The Cult as sensitive all seeing rock legends. No, make that Gods. This record is like ‘Stairway To Heaven’ revisited only without the sniff of all that nasty devil worship or hint of demonic inspiration. This record is also why people sell their souls: for brilliance, fame, fortune, their own little niche of immortality. Within The Cult’s equilateral triangle of trouble souls – guitarist Billy Duffy, vocalist Ian Astbury and Bassists Jamie Stewart – don’t even come close to illuminating all the evil in Jimmy Page’s left eye. The Cult don’t want to know evil but instead just want to end up manipulating it; guided by spirit walkers, trying to make the music of the devil himself. ’Sonic Temple’ is the type of record Astbury and company like to see themselves; the music in the reality is little more than a pastiche. Maybe after all these years they realized that nobody to this day will ever used that title to describe them.

Much noble hopes run through the tracks of ’Sonic Temple’ which is an attempt to pair the “cerebral side” of the classic ’Love album with its feminine nature and a haunting feel for spirituality (as Astbury sees it) complied with the parched, white and fleshless bones of ’Electric’. Like the ghost of Mary Shelly, ’Sonic Temple’ is a feeble attempt to recharge the soul of an emaciated corpse. As an eerie Eastern backdrop unfolds for ‘Sun King’ with the drums pulsing like the arid heat of an Asian desert. Time and place mean nothing, Astbury’s constants in the lyric become fables, the mortal need to give a lost lover the fulfillment of the promised land, an Eden by the sounds of it, overrun by guitars so layered and zealous in their worship they only end up compounding the drought. The spirited ‘Fire Woman’ (which was a top 40 “hit” in its day) parades Astbury’s neighing vocals calling out for a tribute to his woman born in the Chinese year of the Fire Horse. A love song that comes on as aggressive as you let them get before you run towards the battered wives’ home.

Enchanting! Suddenly The Cult go from rockers to snake charmers with the ridiculously titled ‘American Horse’, which is the nearest they’ve come to perfection since ‘She Sells Sanctuary’. The song stands and then slides only to end up eventually slithering to the conclusion that the sensitive spirit which (somehow) possesses Astbury’s lyrics has to overspill into the music before the nectar can become as spellbinding as this. Becoming all acoustically yours with the accompliment of what appears to be eight cellists is ‘Edie (Ciao Baby)’, which, as far as I can tell, is an “ode” to Edie Sedgwick, who was one of Andy Warhol’s “playthings.” Astbury sings to ”an angel with a broken wing” with a gothic reverberance that carries her from freedom to drug abuse without being too fucking sentimental about the subject matter or better yet, glorifying her self-destructive traits. Astbury’s result is a song as fragile as life itself.

From here on out the “heavy metal” compromises (and thefts) start to leer right though the rest of the record as they first move though the lacy underskirts of ‘Sweet Soul Sister’ and revels its scheming face as a twisted vision of the famous ‘Paranoid’ riff is being stolen. It’s still beautiful though; a spacey pulsing heartbeat hangs on a single ethereal note until pierced by Billy Duffy’s seething guitar and drawn out of its body like the blood of a vampire’s victim. Perfect. This only suits to distill The Cult’s purest essence, then moves on to deal with nihilistic destruction with ‘Sweet Soul Asylum’ with the first line ”who would break a butterfly on a wheel”; a line as far as I can gather was hi-jacked from a Time Magazine editorial after the arrest of The Rolling Stones in 1967.

Astbury then follows his silver transatlantic rainbow straight to ‘New York City’ to recount his first impressions of the Big Apple’s Hell’s Kitchen only to describe the great metropolitan city as a ”Disneyland trashcan”. It’s also a retribution niche to the brash rock ‘n’ roll production that Def Jam producer Rick Rubin created, captured and eventually exploited on ’Electric’. “Hey little baby, have you heard the news?” heralds the big tom drum sound which only characterizes yet another Zeppelin riff rip off.

What’s this? For fuck’s sake, Astbury even stealing from the grave of Freddie Mercurisms into ‘Automatic Blues’. Oh please, The Cult couldn’t crack a smile in this well-used whore of a formula riff-bashing if Rob Hatford himself stuck a ticking dildo up it. The remaining tracks ‘Solider Blue’, ‘Medicine Train’, and the attempted anthem ‘Wake Up Time For Freedom’ are all more or less producer Bob Rock (of Bon Jovi, Aerosmith, and Metallica fame) fillers that become swallowed by a great jam doughnut that wallows in the truth that those who consume bullshit become bullshit itself. Not one of these songs goes anyplace as Astbury freaks and turns all Wolf Child only to end up screaming ”It’s just rock ‘n’ roll” as if that was some justification.

If there lies one single focus to ’Sonic Temple’ then is must be summed up on the line in the last track ‘Medicine Train’, with an image of a worshipped artists performing in a venue, a latter day temple ”All fired up, a desolation angel shootin’ from the hip in the sonic temple”. Yes, in this “sonic temple” The Cult sing of fallen angels, Gods, and fire purifying them all into images of goodness. All of the little ‘ol devils that once inhabited ’Electric’ have now finally been exorcised yet you get this feel that the only setback that still haunts them is a lack of self-confidence in some of their older wisdoms. And just like many limeys bands who’ve come before and after them the question remains: why continue to plagiarize when they could have made a much better album on their own? 

(and oh yeah, fuck you, F A T boy)

Hmmmm....

I see no link for this. So are we to assume YOU wrote this??

Or did you plagiarize it??

CHAT SKANK

**LoungeMachine** · 01-22-2013, 11:22 PM

Just as I thought....

CHAT SKANK passing off critiques as his own.

Go blow yourself, you plagiarizing unemployed drunk....

**Kristy** · 01-22-2013, 11:25 PM

Keep clutching at straws, F A T boy. Soon you'll be clutching your F A T-caked heart when that stroke comes.

**LoungeMachine** · 01-22-2013, 11:27 PM

Originally posted by Kristy

Keep clutching at straws, F A T boy. Soon you'll be clutching your F A T-caked heart when that stroke comes.

Nice dodge4, CHAT SKANK....

Yes or No..... did you write that?

If you didn't, why didn't you post the link to the true author?

Fucking HYPOCRITE

Post the link, cunt.

**Kristy** · 01-22-2013, 11:30 PM

Better yet, go fetch, F A T boy. Fuck know you could use the exercise.

**LoungeMachine** · 01-22-2013, 11:33 PM

Originally posted by Kristy

Better yet, go fetch, F A T boy. Fuck know you could use the exercise.

Hahahahahahhaha.....

Just as I thought.

CHAT SKANK tries to pass off CD Review as his own.

Fucking classic.

**DONNIEP** · 01-22-2013, 11:38 PM

Tom would be very disappointed...

**LoungeMachine** · 01-22-2013, 11:39 PM

Originally posted by DONNIEP

Tom would be very disappointed...

Not after Krusty untucked....

He'd be jumping all over the Motel 6 couch....

**Kristy** · 01-22-2013, 11:41 PM

Still turn up no results? Go shove another cheeseburger up o your greasy F A T ass and "die in a fire"

F A T cunt.

Tom Cruise says He knows the history of Psychiatry

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