HATEWAVE: Sexual Healing 2: CD

Sometimes punk rock celebrates utter brain-dead stupidity just to show how really smart it actually is. I’m not sure that’s the case with Hatewave or not. For a reviewer like myself, it’s not always easy to suss out the artists’ true motivation for doing what they do, the way they do it—but I’m safe in saying that, whatever their motivation, this here Hatewave CD is bursting at the lobotomy seams with pure grade stupidity. And I’m not even sure that it’s accurate to label it “punk”— though it does, at times, come across like punk’s criminally half-witted cousin. Specifically, the kind of criminally half-witted cousin who is hidden by the family, chained to a rafter up in the attic, where he gnaws on old furniture legs and eats his own excrement. But it’s probably more accurate to say that this sounds like just the sort of masturbatory twaddle you’d expect from some zit-covered pubescent trenchcoat-mafia-wannabe crust metal nerds who want more than anything to shock the world with their mooning vileness. But the truth is that what most people would find even more repulsive than Hatewave’s spite-puking lyrics or their lame “rape scene” cover photograph, is the idea that these spoiled little booger-eaters probably recorded Sexual Healing 2 with brand spanking new, top of the line musical instruments and recording equipment, all provided to them by cringing, brow-beaten parents at their wits end. Because, if anything, this CD screams “bored rich kids” more than anything else. Then again, maybe this really is meant to be a send-up of half-baked crust metal fucknuts everywhere. If that’s the case, then this is brilliant. I know I laughed my ass off for most of the nearly thirteen minutes of frantic din that make up this recording. Whether this disc winds up making you laugh, shit your pants with fear, or be bored to tears, at least you get a handsomely framed photo of a fully naked Ron Jeremy on the back cover. If nothing else, at least these kids have refined tastes in hirsute ‘80s porno hunks.

 –Aphid Peewit (Apop)