As the Revolver Photo Director, proud owner of a vagina, and daughter of a gynecologist, I feel more than qualified to offer up honest, raw, and unadulterated advice regarding all things related to sex, the human body, and relationships. So, all you metalhead freaks out there, please email me your most dire, dirty, sick, and twisted questions about women and the way we work, from our emotional hearts to our even more complicated parts. Email me at RevolvHer@gmail.com.

Dear RevolvHer,
I’m a metalhead and music lover through and through. I happen to have fallen in love with the most awesome chick. She fucks well and makes me happy. Thing is, she likes shitty music. She likes Fall Out Boy, Gym Class Heroes, and that kinda crap. I have been trying to educate her in the ways of true rock music, starting with the classics. She likes the stuff I play for her, but then still tries to make me listen to Panic At The Disco. She doesn’t seem to really love this stuff that much; it’s more like her friends all listen to it, and so she listens to it. Is this ground for dumping?
Torn,
Jim

Hey Jim,
As a good friend of mine says, there are "Us" and then there are "Them." The Us are people who are super passionate about music, the history of music, and need music as the soundtrack to their lives. The Them are people who listen to whatever is on, and don’t really give a shit about music. You, my friend, are in love with a Them. This doesn’t mean that she sucks; she just sucks when it comes to her taste in music. Whether or not this is something you can come to terms with is not a call that I am equipped to make. Personally, I have a really tough time dating Thems. I like to know that I can sit in a room with a dude and listen to tunes for hours upon hours. If the man I am with doesn’t want to sit and listen to music that we can mutually agree on, then we are left having to talk or watch some shitty reality TV show. I also like to talk about music and learn about new music with whomever I am dating. Basically, I need to be able to drive in a car with my man, while Time Life’s 70s Music Explosion is blasting, both of us singing along to "Gypsys, Tramps, & Thieves."

So, that is my opinion on the matter. If your girl is rocking your world in the sack, then by all means, stick it out. I just have to warn you, it is very difficult to make an Us out of a Them just by force-feeding her Slayer.
xxx
RevolvHer

Dear RevolvHer,
In the case of a threesome...can an STD be transferred over from one girl to another because of the use of the same condom???
Mike

Hey Mike,
Fuck yeah, you dumbass! It isn’t like condoms are antiviral and antibacterial. They are just thin sheaths of latex. If you don’t swap out your rubber between babes, then you might as well not even bother wearing one. If you wear one condom and stick your cock in both girls, you are only protecting yourself from getting something that the girls might have, and the girls from getting whatever you might have. But, you run the risk of transferring Girl A’s cooties to Girl B. Wrap it, and re-wrap it, stud!
xxx
RevolvHer

I need sex. I need it right now, dammit. Every woman who meets my eye on the street is suddenly making an illicit invitation. I smell a woman and get weak in the knees (it’s like the elevator scene in Old Boy). Creepy, you say? Oh, you don’t even know. And the sick thing is, I could easily have it. My standards are at war with my animal instincts; I’m virulently seeking sex right until I’m talking to the well-she’ll-do-I-guess butterface at the bar, and then, suddenly, I want to drink myself limp so I won’t have to go through with it. It’s a disgusting mix of self-pity, arrogance, and childish horniness. I’m a revolting pig and deserve to be shot. In the dick, with a gun made of dick-clippers. So, anyway. I need sex.

Now, seeing as I’m dying to get my bone on but simultaneously reluctant to do so with someone beneath my way-too-high bar, I’m having a weird relationship with my stereo right now. Half of the time, I’m blasting super-hot bass-heavy songs that get my blood boiling and my pelvis thrusting; the other half, I’m playing the most grotesque, repulsive music you can imagine in an attempt to douse my hormones in abject misery. So I’ll do what I do with all of my feelings that I’m freaked out about having—I’ll make a fucking blog list, bitches! Here, for your pleasure (and mine, baby—and mine), are my Six Metal Songs For Turning Yourself On/Turning Yourself Off. Get the tissues.


Six Metal Songs For Turning Yourself On

1) W.A.S.P., “Animal (Fuck Like A Beast)” How the fuck does Blackie Lawless do it? He writes a song about intense fucking, and the song itself—the atmosphere, the bounce, the rhythm—is sexy as fuck. Well done, you cod-pieced bastard. Yeah, throw this one on and bone like it’s 1985 (so, worry about AIDS, I guess?).

2) Electric Wizard, “Dunwich” Certain songs are made for lap-dances, and this Lovecraftian stoner anthem is one of ’em. This has stripper pole written all over it, even if it’s about drug-fueled madness from beyond the stars. Smoke a fat spliff and get loose with a lady-friend to this tune; I guarantee you won’t regret it.

3) White Zombie, “Blood, Milk, and Sky” Mm-mmm, White Zombie at their sexiest and most cryptic, no question. This is for that good, slow, incense-and-candles fucking that lasts seven hours of groaning. The siren sings a lonely song…of all the wants and hungers…

4) AC/DC, “If You Want Blood (You’ve Got It)” Was there ever any doubt in your mind that an AC/DC song would be on here? Crank this song up, hit the sack, and scream along the chorus as you climax. I triple-dog dare you.

5) Belphegor, “Sexdictator Lucifer” Ya’ like bondage? Well, part of the chorus of this song is the vocalist screaming, “BON-DAAAAGE”, so you’re on the right track! With its crunching beat and satanic bass groove, this song is perfect for a little game of Handcuffs and Riding Crops. The title says it all. Yum.

6) Judas Priest, “Fever” This slow, pounding grinder has everything a Priest song should have, but adds a level of sweaty carnality that’s often missing from the group’s music. So what if it was probably written about a dude?

Six Metal Songs For Turning Yourself Off

1) Cryptopsy, “Cold Hate Warm Blood” Too brutal. Waaaay too brutal. Like, beating a dead cat with a sledgehammer brutal. Snippets of acid-jazz between crushing breakdowns can’t even save this bastard. Maybe if I was seducing a grain thresher.

2) Iron Maiden, “Rhyme Of The Ancient Mariner” Is it just me or is sex hard to have when the background music is too lyrics-heavy? Imagine screwing to a Rollins spoken-word piece. Anyway—this verbose, 13-minute long adaptation of a Coleridge poem is terrible sex music. Dusty old tomes and steamy passion don’t always mix.

3) Anything by Eyehategod Limiting this to a specific song insults this band. Eyehategod are arguably the most unpleasant band in existence. Every song is about your niece getting raped with barbed wire after you buy crystal meth from her. If their music makes you feel anything other than depressed about being human, you belong in a prison or at the bottom of a well. Maybe both.

4) Mayhem, “De Mysteriis Dom Sathanas” Oh yeah, grunting, weepy haunted-house wailing, buzzsaw guitars, and half-on drums, all of which sound like they were recorded in the womb. Oh yeah. I’m getting hot just thinking about it. Ungh and such.

5) Slayer, “Chemical Warfare” Now, I’ve had a lot of sex to a lot of Slayer, and I can tell you, it’s generally fun. So why put “Chemical Warfare” on here? Because any man who hits a woman is a miserable sack of shit, and this song makes me want to wail on someone every time I hear it. Better safe than sorry.

6) Strapping Young Lad, “Oh My Fucking God” Ow! Ow! Stop! Slow down! Ow! That chafes! Ow! Ow! Woah! Can I get some water—ow! Ow!

Ah, the fond days of being a hamster-cheeked preteen. Not a care in the world but Star Wars, getting a first kiss, and the unholy Norwegian war machine slowly mowing down all in its path. Here, we see a young boy living out the best years of his life in front of a camera, snarling out Dimmu Borgir’s “Progenies of the Great Apocalypse” in bug-eyed glory, creating a “Numa Numa” for those sworn to the dark.

Admit it: the kid’s doing what you do every fucking day. You’re just too big a pussy to put this shit online. Hail, Spanky!

White Zombie, circa 1995Somewhere in storage, Rob Zombie has a couple hundred copies of Gods on Voodoo Mountain, the 1985 debut release from groove-metal heroes White Zombie. “I don’t know what to do with it all anymore,” he says, pausing. “I’ll just make Frisbees, I guess.” He then bursts into laughter. Over two decades since recording Voodoo Mountain—when White Zombie was a New York post-punk band—Zombie hardly even has time to ponder what the past means. Having transformed White Zombie, which also featured guitarist Jay Yuenger, bassist Sean Yseult, and a rotating cast of drummers, into a ’90s metal powerhouse, then gone solo before bringing his artistic eye to Hollywood, the man born Rob Cummings is now infinitely busier than when he was chasing gigs for his band of misfits on New York’s Lower East Side. That’s why we should be grateful to him for taking the time to meticulously compile Let Sleeping Corpses Lie (Geffen-UMe), a chronological four-CD/one-DVD box set that features every note the band ever recorded. Revolver is even more grateful that Zombie afforded us a few minutes of his time for us to make him look back.

REVOLVER When you went back and listened to the early stuff again, what came to mind?
ROB ZOMBIE It’s funny. I haven’t listened to a lot of it since recording it because, going back, whenever we were making those records, I’d finish recording and just feel disappointed. I mean, we were also recording these albums for, like, 60 dollars, so I don’t know what else I was supposed to feel. So, I’d listen to them, think, Eh, and then never listen to them again, ever. So listening to a lot of those songs which I haven’t heard in, like, 20 years, all I thought was, Huh, this sounds weird. What were we thinking?

But you probably played those songs a lot. Listening to the demos, were you unhappy with the songs or the recording?
I don’t even remember. In the early days of starting a band, you’re just striving for something that you can’t even achieve yet. Sonically, songwriting-wise, everything was coming up short. A lot of those songs we barely played. Back then, it was hard to get gigs, so we didn’t get to play as much as we should, so… It seems like forever ago. Even putting that together, it seemed like I was putting together a box set of someone else’s life.

You were living on New York’s Lower East Side. Was it hard to get gigs?
I guess, yeah. It was New York, 1985. There was CBGBs, which was always there, but most of the clubs would open, then close. We’d play there once, and then it’d be gone. And CBGBs, it wasn’t like they’d just let anyone play. You’d have to go to their audition night, and then beg someone to give you a gig. It was difficult.

White Zombie, Let Sleeping Corpses Lie trailer

Not all metal bands are financial idiots! While on tour with Decrepit Birth, it seems that death-metal nutcases Animosity and the Antagonist went to a shooting of The Price Is Right, and lo and behold, Antagonist singer Carlos Garcia was lucky enough to get called up onstage, and actually proved himself a formidable pricer.

Garcia won a Little Guy trailer, though he neglected to tell new host and human pustule Drew Carey about the horrible acts of necrosodomy that would go on inside. Check out the carnage:

As the Revolver Photo Director and proud owner of a vagina, I feel more than qualified to offer up honest, raw, and unadulterated advice regarding all things related to sex, the female body, and relationships. So, all you metalhead freaks out there, please email me your most dire, dirty, sick, and twisted questions about women and the way we work, from our emotional hearts to our even more complicated parts. Girls are also welcome to fire off some questions; I’m sure the guys reading my blog would love to hear what’s on your mind as well. Email me at RevolvHer@gmail.com.

Dear RevolvHer,
I have a sorta medical question for you that I’m not sure you can answer. I recently started sleeping with a dude in a band. He is on tour a lot and had his fare share of women through the years, unprotected it seems. He told me, before we had sex together, that he has herpes. He explained that it is only transmittable if he has an outbreak, and that only happens every few months. We have been using condoms, but I am still totally freaked that I’m going to catch his herpes. Is it possible to get herpes even if we use a condom and never fuck when he is having an outbreak?
Help!
Lisa

Hey Lisa,
I might not be a Doc. But my pops is a Gynecologist so I’m pretty informed when it comes to the wily ways of various horrific STDs. To me, herpes just seems like pure suckage. I mean, yeah, it would totally blow to waste away from AIDS or worse, but herpes is a sneaky little fucker of a disease that almost everyone has, latent or active. I would hate to have my vag on fire, so I try to avoid herpes at all costs. That said, I have yet to fall in love with a man carrying this STD, and I realize that being sexually active, herpes happen. So I will try to help ease your worries.

You can, in fact, catch the herps when someone who is not having a breakout. Also, you can still catch them even when using a condom. The virus actually sloughs off onto the surrounding skin. Of course, it is far less likely that your man will transmit his herpes to you when he is not having a breakout. But there is still a small chance. The way I see it, if you are not in a committed, possibly long-term, awesome relationship with the herpes carrier, why put yourself at risk? You have to ask yourself, Is the risk worth the reward of the orgasm? Is this someone you really dig, enough to possibly catch this STD? If you answer yes to these questions then here are some suggestions: always use a condom. Ask your man to not have sex with you if he thinks he is about to have breakout (there are usually warning signs). Finally, ask him to get himself on some kind of herpes med that might help slow down the frequency of breakouts (Valtrex, Zovirax, etc). Here is a link to some very accurate and thorough info about herpes: cdc.gov/std/herpes/STDFact-herpes.htm.

My dad says that 4 out of 5 people have herpes. A few years ago, Dr. Drew and Adam Corolla of Love Line stated that because so many people suffer from this STD, they should officially change the name from The Herpes to The Happies, the idea being to remove the bad stigma attached to such a common ailment. The Happies are nothing to be ashamed of. Whatever you do, I would recommend not making your man feel like shit for having this STD. It’s very awesome that he informed you about his Happies before entering your most special place. And just remember, shame is never a good aphrodisiac.
xxx
RevolvHer

Since I was a little kid, I loved monster makeup. While other kids watched movies to see Harrison Ford or Sarah Michelle Gellar, I grabbed whichever film featured the newest works by Steve Johnson and Tom Savini. Now, while the skill of making awesome creature-feature makeup is usually useless in the outside world, once a year, on Halloween, it counts. I always, always have the coolest costume in the room, and it gets me tons of recognition and free drinks. This year, I was in a bit of a rut. I’d done decomposing zombies, long-eared vampires, and even a bulgy-eyed Two-Face. Now I wanted something bigger, darker, stranger. Then it hit me: I would be Metal. Not a simple leather-clad dude, not King Diamond, but Metal Incarnate. And as you can see by the picture below, I did a pretty fucking good job (and if you’re one of the, like, 60 people down in Union Square or at the Hop Devil on St. Marks who took a picture of me on Halloween night, let me know!).



Now, while this costume was badass, it wasn’t perfect—well, the costume was perfect, but the experience of being in it wasn’t great. While I thought Metal Incarnate was no-holds-barred the best idea for a Halloween costume ever, it didn’t always seem that way to the public at large—or to me once I had the makeup on. There was confusion, discomfort, and frustration that came with embodying the most awesome genre of music out there, even if my get-up itself was tits on a beer. Therefore, at the suggestion of Revolver Executive Editor and Dark Overlord Brandon Geist, I submit to you the Six Best & Worst Things About Being Metal Incarnate This Halloween.


THE SIX BEST THINGS ABOUT BEING METAL INCARNATE THIS HALLOWEEN

1) Great minds think alike Walking down the street, most people would gasp or “Oooh-aaah” at my costume. Then, some random dude sauntering by would spy me, stop, and shriek Venom lyrics at the top of his lungs. The chosen few knew it without having to ask.
2) Ill communication When given the opportunity to communicate in Deicide and Dark Angel lyrics all night, who needs speech? I was Metal, I spoke in Metal. Hey, dude, what time is it? “TIME! TO RAISE! THE FLAG! OF HATE!”
3) Bringing scary back Halloween has become this holiday for being clever and sexy; most people don’t wear costumes as much as they wear sight gags. It’s repulsive. Over the course of the evening, multiple people thanked me for wearing a truly evil costume. I do my best.
4) Fuel for hatred Being dressed as Metal Incarnate makes people want to get you drunk and high—it’s what metalheads do! All night, folks were buying me shots and passing me blunts. Sorry to the poor dude who had to clean the puke out of his cab.
5) Preaching the gospel My horns and pentagram added the demonic element, but my corpse-paint always came up in conversation, and I got to explain black metal to the curious passerby. Nothing like dropping some brutal history to a 10-year-old in a skeleton suit.
6) That’s so metal I got to BE Metal. It doesn’t get much cooler’n that.

THE SIX WORST THINGS ABOUT METAL INCARNATE THIS HALLOWEEN

1) No love for leather Get this—during the night, I had two different people stop me and tell me that my leather costume was an act of murder. Thanks for being the Fun Police, vegan warriors. You deserve an apple in your pillowcase.
2) Burning times Between the leather, the spikes, the bullets, the latex, the greasepaint, and the cheesecloth (to hold on the horns), that costume was fucking HOT—hot like temperature. Midway through the night, a piece of latex popped under one horn and three hours of rancid booze sweat came running out. None too cool.
3) The Antistud So my make-up was stellar and my costume was badass, but that didn’t change the fact that any woman I drunkenly flirted with wanted absolutely nothing to do with me (‘cause that NEVER happens normally…).
4) Please don’t touch “Wow, dude, your costume is so cool! Look at those horns! Now I think it’s appropriate to touch your fucking face with my nacho-and-tequila hands! Did I mention I’ve never met you until now and I smell like a thousand grundles?”
5) Caught in a mosh When you have incredibly delicate prosthetics on your noggin that took you forever to put on, you have to be careful. When they stick six inches off of the side of your head and you’re trying to navigate through a packed bar, you have to be a fucking contortionist.
6) Well, I get the idea “You’re the devil? Met—metal? Who’s Metal? You’re a medal? You mean you’re WEARING metal…oh, HEAVY metal! So, like Poison?”

We at Revolver are generally nauseated by the way that most people are reduced to blubbering, baby-talking morons at the sight of an infant. What is it about these burping, drooling, big-headed not-yet-quite-humans that automatically drops the IQ of the average person? We never thought we'd understand. But then we saw the baby in this video (which the good folks at Metal Sucks turned us on to) and, well, watta iddy biddy iddle cutie...

Boozing, fighting, fucking—at least, in terms of subject matter, the line that separates a metal song from a country song is often pretty thin. This duality is what defines Shelton Hank Williams, III, the grandson of country legend Hank Williams (and son of country-rock belter Hank Williams, Jr. of Monday Night Football fame). But you can call him Hank.

Having played in prominent metal bands and sat atop of the country charts, Hank III is the new “Man in Black,” walking a line more dangerous than Johnny Cash could conceive, considering how pure each genre’s fans want their music. Hank’s fourth full-length, Damn Right Rebel Proud! (Sidewalk) presents the best of both worlds, though, from a distinctly country perspective. Amidst chicken-pickin’ solos and acoustic strumming, Hank sings about raisin’ hell, drinking beer, and beating a tough upbringing. There’s even a song on there about gross-out punk legend G.G. Allin, “P.F.F.” which contains some metal screams.

Hank’s concerts are divided into two parts: The first half consists of traditional country music, the second is invariably a performance by what Hank calls his “hellbilly” band, Assjack, which is a sort of metal-rockabilly hybrid. Although Hank has always wanted to fuse metal, psychedelia, and country even more explicitly, his contract with Curb Records has prevented him from releasing anything other than country music. This has led to a very public battle, which Hank can’t legally speak about in interviews anymore.

Nevertheless, Hank has been able to get his metal fix by performing with other bands. Hank’s first foray into heavier music was a vitriolic rendition of Black Flag’s “No Values” on the compilation Rise Above. (Incidentally, Hank III has designed the “III” in his name to resemble Black Flag’s famous “bars” in some album packaging.) More metal, though, are Hank III’s collaborations with former Pantera members. Having guested on the Rebel Meets Rebel album, which paired Pantera sans Phil Anselmo with outlaw-country legend David Allen Coe, Hank went on to become the bass player for Anselmo’s Superjoint Ritual when their original bassist quit. He’s currently working with the ex-Pantera singer in the Southern hardcore-punk group Arson Anthem, which also features Mike Williams of Eyehategod. In this interview, Hank makes a great case for why metal and country aren’t so different in the end.

REVOLVER You separate your concerts between your traditional country music and Assjack. Do many people stick around for the second half?
Hank III There’s definitely a divide there. I’ve seen 500 people turn up, turn around, and leave while 40, 50 kids stick around for Assjack, and then sometimes they’ll stay for the whole show. But most people’s attention spans are getting shorter and shorter. It’s a long fucking show, and there are definitely the kids in black who come only to see Assjack, and then there’re those who stay for the whole show, so it’s never-ending. Last night, where I played at was a full-on redneck bar, and we still have our hillbilly crowd that shows up and sticks around the see the other part. And then there’s those middle-aged people who’re sitting there saying, “What the fuck is this? It definitely changed on us.” It never ends, seeing that look on some people’s face.

Well, the thing that struck me about the new one, Damn Right, Rebel Proud!, is that it’s the first record you’ve done that really incorporates metal with country in a way.
A little bit. From a legal aspect, I still can’t really mix the two full on. I have to be cautious about that, there’s some loopholes I have to watch. But there’s a couple of screams, and payin’ respect to GG with “P.F.F.,” and then “Long Hauls and Close Calls,” which is definitely a bit of a crossover song. But for the true metal fans, I still talk about Straight to Hell. That’s the album that shoulda got talked about in Revolver but never did. I’ll keep bringin’ that one up, man, just because it crosses so many boundaries, and that one really struck real deep with no push, no radio, no video, or any of that stuff.

Hank III – “Long Hauls and Close Calls”

I’m listening to a band named Beneath the Massacre right now. They’re pretty good, actually—really tight, technical death metal with a nice wheedly-wheedly swing to it. Apparently, they’re from Canada, which makes sense, as they have a serious Cryptopsy vibe to them. But all of this takes a backseat as I wonder what the fuck it means to be “beneath the massacre.” Is it that the massacre is happening in the air? Or are you lying at the bottom of the massacre, maybe, still alive as dead bodies begin to pile heavy upon you? Are you morally beneath the massacre—as in, is the massacre is too good for you? I’m sure the band members have some sort of personal explanation for this name, but honestly, I couldn’t give a dog’s dick about that, ’cause I’m not in the band. I call balls on this one.

The sad thing, though, is that it’s one of the less retarded band names out there. (Since writing this, I’ve interviewed the band and found that this world is a massacre, and “beneath the surface” sounded too gay, and it’s cool, ’cause if anything, this explanation heightens the name’s dumbassery). Metal band names have always been, and will always be, a little retarded. From the moment Mille Petrozza decided the word ‘creator’ was more metal with a ‘k’, metal band names have been way retarded all over the place.

The funny thing is, a lot of those retarded names? Metal. I mean, Kreator—that’s metal. No idea why, but it is so. Celtic Frost? What the fuck is that? METAL, that’s what. The current trend that weirds me out, however, are these descriptive/commanding titles, which I guess were spawned from Shadows Fall, Killswitch Engage, and Poison the Well; every so often, though, a band shines through and lights up my life with an awesome name. Therefore, for this Final Six, I’m going to enrage any readership this magazine has and do Six of the Best/Worst Retarded Metal Band Names

SIX OF THE BEST RETARDED METAL BAND NAMES:

1. 3 Inches of Blood According to something I read, the band named themselves this because it’s the lowest amount of blood you can drown in. But isn’t that the same for any substance? I guess 3 Inches of Soup isn’t that metal. Regardless, a badass name.

2. Morbid Angel Unlike Death Angel or Dark Angel, this name just means an angel who’s into deathly crap, which ain’t too brilliant. And yet just saying this band name—‘Morbid Angel’, ‘MORBID ANGEL’—makes you feel metal.

3. Sigh Sigh? Sigh?! Are you fucking kidding me? What do you sing about, having to come into work, you lame-ass little—oh. You…you play epic psychedelic black metal from Japan. Sorry. Actually, yeah. Sigh’s…Sigh’s a pretty cool name. Don’t know why, but…

4. Pig Destroyer So, whenever I tell people I find this name stupid, they explain to me that by ‘Pig’, the band means ‘Cop’, which doesn’t stop me from thinking of this cartoon every time I hear this band’s name. Pig Destroyer? More like…Big…Employer. Heh.

5. Soilwork Again, I have no idea why this is such a metal name. Hell, the band’s mascot is a cyborg-lookin’ dude with a pickaxe. And yet, somehow, it works. This ambient thrash band named after manual labor fucking rocks, and their name helps. Huh.

6. Nachtmystium German Latin night mist? SURE. I know exactly what kind of band this is from their name, and something tells their music is awesome. Word.

SIX OF THE WORST RETARDED METAL BAND NAMES:

1. Dew-Scented So’s the air freshener next to my crapper. I understand that beautiful things are super fucking metal—I think Isis is a great name—but come on, now. Come on, now.

2. Necrophobic I love Slayer! You love Slayer! But when you’re a band as brutal as this, naming yourself “the fear of death” is sending the wrong message. Pressing together two metal-ass words doesn’t mean the resulting compound word won’t be moronic.

3. Rwake It sucks I have to put a band I love and respect so much in this section, but honestly, this name is pretty fucking dumb, if only because of every hipster who nasally reminds me that it’s pronounced ‘Wake’ and that the ‘R’ is silent. Sorry, guys.

4. Anorexia Nervosa I suppose lots of metal bands name themselves after unpleasant things—I just listened to a Dead Child song—but if you’re a symphonic black metal band from France, why name yourself after an eating disorder? I mean, you can. You’re allowed. It’s just fucking retarded.

5. Scars on Broadway The minute I heard this band’s name, I knew it was going to gargle sweaty balls, and lo and behold, I’m a fucking psychic. Saying it, you can see what Daron was getting at. Unfortunately, the name, like the band, falls flat and sounds dumb.

6. Protest the Hero What? Like, you’re the villain? Villains don’t protest, they build doomsday devices. Is there a hero named Protest? Is this a John McCain thing? Or maybe—just maybe—you’re retarded.