Wednesday, 30 November 2016

The cancer in the marrow

Steve Hughes is a comedian who, for someone in his line of work, actually has his head screwed on quite tightly. He's Australian- so he (presumably) understands that meat is murder, tasty, tasty murder; he's a metalhead- so he has impeccable taste in music; and he considers political correctness to be basically batshit insane.



I'm not joking about his taste in music, by the way. You haven't understood what the word "dedication" means until you've seen a dyed-in-the-wool IRON MAIDEN fan, like Steve Hughes (or me), in real life. We don't just like the band- we're the kinds of crazy bastards who collect the tour shirts just... well, because.

Hell, I've got an Eddie the 'Ead (styled on the Killers album cover, natch) action figure occupying a place of honour on my bookshelf- right next to a scale model of a SPARTAN-IV.

That aside, he has a serious point to make through his comic stylings about the deadly rot of political correctness. Actually, if anything, he is understating the gravity of the problem.

Some might have you believe that political correctness was a high-minded attempt to make people be a little nicer and more polite to each other.

It was actually nothing of the sort- it was one of the many exercises in totalitarian thought control that emerged out of the Frankfurt School of cultural Marxism. At this point, to our great loss and shame, has metastasised into a true cancer within Western society.

The fact is that free speech has been consistently and relentlessly attacked under the aegis of "political correctness", in order to stop anyone from saying anything "too offensive" (read: unacceptable to the protected minority groups favoured by progressives).

None of this is news to any of you. All of you have had to censor your opinions and your thoughts in public. One of the worst offences you can commit in this day and age is to think the "wrong" things.

And God help you if you dare to say those things in public.

It has been said before, correctly, that "in a time of universal deceit, telling the truth is a revolutionary act". It has often been argued that the source of this quote was none other than George Orwell, whose books during and after his lifetime did a very great deal to tell the truth about power and the terrible corruption that it brings.

There is some argument over whether Mr. Orwell did, in fact, state that phrase. Whether he did or didn't, though, is basically irrelevant. What he did do is far more important.

George Orwell showed us very clearly what the world would look like if truth goes from being objective and openly available for anyone to see and speak, to being subjected to the whims of a ruling class that determines what is and is not permissible.

He wrote a book in 1949 that would go on to become the defining text on what happens when any state or group arrogates to itself the right to define what is, and is not, truth. When he published it, most people thought it was merely a highly entertaining and rather disturbing bit of fiction, yet 70 years later it reads like a journalistic investigation into modern speech-policing.

There was a time when George Orwell's Nineteen Eighty-Four, and its brilliantly conceived idea of a new "correct" manner of speech and thought in the form of Newspeak, could have been dimissed as simple fiction. But Mr. Orwell was a prophet far ahead of his time, and he foresaw our current predicament with chilling accuracy.

Today, if you dare to offend anyone among the "protected classes" of the culture, you are immediately cast out of polite society. You are treated as one who has committed the worst possible crimes- when, in reality, all you have done is express an opinion.

The reality is that an opinion is merely what you think. It may or may not be rooted in objective reality. But if you find an opinion offensive, that's really your problem and nobody else's.

If you are a Jew and you are offended when someone voices the opinion (which I categorically disagree with) that Jews are part of some secret cult that aims to control the world- that is your problem.

If you are a Muslim and you are offended when someone (like me) argues that your "prophet" was a vile, murderous, child-molesting warlord who stained his hands with the blood of possibly thousands and definitely hundreds of combatants and innocents alike- that is your problem.

If you are black and you are offended when someone (like me) opines that inner-city black culture is a damned disaster that traps young blacks in a cycle of poverty, violence, and single-parenthood while glorifying all that is worst and ugliest in human nature- that is your problem.

If you are gay and you are offended when someone (like me) calls your lifestyle degenerate and disgusting, argues that your sexual proclivities result in vastly higher rates of both the spreading of STDs and partner abuse than in the normal population, and indeed if you are offended at the very use of the word "normal" to describe human sexual preferences- that is your problem.

If you are "transgendered" (whatever the hell that means) and you are offended when someone (like me) calls you mentally disturbed for thinking that you are something that you cannot possibly be- that is your problem.

If you are a woman and you are offended when someone (like me) says that the gender pay gap is a complete myth, that women routinely choose softer and easier jobs with more flexible working hours and greater leisure time, over hard and dangerous but well-paying manual labour or jobs that require long hours and hard sweat of the mind- that is your problem.

Indeed, these days the only people you can get away with actively mocking are straight white Christian males. That is the last acceptable prejudice in modern Western society. They are fair game because they don't fight back- but if you dare to mock anyone else, you're dead.

Taking offence at opinions is the easy way out. It allows people to substitute feelings for logic, anger for reason, and subjective folly for objective truth.

That is the true impact of political correctness. By making people hesitant to speak their minds for fear of social censure- or, worse, actual punishment at the hands of an overbearing state- we obscure our ability to seek out truth.

The reality is that truth is painful. It always has been- just ask any real Christian about the trials that he has had to endure for his faith in God. Political correctness makes it easy to shun the hard path of truth- and thereby makes it impossible for us to reap the very real rewards that come from embracing that pain.

The other serious problem with political correctness is that, just as Orwell had predicted in his masterpiece, the definition of what is and is not "permissible" is constantly shifting.

For instance, it used to be that feminists were on the same side as racial equalitarians. But now, apparently, white feminists are guilty of racism for being white, because.... reasons.

After all, we have always been at war with Oceania Eastasia.

Truth isn't flexible. It simply is what it is. The Universal Gravitational Constant doesn't change just because you really really really want it to. Human nature doesn't change just because you think it should. God's existence is not contingent upon whether you can communicate with Him or not.

That very inflexibility of truth is what makes it so important. The search for truth consumes our entire lives; without it we are simply deaf, dumb, and blind children stumbling through life without anything stopping us from going straight over the nearest cliff.

Political correctness robs us of those senses, of our ability to tell what is right and wrong, all in the name of sparing our feeeeeeelings.

Enough of such nonsense. Enough of this stupidity. Speak the truth, even if it could cost you dearly, in whatever way that you can.

It is still a dangerous world for those who wish to speak truthfully and faithfully- that, after all, is why I write under a pseudonym. But it has gotten marginally easier- unexpectedly so, actually- ever since the election of the God-Emperor Ascendant.

That tiny sliver of hope is all that we need to keep going. Once that hope is gone, then we are truly doomed- but for now, it is clear that the age of political correctness is beginning its long-awaited death-spiral onto the ash heap of history.

Good bloody riddance to it, too.

Tuesday, 29 November 2016

So this thrash band walks into a salsa club...

Question: what do you suppose happens when one of the greatest drummers ever to beat the crap out of the skins shows up at a drum-off expo to show off what he can do?

Answer: something like THIS...


I am going to commit heavy metal heresy when I say this, but the fact is, I am not a fan of SLAYER. I really am not. My tastes in thrash metal, and with heavy metal in general, have always leaned heavily toward the progressive and melodic side of things. That is why I am a huge fan of the early MEGADETH albums, for instance; in my opinion, no thrash band has ever topped the sheer brilliance of Killing is My Business... And Business is Good! and the monumental Peace Sells... But Who's Buying?

That is because both albums had this amazing fusion of jazz and thrash, thanks to MEGADETH's lineup at the time. Gar Samuelson on drums and Chris Poland on lead guitar turned the band into a true powerhouse of melodic heavy metal. They were able to put together songs that were musically brilliant as well as brutal.

SLAYER, on the other hand, was all about simply overpowering the listener with sheer speed, aggression, and rage. And Dave Lombardo was unquestionably a huge part of that sound.

I'll never forget the first time that I heard Reign in Blood. I couldn't get my head around the album- I just didn't see the point of it. The whole thing just seemed to be a giant, chaotic mess. It was all just... noise.

But one thing stood out from the background of whammy-bar solos and rage-filled roars. And that was the drumming.

Good Lord but the drumming was something else. It was like listening to a Bizarro World version of Neil Peart, if he was mainlining crack.

The funny thing is, though, that if you've only ever heard Dave Lombardo playing in SLAYER, you're actually not seeing what he's truly capable of doing as a drummer. That clip above proves it. Turns out, he's actually amazingly talented in a number of different styles of drumming.

That, in my opinion, is what separates the merely good drummers from the truly great ones. Neil Peart, Nicko McBrain, Marco Minnemann, Mike Portnoy, Jimmy DeGrasso, Iain Paice, and on back to departed legends like Joe Morello and, of course, Buddy Rich- they all have this trait in common. Every one of them is capable of playing a variety of different styles with equal fluency and skill. None of them is limited to just one style of playing, unlike quite a lot of heavy metal drummers who only play really fast and really really heavy.

If you get the chance to watch a true drum artist play live, it's a true treat. I've seen Neil Peart play live with RUSH something like 7 times (last time I bothered counting); his drum solos are truly epic demonstrations of what a real legend can do with the drums.

That's what it's like watching Dave Lombardo killing it on those drums while playing as though he just crashed into a salsa bar. You're watching a true master showing the rest of us mere mortals how it's done.

Monday, 28 November 2016

The Betrothed by Rudyard Kipling

Was there ever a more red-pill poet and writer than Rudyard Kipling? About the only one who I genuinely think could possibly compete for that title was probably W. Somerset Maugham- I know Charles Bukowski is supposed to be right up there too, but I've never read any of his works and, frankly, Kipling has everyone else beat hollow.

This poem has got to be one of the finest takes on marriage in the modern age that I've ever seen- which is remarkable, considering it was written well over a century ago.

"You must choose between me and your cigar."
-- BREACH OF PROMISE CASE, CIRCA 1885.

Open the old cigar-box, get me a Cuba stout,
For things are running crossways, and Maggie and I are out.

We quarrelled about Havanas -- we fought o'er a good cheroot,
And I knew she is exacting, and she says I am a brute.

Open the old cigar-box -- let me consider a space;
In the soft blue veil of the vapour musing on Maggie's face.

Maggie is pretty to look at -- Maggie's a loving lass,
But the prettiest cheeks must wrinkle, the truest of loves must pass.

There's peace in a Larranaga, there's calm in a Henry Clay;
But the best cigar in an hour is finished and thrown away --

Thrown away for another as perfect and ripe and brown --
But I could not throw away Maggie for fear o' the talk o' the town!

Maggie, my wife at fifty -- grey and dour and old --
With never another Maggie to purchase for love or gold!

And the light of Days that have Been the dark of the Days that Are,
And Love's torch stinking and stale, like the butt of a dead cigar --

The butt of a dead cigar you are bound to keep in your pocket --
With never a new one to light tho' it's charred and black to the socket!

Open the old cigar-box -- let me consider a while.
Here is a mild Manila -- there is a wifely smile.

Which is the better portion -- bondage bought with a ring,
Or a harem of dusky beauties, fifty tied in a string?

Counsellors cunning and silent -- comforters true and tried,
And never a one of the fifty to sneer at a rival bride?

Thought in the early morning, solace in time of woes,
Peace in the hush of the twilight, balm ere my eyelids close,

This will the fifty give me, asking nought in return,
With only a Suttee's passion -- to do their duty and burn.

This will the fifty give me. When they are spent and dead,
Five times other fifties shall be my servants instead.

The furrows of far-off Java, the isles of the Spanish Main,
When they hear my harem is empty will send me my brides again.

I will take no heed to their raiment, nor food for their mouths withal,
So long as the gulls are nesting, so long as the showers fall.

I will scent 'em with best vanilla, with tea will I temper their hides,
And the Moor and the Mormon shall envy who read of the tale of my brides.

For Maggie has written a letter to give me my choice between
The wee little whimpering Love and the great god Nick o' Teen.

And I have been servant of Love for barely a twelvemonth clear,
But I have been Priest of Cabanas a matter of seven year;

And the gloom of my bachelor days is flecked with the cheery light
Of stumps that I burned to Friendship and Pleasure and Work and Fight.

And I turn my eyes to the future that Maggie and I must prove,
But the only light on the marshes is the Will-o'-the-Wisp of Love.

Will it see me safe through my journey or leave me bogged in the mire?
Since a puff of tobacco can cloud it, shall I follow the fitful fire?

Open the old cigar-box -- let me consider anew --
Old friends, and who is Maggie that I should abandon you?

A million surplus Maggies are willing to bear the yoke;
And a woman is only a woman, but a good Cigar is a Smoke.

Light me another Cuba -- I hold to my first-sworn vows.
If Maggie will have no rival, I'll have no Maggie for Spouse!

Friday, 25 November 2016

Friday T&A: Turkey-Day Food Coma Edition

It's Black Friday, lads, which in the US means something quite different from what it does in most other parts of the world. Now, if you lot are proper God-fearing men (like me), you've left the crazed shopping orgies to the women and instead spent the day nursing an epic headache and food coma, sitting in front of the TV with a cold beer, watching sportzball and burping.

That is right and good.

Now that it's Friday night, though, the food coma will have worn off, and it will be time to get back to making America great again. And what better way to do that than with a highly gratuitous, yet thoroughly enjoyable, display of T&A?

(Note: Given that it's Black Friday, I could have taken the easy way out and just shown you... well, this. But frankly, they're not my type.)

With that in mind, gents, here is a random assortment of hot girls, thanks to Everyjoe.com.

Louise Mikkelsen:




Andreea "Hey! My eyes are UP HERE!!!" Cristina:










Yarishna Ayala:







Lucy C. Miller:



BONUS: In keeping with our deplorable goal of making America great again, here's a blast from the past of the country's future First Lady.


Gun, high heels, hot babe in a red bikini and eff-me boots, and a big-ass jet. America- F**K YEAH!!!

"Watkins! I need new undies in my office NOW!!!"

TOP GEAR SERIES 24- er, I mean, um, THE GRAND TOUR- just gets better every time you see it. I cannot wait to plonk my arse down on the couch with a cold beer tonight and proceed to laugh myself into gasping, oxygen-starved paroxysms of hilarity watching Episode 2. I imagine that the rest of you lot are in much the same boat- especially after having to deal with your relatives, and the ensuing food coma and massive headache, from last night.

However, there is one group of people who are almost certainly not amused by the roaring, runaway success of Amazon Prime's epic new hit. That would be the middle managers of the Bolshevik Broadcasting Corporation:


The lesson from THE GRAND TOUR's smash-hit success is that there is very good money to be made in giving media and establishment SJWs a massive middle finger. If you're talented, and you have something of real value to offer to people, then it turns out that it's not that difficult to find someone willing to pay you money to deliver that value to people- no matter how controversial you are or how difficult you might seem to be to work with.

And yes, before anyone states the obvious, I am well aware that Jeff Bezos, CEO of Amazon, is himself a globalist and a massive Hilldebeast supporter. That just tells me that he's a liberal hypocrite. I know the type- I'm related to several. I spent yesterday evening knee-deep in them at my aunt's place for Thanksgiving.

He is the sort of person who got rich thanks in part to policies that benefited him immensely, and now that he's got his, he's shitting all over the ladder that he climbed in order to make it harder for others to do the same.

There is a word for such people. They're called mercantilists. (A less polite term would be crony capitalist. A still less polite version would probably be shyster. But never let it be said that I would ever be so rude as to refer to someone as such, eh, what?)

However, let's give credit where it is due. Jeff Bezos is also a hugely talented businessman who figured out what customers really wanted, and delivered it. And he recognised that same spirit in Jeremy Clarkson, Richard Hammond, James May, and Andy Wilman. So he hired them to do what they do best- fall over, set each other on fire, and drive the world's greatest supercars at absurdly high speeds while cracking ridiculous jokes and making completely non-PC comments.

And for that, Mr. Bezos deserves our thanks. He isn't a full-blown SJW, he's merely a liberal hypocrite, and I can live with that. He's done us all a tremendous service by bringing us a show full of laughter and fun and joy that puts a huge- or should that be, YUUUUUUGE- smile on our faces.

The Beeb's management team, however, is almost surely not so sanguine about the prospects of their stupid, lame, boring, hackneyed version of TOP GEAR by now.

They've lost much of their core audience to the very same blokes who built it up in the first place. If I were in their shoes, staring down the barrel of seeing 350 MEEEEEELLION subscribers losing interest and walking away from a flagship show, I'd be calling for a change of underwear every few hours.

Too bad. Those are the results of going full-on SJW. The Beeb will fall, just as every other converged institution will in the end. And we will be delighted to see them crumble- preferably due to gigantic explosions timed to the epic sound of car engines revving over a heavy metal soundtrack.

Which, of course, is a pretty fair description of how THE GRAND TOUR does things.

Thursday, 24 November 2016

Thanksgiving

There is a heart in America -- a good, deep, loving, and true heart. It's always been part of our land, from the time the pilgrims first bowed their heads to thank the Lord for His bounty to this day. You only need eyes to see and ears to hear, for there are signs of the love, the courage, the hope, and the generosity of the American heart at every bend in every road, and there is the music of its song in every community throughout our land.

-- President Ronald Wilson Reagan, remarks at the Presentation Ceremony for the Young Ameican Medals for Bravery and Service, November 13, 1987

Of all of the holidays that are unique to the American calendar, Thanksgiving is by far and away my favourite. It's not just because this day is intended to be spent with family and closest friends, eating waaaaaaaay too much food and drinking very much to excess. Those are all good and worthy things, to be sure, but there is much more to it than that.

I actually love Thanksgiving because this remarkable tradition reveals something fundamental about the character of Americans.

I have spent more than ten years now living with and among Americans. My time here in this fair land has taught me many valuable lessons, but perhaps the most important of these lessons is this one:

For all of its many faults, for all that has gone terribly wrong with it, this is still a land of wonders and riches, and its people, for all that is wrong with them, are gracious and welcoming as no others are.

Its people, who have created a living, breathing tradition full of love and happiness, are for the most part genuinely good and decent. They treat strangers with grace, dignity, and decency as long as we obey their laws and observe some very basic rules of civilised behaviour. These are the same people whose forefathers carved a nation out of the wilderness with nothing much more than their bare hands, an iron will, and the awesome and terrible Hand of the Almighty over them.

This is a God-blessed land, full of good people who seek nothing more than to live their lives in peace and pursue their own ends under the benign and watchful eye of the Lord.

For my part, although I may mock Americans for their many follies and idiosyncrasies, mine are the gentle jibes and japes of a man who loves this country and all that it stands for, who loves her people and is grateful beyond words for the endless opportunities and blessings that have been given to me during my time here.

I am proud to be a friend of America and her people. I am honoured to stand with my brothers as we fight a long twilight struggle to preserve and defend and recover Western civilisation. And I am deeply grateful for all that has been given to me.

Yes, there is much to be grateful for. There always is, no matter how little we might have by way of material possessions.

I am thankful for my parents and my sister. I am blessed beyond measure to be the son of two remarkable people who love each other and their children with every fibre of their being.

My father is the man that I have spent my entire life aspiring to be, the role model that every father should be to his son. I could not have asked for a better guiding light. He is a man of unbending principle with an insatiable desire to learn as much as he can about the world around him, yet whose only real concern, from the moment that he wakes (ridiculously late) to the moment that he goes to sleep (again, really stupidly late) is the welfare and safety of his wife and his children.

My mother did her best to raise me right, and I think overall she did a pretty damn good job. She has passed on her values to me and to my sister with firmness and discipline, and a mother's love, and they have stood me in good stead all of my life. They are the rock upon which I build my future; this, along with the mortar of my faith in God, will provide me with all that I need in the days to come.

My sister may be a bit of a twerp sometimes. She may be a feminist, which pains me greatly. She may be difficult and illogical and overemotional and given to frequent fits of foolishness and dissipation. But she is still my sister, brat though she might be. She is my responsibility to watch over and protect, and I take that responsibility with utmost seriousness. She is my one true confidante, who knows me as no one else possibly could.

I am thankful for my second family, found through years of training at my martial arts school. They are the brothers that I never had growing up, the sisters that I can punch and kick (GENTLY!!!), the closest and truest friends that any man could have. I have shed sweat and blood with them, and through them I have grown to be a better man.

I am thankful for the presence in my life of a certain rather sweet and feminine woman, who brings me much joy (and some drama, from time to time, but then, she is female). The physical distance between us is difficult to deal with, but she fills what time we have together with joy and laughter.

As LTC Tom Kratman once said, "[L]ife with a bad woman, either present in your home or siphoning your bank account, is surely Hell. But life without a good woman sucks, too." This is absolute truth, and no man should ever deny himself the soft comforts and pleasures of such a woman.

To obtain one, though, requires years of discipline and dedication to self-improvement. The road to being the best man you can be never ends, but the destination is not the point. The journey, and the lessons that you learn along the way, make the hardships of that road worthwhile.

And I am deeply grateful for the fact that, not quite six years ago, I decided to embark down that road myself. It was the single best decision I ever made.

I didn't know what would happen when I did. I was weak and afraid at the time. But if my past self could see the man that he would become, he would have kicked himself, hard, for not taking the plunge years earlier.

Trust me when I say this: when you embark down that road, you may start out filled with doubts and fears, but you will see your labours repaid an hundredfold.

You will gain strength from lifting hard. You will become healthy and virile through eating right. You will become financially independent and secure through living below your means. You will lose your fears and gain newfound respect for yourself through taking up a real martial art, and you will forge unbreakable bonds of brotherhood in the process. You will gain knowledge and wisdom far beyond your years by reading works written by the hands of the great men of our past and present.

These are gifts beyond measure, priceless jewels that are our inheritance by right as men. We lack them only because we have forgotten who and what we are. Reclaiming them requires only that we remember that we are men, and hold ourselves to the standards required of us as such.

Now, I don't generally like to bring politics into Thanksgiving, but this year it's probably appropriate. I am immensely grateful to the American people for electing Donald Trump as their next President.

I fear that Americans take this remarkable republic of their for granted all too often. Most of you have no idea what it is like to live under any system other than a peaceful and largely fair and free democracy. You've no idea what happens when a dictator usurps that remarkable Constitution of yours and arrogates to himself powers that directly harm your liberties. None of you were alive when Presidents Lincoln, Wilson, and Franklin Delano Roosevelt did precisely those things, though you live with the consequences of those actions to this day.

I, on the other hand, have lived in countries led by (mostly benign, thank God) dictators. I hope you never have to experience what happens when a dictator takes over and destroys your country through reckless ambition and misrule.

But you came within shouting distance of letting precisely that happen earlier this November. You were, at certain points, looking at electing someone more corrupt, venal, mendacious, psychopathic, and downright evil to the highest office in the land than any other candidate for that position in the Republic's history.

Yet I had faith in God, and in His people, that this would not come to pass. My faith was sorely tested this year, to be sure, but once again, the good Lord came through for us, working through you, the American people.

Make no mistake, though, all you have been given is a reprieve, a temporary and fleeting stay of execution. The destruction of the American empire is assured at this point. There is no way to avoid it. New racially homogeneous nations will arise in its place, at least one of which will almost surely be majority white and with hopefully a bit more humility, a bit less crassness, than the one that spawned it.

Even then, with that Time of Testing staring us right in the face, I remain cheerful and optimistic.

It was not always so. There was a time, a few years ago, when it seemed as though there was little to be thankful for. At every turn, people like you and me seemed beset by obstacles on every side. Our attempts to live as free and strong men were everywhere being threatened. Our very masculinity was mocked and derided; men like us were being hounded from our jobs, our reputations torn to shreds for the most frivolous of reasons.

And yet look at us now. Our creed is resurgent. The future leader of the American Republic is an unapologetic, unabashed Alpha male whose core principles align closely with our own (or so we hope, anyway). We have seen our enemies cower in fear and in many cases abandon the field entirely. We have seen their true natures revealed. They are numerous and terrible, but they are also weak and cowardly- whereas we are few, but we are strong.

I am thankful, as always, to you, my readers. There aren't many of you, and that's fine. I don't write for anyone other than myself, but I am always surprised and honoured by the fact that there are people out there who read my writing and enjoy it. Thank you for reading and commenting, for keeping me honest, and for your support.

One of the hardest things for any man to confront is the feeling that he is alone in this world. For many years that was the reality for any man who broke free of the conformity of thought and deed imposed on him by a sick and dying civilisation- but not anymore. We are not alone.

We are strong, we are happy, and one day, not far from now, we will be truly free, in a society that values masculine leadership and honours strong men who live fiercely, fight for what we believe in, and protect that which we love.

Finally, above all, I give thanks to Almighty God, whose infinite love for His Creation surrounds us at every turn. My faith in God was not easily come by. It took many years and more than a few hard knocks to get there, but I finally understand what Christians are talking about when they say that their relationship with God is a deeply personal one, very much like that between an errant and foolish son and a stern but loving father.

My faith in God grows stronger by the day, as I see what miracles He has wrought. He has not abandoned the American people in its hours of greatest need, and in spite of my former lack of faith, He never once abandoned me. My faith in Him has been repaid an hundredfold, and yet all that He has ever asked from me is that I obey His commandments.

And now, enough of such solemnity. It's time to EAT, lads! Crack open the beer and wine, let the alcohol and merriment flow, and let us stuff ourselves silly this day.

Happy Thanksgiving, to all of you. May God bless you, and always, always, may God bless the United States of America.



The Glory of the Garden by Rudyard Kipling

Today is Thanksgiving, that most wonderful of all American holidays, a day on which we take a few minutes to be grateful for all that the God of Creation has given us. And who better to help us express that sentiment than the Poet-Laureate of the British Empire?

Our England is a garden that is full of stately views,
Of borders, beds and shrubberies and lawns and avenues,
With statues on the terraces and peacocks strutting by;
But the Glory of the Garden lies in more than meets the eye.

For where the old thick laurels grow, along the thin red wall,
You will find the tool- and potting-sheds which are the heart of all ;
The cold-frames and the hot-houses, the dungpits and the tanks:
The rollers, carts and drain-pipes, with the barrows and the planks.

And there you'll see the gardeners, the men and 'prentice boys
Told off to do as they are bid and do it without noise;
For, except when seeds are planted and we shout to scare the birds,
The Glory of the Garden it abideth not in words.

And some can pot begonias and some can bud a rose,
And some are hardly fit to trust with anything that grows;
But they can roll and trim the lawns and sift the sand and loam,
For the Glory of the Garden occupieth all who come.

Our England is a garden, and such gardens are not made
By singing:--"Oh, how beautiful!" and sitting in the shade,
While better men than we go out and start their working lives
At grubbing weeds from gravel-paths with broken dinner-knives.

There's not a pair of legs so thin, there's not a head so thick,
There's not a hand so weak and white, nor yet a heart so sick.
But it can find some needful job that's crying to be done,
For the Glory of the Garden glorifieth every one.

Then seek your job with thankfulness and work till further orders,
If it's only netting strawberries or killing slugs on borders;
And when your back stops aching and your hands begin to harden,
You will find yourself a partner in the Glory of the Garden.

Oh, Adam was a gardener, and God who made him sees
That half a proper gardener's work is done upon his knees,
So when your work is finished, you can wash your hand and pray
For the Glory of the Garden, that it may not pass away!
And the Glory of the Garden it shall never pass away!

Tuesday, 22 November 2016

The Storm of the Emperor's Wrath

If I had my choice I would kill every reporter in the world, but I am sure we would be getting reports from Hell before breakfast.-- William Tecumseh Sherman

Man, at the rate that the God-Emperor is trolling and smiting his enemies, and by extension the enemies of the American people, we're going to start running out of epic badass WARHAMMER 40K memes to associate with him pretty soon.

Donald Trump scolded media big shots during an off-the-record Trump Tower sitdown on Monday, sources told The Post. 
“It was like a f–ing firing squad,” one source said of the encounter. 
“Trump started with [CNN chief] Jeff Zucker and said ‘I hate your network, everyone at CNN is a liar and you should be ashamed,’ ” the source said. [That just puts into concrete terms what all of us knew to be true already. Good for him.]
“The meeting was a total disaster. The TV execs and anchors went in there thinking they would be discussing the access they would get to the Trump administration, but instead they got a Trump-style dressing down,” the source added. [OOH-RAH!!!]
A second source confirmed the fireworks. 
“The meeting took place in a big board room and there were about 30 or 40 people, including the big news anchors from all the networks,” the other source said. 
“Trump kept saying, ‘We’re in a room of liars, the deceitful dishonest media who got it all wrong.’ He addressed everyone in the room calling the media dishonest, deceitful liars. He called out Jeff Zucker by name and said everyone at CNN was a liar, and CNN was [a] network of liars,” the source said. [BURN THE HERETIC, KILL THE MUTANT, PURGE THE UNCLEAN!!!]
“Trump didn’t say [NBC reporter] Katy Tur by name, but talked about an NBC female correspondent who got it wrong, then he referred to a horrible network correspondent who cried when Hillary lost who hosted a debate – which was Martha Raddatz who was also in the room.” 
The stunned reporters tried to get a word in edgewise to discuss access to a Trump Administration. [Good luck with that, assholes.]
I saw that story last night just as I was turning in, and I have to say, I simply erupted into diabolical laughter.

This is how you treat the mainstream media. This is how you teach people not to f**k with an Alpha male. You simply meet them in person, make sure they're facing you, and then you beat the shit out of them.

Indeed, as our Supreme Dark Lord pointed out yesterday, these hacks are just lucky that it was the relatively benign and merciful God-Emperor in that room hosting the meeting.

His son, Donald Trump Jr., appears to be decidedly less genteel than his father (which I did not actually think was possible, to be honest) and far more interested in the use of potentially lethal force to deal with his enemies. If he had been running that meeting, it likely would, in fact, have been a real firing squad facing those dipshits.

And in all honesty, I would find it difficult to condemn him if that actually did happen.

You will not find a stronger advocate of free speech than me. I firmly believe that ALL forms of speech, no matter how bigoted and hateful and offensive, are permissible. If you don't like what someone has to say, that's your problem, not his; change the channel or stop listening to him.

But I also believe that a man is absolutely responsible for the words of his mouth or his pen. Anyone who lies and dissimulates, repeatedly and without remorse, is a creature undeserving of mercy or pity, and must be dealt with in summary fashion.

If the press were doing its job of keeping those in power accountable to the people, then The Donald would have no right to tee off on them and they would be totally justified in their attacks upon him as an irresponsible, anti-Constitutional, dangerous influence.

But they are not doing their job. In fact, they have taken up arms against him. They are his clear and declared enemies, and they have plainly taken sides against the American people.

Therefore they must be treated as declared enemies, and dealt with as such.

So Mr. Trump has done precisely what needed to be done. And I cannot be more pleased at the result.

It is clear that Mr. Trump knows how to deal with these liars, and in so doing he has provided us with a valuable lesson that we, too, must heed.

Roosh V showed us how to confront these liars and snakes back in February, when he invited his enemies to talk to him in person- and then proceeded to coldly, methodically, and systematically destroy them, on camera, for the entire world to see. He ensured that there was no way for them to weasel their way out of the situation by releasing the entire unedited video of that press conference for the whole world to see.

And just like that, the ferocious media backlash against him for being a "rape apologist"- he is nothing of the sort- disappeared overnight.

The God-Emperor appears to have chosen a slightly different tactic. After enduring over 15 months of merciless criticism, condemnation, and outright ridicule at the hands of the media, he decided to lure them into what was clearly a trap.

And they walked straight into it.

Things like this give me a great deal of hope for the future. It is very clear to me that a President Trump will not play by the old rules. Establishment cuckservatives keep hoping and praying that, if they play nice and work under the media's rules, they will eventually be treated fairly and equally. But this is totally and utterly stupid.

They do not understand that their enemies aren't interested in playing by their own rules. They do not comprehend that the media exists to secure and perpetuate its own existence, instead of to serve and inform the American people. They are unable to grasp the fact that these liars will never obey a code of honour or professionalism if it does not suit their purposes.

And, while there are probably still a few good and decent journalists around who are more interested in reporting the facts rather than spinning lies- I'm sure that between me and everyone who reads my writing, we could come up with, oh, maybe five names in total out of the thousands of reporters and journalists who work for the MSM- they are vastly outnumbered by a media complex that has long since totally abandoned its duties and consorts regularly with the very corruption that it was once supposed to hold in check.

President-elect Trump plainly understands this perfectly well. He also plainly understands that, as President, he will wield tremendous power to reach the American people when he wants, on his terms, through social media and other platforms.

He doesn't need the mainstream media anymore. They need him, but they have doomed themselves to obsolescence and irrelevance.

Independent journalists, not beholden to any corporate master, like our friend Matt Forney and our colleague David G. Brown over at Return of Kings, will take their place. The cathedral of the MSM will empty and die, while the bazaar of truly independent journalism will flourish. Independent reporters who do a lousy job, who insist on talking at their readers and viewers with ideology instead of providing them with simple unadorned facts, will fail because we have no reason to spend our money on them.

Conversely, good journalists who actually try to report things as they happen, and provide actual analysis rooted in the real world- instead of the fantasy realm that the social justice warriors of the progressive media live in- will do very well indeed.

Thousands of young men like me are already turning away from the lies of the media, getting our news from sources like Breitbart.com and various blogs that we read- because we know the motives behind those sources, and we recognise that bias, and we can deal with it. Sources like The Carlos Slim Blog Pravda The New York Times, The Jeff Bezos Blog The Washington Post, The Murdoch Brothers Blog The Wall Street Journal, the Puffington Host, and ABCCNNBCBS, are corrupted and consumed by their social justice ideology and will eventually be destroyed because of it*.

It is a brave new world for us, lads. Our fight is just beginning. Already, the Overton Window is shifting rightward. The pendulum is swinging back, hard, in our favour. The days ahead will be difficult indeed, but the God-Emperor Ascendant has shown us exactly how to take the fight to our enemies and crush them.

To battle, boys. WE MARCH FOR MACRAGGE- AND WE SHALL KNOW NO FEAR!!!

*I will readily concede that The Wall Street Journal is, in fact, a rather good newspaper- as long as they stick to reporting facts, not spin. I regard their financial news sections as superb, but their op-ed pages have long since lost appeal for me, and their mainline news reporting went the way of Pravda a long time ago.

Monday, 21 November 2016

"Didact, a few words of comment please?"

Julian Langness, proprietor and author of the excellent blog European Civil War, wrote a book a while back that I read and found to be really rather good. Shortly after I posted my review and comments, Julian got in touch and very graciously asked if I wouldn't mind being interviewed by him.

Now obviously, I'm not in any way a particularly noteworthy member of the Manosphere, but I'm always very pleasantly surprised and honoured by the fact that people read what I write and actually enjoy it. So of course, I agreed.

The resulting interview took rather longer than either of us would have liked; Julian is a busy chap and, in all honesty, most of the fault is mine, as I should have responded a lot faster but couldn't due to various commitments. But it did get done by correspondence eventually, and yesterday the full thing went up at his place.

Since Julian is the one who did all the work in putting it together and posting it, I recommend you access it using the link above. Take the opportunity to read his excellent writing, have a peek at his book, and see what is on offer there. I'll provide the full interview as-is below the jump.

If you have not done so already, check out his book, on sale here. It is well worth the read and I highly recommend it. I'd also like to thank Julian for the opportunity, for his hard work, and for his very kind comments about my writing.

If men like Julian are any sign of things to come, we have a bright future ahead of us.


And that's how it's done, lads

Header

The very first episode of THE GRAND TOUR finally hit Amazon Prime earlier this week, and of course I was practically bouncing off the walls in anticipation when I sat down on Friday night to watch it. I had some idea of what to expect, but what I actually saw was... so much better.

It wasn't just good. I believe Millennials have a phrase for such a thing that probably is appropriate in this instance: that first episode was SUPER AMAZEBALLS!!!

The boys are well and truly BACK. And they've put together the funniest TV show I have ever seen.

I do not claim this lightly, by the way. I say this as a die-hard fan of the old show, who has been quoting chapter and verse from the Gospel of Clarkson for years.

The 2002 reboot of TOP GEAR created a television phenomenon in which cars were actually relegated to a supporting cast role, while the show itself focused instead on the interactions between and personalities of the three main presenters. In the process, they created the biggest "reality television" show in the world. (It wasn't really "reality TV", obviously- TOP GEAR was and has always been very heavily scripted- but you get the idea.)

The hosts and the production team eventually created a ratings and merchandise juggernaut, by BBC standards, which allowed the Beeb to reach a global audience of well in excess of 350 million viewers.

And then, inevitably, the Bolsheviks that run the Beeb went and cocked it all up.

Now obviously, Jeremy Clarkson certainly needed to face real consequences for physically assaulting one of the production staff in 2015. He took his lumps, walked away, and got on with his life. Full credit to him for doing that.

But instead of doing the sensible thing and calling time on a beloved franchise that millions of fans around the world were now no longer interested in watching, the Bullshit Broadcasting Corporation went full-SJW, doubled down, and decided to create a rebooted version of the show with more presenters, more volume, and more cars.

They completely missed the point of the old show, which was all about the chemistry of three fat middle-aged blokes falling over and setting each other on fire while driving the world's greatest supercars very very fast.

The Beeb's decision completely robbed the old show of its originality, enjoyability, and joy. Instead of thinking that you were watching three guys with the greatest jobs in the world cocking about and having fun, you now got to watch a shouty ginger nerd, a tubby middle-aged American, some German bird that no one who didn't watch the old show had ever heard of, and two or three other completely forgettable presenters, all being very loud and yet fearfully politically correct.

As I wrote a while back on the same subject, "they turned the rampaging TOP GEAR stallion into a neutered, sterile mule".

And that is where the new show comes in. Freed of all of the bureaucratic nonsense and politically correct shackles of the Beeb, while being handed a mind-boggling budget by Amazon, the boys and the old production team have had the opportunity to let their imaginations run wild.

Bloody hell, did they ever deliver as a result.

THE GRAND TOUR is everything that TOP GEAR used to be, but better in every possible way.

Every part of that show is bigger, better, louder, more ridiculous, and yet more heartwarming and funny than its predecessor. The film quality itself is superior to what they used to have, with far higher resolutions, brighter colours, and more vivid backdrops than the old show ever managed.

That, my friends, is how an epic show about friendship, manliness, burning rubber, and fast cars should be done. I cannot wait to see what the boys have in store for us in the coming weeks.

Saturday, 19 November 2016

Why modern pop music rapes your ears

Paul Joseph Watson posted a video earlier this year that does a rather good job of explaining precisely why it is that "pop" (((music))) these days is so unbearably stupid, vacuous, tedious, annoying, overly loud, and just plain unlistenable:



You may have gathered from the above that I am not exactly a fan of the autotuned garbage that passes for pop music these days. You would surmise correctly.

Actually, my precise feelings about just how bad pop music is, cannot adequately be expressed in English. For that, we must turn elsewhere.

For instance, a more accurate version of what I think of modern music is that it is an ongepotchket, which I imagine the Yiddish speakers among you will find amusing.

Better yet, I think, is the Russian version: абсолютный мусор. (I honestly believe that the three best languages to use for swearing at someone have got to be, in descending order, Russian, German, and Japanese.)

Anyway, I would imagine by now my feelings about modern pop (((music))), and its ear-raping qualities thereof, are fairly well understood.

(And don't even get me started on rap and hip-hop, otherwise we'll be here clear through to the end of next week.)

Now, one could argue that, as a metalhead who gave up listening to mainstream music about fifteen years ago and has never looked back since, my opinion about what stupid useless vapid (and about another fifteen pejoratives after that) teenyboppers listen to is not worth the paper that it is printed on. And you might have a point.

Except for the fact that, as a fifteen-year-old, before fate mercyfully intervened (you see what I did there?) in the form of a very good friend of mine who introduced me to properly good rock and metal, I did, in fact, listen to mainstream pop music quite a lot.

To whit: I actually liked listening to Bon Jovi, the Backstreet Boys, and a few other bands whose names I shall not now deign to mention, because I'll break out in hives if I do.

(I still do like BON JOVI, just for the record- their older stuff, up to and including Crush. Bounce was merely okay, nothing great. Have a Nice Day was shite. And that's when I stopped paying attention to them.)

So I can say with a considerable degree of confidence that pop music fifteen years ago, while still saccharine and stupid and schmaltzy and ridiculously bad in aesthetic terms, was significantly better than the modern-day garbage that assails your ears every time you turn on your car stereo system.

Music has, in fact, become dumber and more corporate and less useful as an art form, at least in its "mainstream" incarnation, than ever before.

Of course, it's one thing to bitch about how bad modern music is. It's quite another to figure out how to fix it. And to do that, we must first figure out the root causes of the problem.

In his video, PJW identifies three major reasons for this rapid and quite startling decline in musical quality. After all, it wasn't all that long ago that even the most saccharine, over-produced, cheesy teenybopper nonsense actually had some artistic merit to it, however nanoscopic- whereas today's pop music has none whatsoever.

The first reason for this is, of course, the equally rapid decline in the average Western IQ over the last few decades. This is a direct consequence of letting millions of immigrants from less intelligent parts of the world into the country. It should not come as a surprise that a world in which the average IQ has been dramatically lowered, is also a world in which appreciation for the finer forms of music will also rapidly disappear.

I consider Beethoven's 9th Symphony, particularly the final movement, to be perhaps the greatest piece of classical music ever written. It is beautiful beyond words, soaring to magnificent heights of emotion and power; its status as an artistic achievement is made all the more astounding by the fact that it was composed when Beethoven himself was deaf as a stone.

How many people do you know, today, who could name that symphony? Or who know who Paganini was, never mind listened to a rendition of his 24 Caprices? (I highly recommend the Shlomo Mintz recording of the same.) Or who have ever listened to anything written by Mozart, Vivaldi, or Bach?

Most of your acquaintances and friends won't have the first clue about these composers because it takes considerable intelligence, and training of one's ear, to appreciate the sheer melodic and dynamic beauty of classical music. These are things that modern "classical" composers seriously lack; their music is, like virtually all modern art, atonal, jarring, lifeless, and totally devoid of artistic merit.

But perhaps I'm being a bit snobbish by picking classical music. After all, classical music is something of a dead letter these days; there has been little, if any, innovation in the field in fifty years.

Fair enough. So let's turn to some genres of music where there has been tremendous innovation: progressive rock and heavy metal.

Both genres started when the virtuosity and complexity of classical music was combined with the eclecticism, innovation, and time changes of jazz, fused together with electronic amplification. The results were profoundly weird in a lot of ways (I'm talking about really out-there prog-rock, like CAMEL, ELP, and early GENESIS and KING CRIMSON), but it was also astonishingly virtuosic.

Today, rock and metal are more diverse and varied than they have ever been before. People keep coming up with new ideas and blend existing styles together to create new ones all the time (e.g. BABYMETAL, which is balls-out insane to some people and really good music to others).

Even the ancient warhorses of the genre, like IRON MAIDEN and JUDAS PRIEST, have found ways to keep themselves sounding fresh and relevant in the modern age. Producers have to vie for the talent and time of real artists with tremendous skill; you cannot simply take any old guitarist and drop him into DEEP PURPLE to do what Steve Morse does, for instance, and you cannot just take any old producer and have him record, master, and mix an AMON AMARTH album.

And say what you like of wankfest bands like DREAM THEATER- I, for instance, vacillate between loving some of their work and hating almost everything else that they do- but you cannot deny their sheer instrumental and compositional skill.

The reason why these genres are flourishing is simple: they are attracting people who value complexity, intelligence, lyricism, and skill.

I'm not, by the way, arguing for even a moment that your average metal mosher is an Einstein-in-disguise. He isn't. I would know, I've had to deal with more of those numpties jumping on top of me in an idiotic attempt to "crowd-surf" in the last thirteen years than I can count. But, compared with the average teenybopper and soccer mum listening to radio-friendly pop hits, he has an appreciation for tone, melody, and dynamics that the average pop-listener simply will not possess.

The second reason for the disaster that is modern music is a well-documented problem known as "the loudness wars".

This phenomenon was actually quite well elucidated in Fenris Wulf's completely batshit insane book, Loki's Child. (One of my favourite fiction books of the year, by the way.) The author is a veteran of the music business and he knows what he is talking about; as he states multiple times in the book through his characters, analog recording is getting harder to do every year because the equipment isn't really there anymore to do it, but records produced through analog processes simply sound so much better than the overproduced, overdigitised, overcompressed nonsense that hits the shelves and airwaves these days.

This is a serious problem across every genre of music, not just pop. But it is worst in the "mainstream"music genres. Essentially, what has happened is that music has become overly compressed and equalised, in order to make everything as "loud" as possible.

This phenomenon follows on directly from the previous reason for the secular artistic decline of pop music. When you have a dumber population with a smaller attention span, you have to make things as "loud" as possible to differentiate yourself from everyone else- which inevitably means that EVERYONE SOUNDS THE SAME AND EVERYTHING SOUNDS LIKE SOMEONE IS SHOUTING AT YOU ALL THE TIME.

See all those caps? It's impossible for you to read this for more than a line or two; your brain simply shuts down because it cannot handle what it considers to be a direct visual assault upon your optic nerves.

That is exactly what it feels like to listen to most modern pop music. The closest equivalent I can think of among the music that I listen to is, probably, having to listen all the way through an IMMOLATION album.

Some bands, by the way, can actually make the "wall of sound" thing work well. BRAINSTORM's album, Liquid Monster, is a good example of one that combines intricate melodies, dynamic ranges, and an almost overpowering wall of sound bearing down on the listener like a tsunami, and somehow makes it work.

But most bands cannot do this.

NO genre is guiltless of this problem of overwhelming the listener with mindless sound, by the way. Remember the RUSH album, Vapour Trails, from back in 2002? It is a pretty good album- probably their "worst", but even a bad RUSH album is still pretty good by anyone else's standards.

The remastered version of this album is a thing of beauty. You can actually hear all of the dynamics and you get a real sense for the tremendous musicianship of each of the three members of the world's greatest ever rock trio.

But the original album was absolutely impossible to listen to. It was like listening to the band playing in a garbage can.

And never mind listening to the original master after, say, Moving Pictures or Power Windows. You would have simply smashed your stereo system in disgust.

The reason for this is broken down in a classic article by producer Rip Rowan. As he put it: "this CD sounds like dogshit". And it really does.

Or take IRON MAIDEN's 2004 release, Dance of Death. Now, I love this album, it is a huge favourite of mine. The songwriting is far more diverse and varied than on its predecessor, the monumental Brave New World. The songs are great, the musicianship is superb, the lyrics are terrific, and Bruce "The Voice of the Messiah" Dickinson's pipes are in top form.

But the production is HORRIBLE. It's overly compressed, too loud, and obnoxiously nasty to listen to. Kevin Shirley did an absolutely appalling job mixing it.

(Speculation abounds that the reason he messed up so badly with that album is because Steve Harris, who every MAIDEN fan knows is the actual driving force behind the production of their albums, has become increasingly deaf over the years from standing next to those giant amps on stage. As a result, he insists on albums being mixed and mastered according to his hearing range- so the murky, dense, compressed sound of all MAIDEN albums from like 2003 to 2010 is due entirely to his hearing loss.)

This causes a serious problem when listening to "modern" MAIDEN albums compared to older ones. Listening to the older Martin Birch-produced albums, like Powerslave, you get a real sense of how good the band truly is, their dynamic range, their instrumental skill. Listening to Dance of Death can give you a headache if you're not careful.

The same is true for numerous other contemporary heavy metal albums. I could go on and on and on all bloody day long. I could just point you to any number of CDs in the shelf next to my desk at home to show you just how many albums are affected by this problem, and I could point you to at least three times as many albums that I have in MP3 format on my computer.

The proliferation of digital music is also a very major factor behind this over-compression and limited dynamic range of modern music. If you've ever listened to an old vinyl LP, and then listened to the CD, and then the MP3 version, of any particular album, and you know what to listen for, you will be utterly shocked at how different the three sound.

The first will sound warm and dynamic and wonderful. The second will sound cold and sterile and compressed. The third, by that point, will simply be unbearable. You'll want to pierce both eardrums with a drumstick.

The loudness wars are a direct consequence of the dumbing down of the general population. And with that dumbing down comes the third, and most disastrous, reason for the parlous state of modern "pop" music.

That reason is directly correlated to the decreasing intelligence of the Western world, and is almost certainly also a cause of the same. It has to do with the infiltration of the West by the insidious evil of cultural Marxism.

All of you know just how destructive cultural Marxism has been. Western civilisation has been simply shredded by its influences, and the music of the West is no exception.

Cultural Marxism has made the grotesque seem normal and acceptable- because that is what it does. It tears down all that is aesthetic and pleasing, and replaces it with that which is absurd and disgusting. This has happened to our art, our literature, our films, our theatre, and of course our music- and sometimes all of these things at the same time, as Bill Whittle once pointed out:


The same disease that has destroyed so much of Western culture has most assuredly taken root in its music as well. That is the reason why, back in the day, even the sappiest and schmaltziest songs still retained some charm and adolescent innocence about the world.

These days, though, (((pop))) tarts stars like Katy Perry (I'm just interested in her tits), Iggy Azalea (whoever the hell she is), Ariana Grande (no clue), and Taylor Swift (I think I've heard of her), release singles that would have made our grandparents clutch their rosaries in mortification.

These people are not talented enough to make records that sell on artistic merit, and their audiences tend to be too stupid to buy based on the same. So they are left with two options: make everything sound like everything else, i.e. be as bland as possible, or be as offensive and edgy as possible.

The problem is that if everyone starts being offensive and edgy, nobody is. And that is precisely what has happened in pop music.

A few years ago, Miley Cyrus's onstage antics were outrageous. These days, it's considered normal for female mainstream musicians to release videos that make them look just this side of streetwalkers.

Actually, that's an insult to streetwalkers. At least prostitutes are honest about what they are doing, and don't try to sell you some ridiculous spiel about how "empowered" and "amazing" they are for, basically, selling their bodies for public consumption.

So, does the music industry in the West have any hope? Well, not from where I stand. The good news is that, the worse pop music gets, the better everything else seems to get.

Underground genres like real hard rock and heavy metal are flourishing. The artistry and creativity of my favourite bands is increasing with every year- IRON MAIDEN, the greatest band of all time, who have absolutely nothing left to prove to ANYBODY, released last year their best album in twenty-five years. And younger bands keep entering the scene with energy, enthusiasm, skill, and creativity.

As always, the harder and faster that the social justice types try to converge anything, the more easily the rest of us can get on with setting up alternate outlets and platforms. Music is no exception.