Breathe Carolina
Hello Fascination
Fearless Records (2009)
This image of two mall-trolls spewing rainbow-colored juices at each other certainly sends the message: Crab-core had a baby.
With each record release Tuesday, humanity’s outlook continues to darken as this shit mutates like an emergent strain of A.I.D.S. that would actually be less dangerous if it killed you. Or, more simply put: another emo has discovered bad midi beats and means harm
Meet Fearless Records’ Breathe Carolina: the first heinous spawn of A-Hack Attack! and Brokencyde. This new breed of crab-shit has selected early 90′s dance loops as it’s murder weapon of choice. The really goofy, jock jam compilation kind. I suppose this more light-hearted take on the Brokencyde formula is purposed for establishing Breathe Carolina as the fair-haired, honor students of 2009′s screamo-crunk abaddon.
While Brokencyde plays the nazty, crunk-kid ‘Worst-Band-Of-All-Time-No-I’m-Serious,’ this new rape-in-a-jewel-case, Breathe Carolina, has emerged as the diary-keeping, crybaby ‘Worst-Band-Of-All-Time-No-Really.’ The new crabs on the block may, however, have taken the cockatoo-top hairdos to a whole new plane: these fools are blatantly wearing vaginas on their heads. And the vaginas are also wearing vaginas.
Vagina scalps or no, one might question whether multiple bands could possibly share the title of “Worst-Band-Ever” simultaneously. Mostly because, well, that’s pretty much impossible, right? In spite of all logic and physical law, the answer is a terrifying, “NO.”
I imagined that a true paradox would be more complicated, and yet, this is pretty simple. We have two bands – at least – that are both clearly and evidently the most heinously, garbage band ever. That means emo actually broke time and space to escape it’s death rattle. And, unfortunately, this physical impossibility is suggestive of something even more sinister: the “worst-band-ever” has evolved into a self-replicating genre. And if it can do that, then music this bad can probably do anything.
At this point, I’m not sure I even like music anymore, and so don’t care if crab-core kills me. But I’d still like to point out that this shit isn’t fair. I don’t deserve this. No one deserves Breathe Carolina. Not Hitler and not Sean Hannity and not Fred Durst. Yet, this “record,” Hello Fascination, sits stocked in stores, waiting patiently for victims to come upon it’s rainbow-jizz sprayed cover. Innocent people are going to suffer.
Unless these crunk fools spontaneously combust into a loud, auto-tuned blast of diarrhea – and soon - we should accept that no just God could permit this and actually exist. And probably not even a smaller god who’s kinda high. Bummer. But for the little it’s worth, we might turn to scientific understanding for some consolation.
I hypothesize that music – the medium – actually possesses D.N.A. And as is the case with dog breeding, incompatible genres of music (Ex. screamo plus anything else) can be crossed only so many times before the genetic bonds begin to unravel. Techno, industrial, emo, nu-metal…all of the freak, mutant strands within the musical genome are recombining into the creeping, brown slick currently drizzling down Fat Mike’s greasy left leg. And given that these gender-less, Hot Topic mannequins have succeeded in mixing oil and water (and dog-shit), it can only be a matter of time before the artistic medium of music accelerates head first into a genetic dead end.
If crunk-core fans could actually communicate in a language other than Youtube comment-speak, they might object: “So, what? Taste is relative. To each his own, man. I mean, c’mon, it’s only the worst music ever. Get over it.”
But, why should we simply accept that the worst music possible has arrived, and that mall-dwelling, bottom-feeders are bound to like it? Should we pretend that’s okay? A matter of preference? Well, perhaps, but that’s the kind of attitude that’ll get your kid sister pregnant at the Warped Tour.
It’s true that some of this is on us. We provoked the awful into becoming the very worst. Perhaps, if we had humbly accepted Taking Back Thursday, or whatever, and counted our blessings, a less-than perfect inertia might’ve been achieved. And that’s certainly better than the Hell of 2009. But instead, we pushed the beast until it became a rabid, shit-vomiting mess. And who could blame us? IT SUCKED.
Common sense suggested that emo would bottom out and wash away– like disco. Indie was supposed to be the new emo. And it fucking deserved it. But, just when you think it’s gone, emo astonishes by finding a way to revive itself by blowing harder. We can’t kill the sobbing bitch. And we were foolish to try. It’s commonly said that only cockroaches will survive the inevitable nuclear holocaust. I’m beginning to suspect that they’ll be in crab-core bands.
Call Breathe Carolina-cyde crunk-core, lobster-core, statutory rape-core, or any core you want; the result is the same: this shit is the end of the line for music.
Breathe out, Carolina, but don’t breathe in.
P.S. Can someone please confirm that the brown haired one is just a girl so I can sleep again?
