King 810 - Memoirs of a Murderer (Roadrunner)

Smoke and mirrors, old matey - it's all smoke and mirrors...
Release Date: 
18 Aug 2014 - 11:30pm

Clever men, King 810

Not because they are soul-scouring poets of the street, preaching chronicles of the hood to an unknowing, uncaring world. 

Not because they wake up every morning sweating under Kevlar sheets, glad simply that another night in America’s hardest town (that’s Flint, Michigan, in case you didn’t know) has ended without their untimely demise. 

No. All of those things may well be true, but the thing that is testament above all to the cleverness of David Gunn and company is that they’ve managed to convince a seemingly intelligent record company  - thus, I’m assuming, ensuring considerable fiduciary gain to themselves - to release this half-baked farrago of third-rate Korn and Slipknot rehashes onto an unsuspecting public.

Actually, that’s slightly unfair. Amidst all the huffing and mutherfuckin’ puffing Write About Us mixes the Butthole Surfers and Pere Ubu with the worst mallrat rap in surprisingly good fashion, whilst Eyes allows a bit of Linkin Park-style sensitivity into the mix, and Devil Don’t Cry does have a small amount of barrelhouse Brechtian charm to it, but for the most part here we’re talking about the sort of juggaloid nonsense that makes Papa Roach look like Leonard Cohen. That’s right – in the world of the bonged-up stupid, Jacoby Shaddix is King, and King 810 are his faithful retainers.

It really is astounding that this band has managed to create such a buzz when there really is so little to get excited about. Absolutely at their best when they put down their downtuned seven strings, and let Gunn blather on with his sixth form poetry undisturbed, King 810 have absolutely perfected the art of turning dirt into dollars. That undoubtedly puts them one up on me – I get paid nothing to write this -   but it doesn’t make the whole sorry shambles any better. 

Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to go. There’s a war outside – it’s the neighbours clamouring with me to turn this bloody noise off.