Misfits – The Devil’s Rain (2011)

It turns out that sometimes you just can’t polish a turd.

Back when this steaming pile of shit was first released, I, like many other Misfits fans clinging onto hollow vestiges of hope, checked out this record with fingers crossed. Hey, you gotta admit that the cover art is totally fucking epic – what fiend wouldn’t be half-tempted by the glorious image of Mr. Skullface looking all power metal? But, when a masterpiece of a sleeve hides a terrible turd of a record then the whole situation seems a million times worse for some reason; it’s like you’ve not only been totally gutted but you’ve been lied to as well. It’s like the small comfort in a rapist whispering creepily “it’ll all be over in a few minutes”, and then you find out later on that you’ve got HIV.

I want to line up the legions of yes men who told Jerry Only it was a good idea to do another Misfits album (especially after Project 1950) and machine-gun them all with paintballs. Musically, Devil’s Rain is soundly put together, although it’s a little boring and Only’s bass is mixed suspiciously low. This record is like the …And Justice For All of the horrorpunk genre.

But seriously, my real issue here is with the vocals – the out of tune, tired and flaccid croons of a withering legend trying to mimic peers departed; a retarded karaoke lovechild of Danzig and Graves, which fails to not only reach the prowess of either, but also to spark any sort of ignition on these already half-arsed, plodding, tedious songs.

It genuinely baffles me how anyone aware of the Misfits legacy could possibly enjoy this album, and I strongly suspect that anyone who willingly paid money for this record may have some sort of mental illness. Avoid.