Rammstein: Mutter

For those who wanna have their deep dark Black Forest cake and smash it too -- dig Rammstein, the baddest Bavarians to come down the pike since Wagner.

Really. If you had Metallica play the maestro's Ring cycle you might come up with something close to Mutter, Rammstein's pummeling new longplayer. And then you'd wanna come up for more foul air.

Talk about tempest in a discbox. From the opening orchestral salvos of "Mein Herz Brennt" ("My Heart Burns"), which sets the stage for the arena symphony that ensues, to the bombast of treated strings, howling winds and whispered growls that is "Nebel" (??), Mutter ("Mother" natch) is a hurricane of ultrasound, with the eye of anarchy thrown in for no-good measurement.

Along the merry mauling way comes the Megadeth marchstep of Rammstein's latest single, "Links 2 3 4," the even more -- if it's possible -- raucous "bang bang" battering of "Feur Frei" ("Fire Away/Aim Fire") -- which has gotta get the coveted Moterhead seal of approval -- and the spooky Nick Cave fronts Neubauten oedipal title track (What kinds of mothers do these guys have?). Then, just when you thought you made it safely through the Freudian stomp, you're strung by the toyful tug of men at war that marks "Spieluhr" ("Music Box"), where Wall-like chants of children highlight a near groovy -- and very Grimm -- fairy tale. Therapy? is called for, which -- if you're still game -- tinkles transgressively into "Zwitter" ("Hermaphrodite"), another Megadeth knoll masterstroke (this time as fronted by Laibach) that screams for bloody more of everything.

Mutter makes a stateside four from the outfit that's been happily banging heads -- and hearts -- since 1994. That's not including the suitable stabs of sonic insanity that marked-up the soundtracks of Matrix, Lost Highway, Mortal Kombat, and, most fittingly, the high impact action of Wing Commander. Mention should be made -- at our peril -- of the three ring psycho circus that is/was the 1998 Family Values Tour compilation. Each and every entry a fast last will and testament to the lean, mean murder music machine that invades from across the River Rhine.

Whether Mutter's majesty is due to the mass of guitars, its grueling guts and glory, or the rock-hard consonants of the sing/speak, rant/rave Germanics, is of little consequence in an outing where consequence is a kickass given. Everything good is bad; everything bad is worse, much worse, and these mad, bad and dangerous men wouldn't have it any other way. Rammstein not only don't let up, they can't let up. And it'd be a bankhanded blessing for the wild world at large if they never ever did.

Call it blood soup for the dark soul, hearty, hard to swallow at times, and in the bitter end, damn good for what you want to ail you.

Originally run on the Wal-Mart website. Really.