Demonhead
Song two of Implode has a name: Demonhead.
Fitting, since my ex-wife’s face keeps turning into one every time we speak... Rage has a way of naming things for you.
I have decided that I am going to get as heavy as possible to deal with harsher frequencies. That way this will truly become a learning experience. The riffs come fast, jagged, like broken glass. The lyrics spit venom. This track doesn’t care about subtlety — it’s a scream with a pulse.
“But then there’s production. And production is still laughing in my face.“
The guitars sound like wet cardboard on fire. I dial back gain for clarity and lose the body. I crank it again and get a swamp of fizz. EQ becomes a cruel joke — boost one frequency, and suddenly it sounds like the amp is choking on gravel.
The drums? Thin and flat. The snare sounds like a fart. I want cannons, I get typewriters. The kick drum hides under the bass like it owes it money.
Vocals are the worst.
I try screaming in my apartment and it sounds like a goat possessed by a demon that smokes two packs a day. Compress them, and they vanish. Leave them raw, and they tear through the mix like broken plumbing.
Still, Demonhead keeps breathing. Darker, angrier, uglier than anything I’ve written before.
The sound may be trash, but the feeling? The feeling is real. And sometimes, that’s enough to keep the war going. ‘Tis but a flesh wound….