Over the years, certain people have totally ruined some very good bands for me. Keeping these bands at arms distance has been one big chore, so every now and then I cave and bust one of their albums out for a listen. This weekend reminded me just how sick of Pantera I am. Even in the far reaches of New Hampshire, the music of Pantera managed to track me down at a “Shitty Clothes Party”, and prevent me from getting my drink on for a good hour or so. Such a pity.
I can sense you all pulling away, so I think it best if I explain my angst. Have you ever been chillin’ with yer palls and one of them continually plays the same band over, and over, and over, and over, and over again? It gets rather annoying (after all, I’ve been that guy). Then a few days later you’re out for a drive when said dude puts it on again, only this time you want to toss the frackin’ thing out the window. Finally, you get so sick of hearing the band that even the mention of it’s name causes your eyes to roll, fists to clench, and muscles to tense. That’s what happened to me with Pantera. Hearing them this weekend was like having somebody I hate (bro or broad, makes no difference) grab my ass. It just felt wrong.
Like my relationship with Guns N’ Roses, I have come to terms with my tollerance for Pantera. Every now and then is ok, just as long as I don’t get tangled up in a “5 Minutes Alone” Mandatory Mosh-Pit. So in rememberance of Saturday’s grand celebration, let us thrash to no end with a little Monday morning madness.
Pantera: Cowboys From Hell
I know all too well how hot headded you die hard Pantera fans are, so just relax. Dimebag was one of THE GREATEST guitar players of all time, and his death was a major tragedy. All I am trying to say here is too much of anything is bad, especially when it’s forced upon you. If you have any problems with my views, simply dial 1-800-kiss-my-dick. \m/