by Octopi Mills

I am snowed in and it is with Beastmilk tonight.The first track is meaningless to me, and it goes by uselessly and the second track does the same, making me wonder what the point thus far is, with all the acclaim of this band coming from various sources, one being Fenriz who quoted a line of nonsense in the promo, as if this man should be trusted at all on musical recommendations. Perhaps he was drunk or vulnerable and this made him recall something warm and fuzzy.  It doesn't sound innovative to me, but more like unto you are listening to a bad gothic band with no real spirit, and there is no real reason to applaud something that was done way better in the past.

As time passes I fail to find clever ways to properly scorn the music, though it is not for lack of want. It amazes me to see something like Beastmilk succeed when there are plenty of minstrels who are ignored and have far more interesting music out there. If you like Duran Duran or the Pet Shop Boys, or even if you have a uniform fetish for other forms of mindless pop rock masquerading like something obscure or artistic, then you might like eating anti-depressants and talking with your friends about how great this music is over a keyboard. Perhaps you might think you heard Joy Division or The Cure somewhere, and this will be genius to you when you are knitting a pair of panties for your night at the Milk Snake; a club where men inject estrogen below a neon sign logo of this club's name, which is colored with the pattern on a milk snake's skin. Perhaps you can guzzle a big bucket of man cream and high five your friend in the leather vest who has a mustache filled with a like fluid. "Love In A Cold World" sounds like a bunch of cross dressing sailors who never sailed, and it is truly a uniform fetish, this disease to be an artist. The hipster culture is alive, and Beastmilk is a bucket of that cream and it is a truly terrifying affair to be snowed in with.