FUNERAL For A Friend boil punk's primary emotions - rage, frustration, thwarted desire - down to first principles.
This, you gather, is for the benefit of their fan base, 90pc comprised of short pants and Saturday morning cartoons. bands.
Firstly, they hail not from the comfortable suburbs of middle America but from a bleak corner of rural Wales. That's in vivid contrast to the likes of My Chemical Romance, whose chief gripe seems to be that dad won't let them take the SUV to the mall. They also know their way around a tune.
Grinding guitars and snarled vocals may have been a staple of their recent 'Tales Don't Tell Themselves' album, yet, beneath the standard-issue angst, Funeral For A Friend have a grasp of the fundaments of the pop song. schlock metal overkill, in 'Tales . .
.' they find room for synthesizers and In the flesh, though, the group do their best to sabotage their songbook. James Dean Bradfield - to something hoarse and strangulated.
No doubt he is venting a lifetime of angst. To adult ears, however, it sounds like he could do with a cough bottle. You between inner pain and a minor throat infection.
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