Self-described as the “Resurrection of classical and metal” performed by the “high priestess of shred,” it remains to be seen how many devotees will worship at the altar of Kat.
The bald and brazen assertion also assumes that two of mankind’s most precious—if diverse—forms of music have expired and, accordingly, are in need of this demonic union of masterworks and meister sounds. In the words of Monty Python—the twentietth century’s most influential comedy troupe—the hallowed and hard rock of the past is “not quite dead.”
In these six, mercifully brief tracks, the music takes a distant seat to the visual components (it falls to the bonus extras to dredge up the likes of Vivaldi and Wagner in a manner that suits neither then nor now).
“Zapateado” has moments of Rossini-like push and takes a generous poke at all things U.S. Don’t miss the Old Glory brassiere and patriotic face paint. The “Torture Chamber” lives up to its title in glorious black-and-white with copious amounts of good old fashioned torture to delight the inner demon that lurks in most of us. Still, the full screen/scream FAG! seems way out of place and—again—the music takes a second scaffold to the guts and gore.
Feminists and jilted women (and not a few men) everywhere will, er, devour “Castration”: extreme trophy hunting featuring the unkindest cut of all. Danse Macabre takes on new meaning in “Live in Chicago,” replete with truly bloody finger work as Kat races over the frets (even a circus-like behind-the-head riff) and her roadies happily bow down in adoration. All of which sets the master/slave table for “Dominatrix” as the bloodbath reaches new heights and crosses come into play: Kat’s animal eyes and gravel voice deserve every boot licking they inspire. Finally, it all comes together in “War,” a frenzied free for all with archive travesties and a “kill” chorus that tellingly depicts the danger of “might is right” diplomacy.
Intended or not, here is a DVD which investigates pain that is wanted and pain that is brutally inflicted, but the lack of musical statements that can match the impact of the horrific visual feast disappoints rather than amazes. JWR