|metal takes the intensity and sonic qualities of thrash metal and plays them at mid-tempo, with most bands making only occasional forays into fast tempo.
Characteristics and origins:
Pantera's Cowboys from Hell album from 1990 was described as "groundbreaking" and "blueprint-defining" for the groove metal genre. King's X has been called the progenitors of the genre and their 1988 debut album Out of the Silent Planet is often cited as one of the major influences for groove metal, with dropped open tuning and lower, even tempos. Ian Christe credits Sepultura's Chaos A.D. and Pantera for creating the death metal-derived music of groove metal influencing later groups in the genre during the 1990s. Exhorder's debut Slaughter in the Vatican is also considered one of the first groove metal albums, having been released in 1990, the same year as Cowboys. Groove metal bands have incorporated thrash metal, and crossover thrash. Tommy Victor of Prong claims that the attitude of groove metal
|eposz, 2019. január 29. kedd, 08:58
As I Lay Dying - Forever
As I Lay Dying - Forsaken
Blessthefall - A Message To The Unknown
Blessthefall - Times Like These
Drop Dead, Gorgeous - Dressed For Friend Requests
Erra - Heart
Disturbed - Fear
A Well Thought Tragedy - Hypochondria Vs. Hypothermia
|eposz, 2019. január 27. vasárnap, 09:43
|,Hughes, Ted: A holló teológiája (Crow's Theology Magyar nyelven)
Crow's Theology (Angol)
Crow realized God loved him-
Otherwise, he would have dropped dead.
So that was proved.
Crow reclined, marvelling, on his heart-beat.
And he realized that God spoke Crow-
Just existing was His revelation.
But what Loved the stones and spoke stone?
They seemed to exist too.
And what spoke that strange silence
After his clamour of caws faded?
And what loved the shot-pellets
That dribbled from those strung-up mummifying crows?
What spoke the silence of lead?
Crow realized there were two Gods-
One of them much bigger than the other
Loving his enemies
And having all the weapons.
A holló teológiája (Magyar)
|nagyuska, 2013. november 15. péntek, 15:40
|those desert ascetics
Who fascinated you,
Parching in such a torturing
Vacuum of God
It sucked goblins out of their finger-ends,
Out of the soft motes of the sun-shafts,
Out of the blank rock face.
The gagged prayer of their sterility
Was a God
So was your panic of emptiness - a God.
You offered him verses. First
Little phials of the emptiness
Into which your panic dropped its tears
That dried and left crystalline spectra.
Crystals of salt from your sleep.
Like the dewy sweat
On some desert stones, after dawn.
Oblations to an abscence.
Little sacrifices. Soon
Your silent howl through the night
Had madeitself a moon, a fiery idol
Of your God
Your crying carried its moon
Like a woman a dead child. Like a woman
Nursing a dead
|nagyuska, 2013. november 15. péntek, 15:36
"Oh, Fiddler! Oh, Mr. Jones!"
(I thought it was his house and he would show me the way home. )
But who should step out but A. D. Blood,
In his night shirt, waving a stick of wood,
And roaring about the cursed saloons,
And the criminals they made?
"You drunken Oscar Hummel", he said,
As I stood there weaving to and fro,
Taking the blows from the stick in his hand
Till I dropped down dead at his feet.
A Spoon River-i holtak - Oscar Hummel (Magyar)
Tántorogtam, sötét volt,
homályos ég, meg néhány csillag,
jórészt utánuk mentem.
Kilenc óra, haza akartam érni.
pedig igencsak rajt voltam az úton.
Akkor bebuktam egy kapun át egy kertbe,
tele torokból azt mondtam:
,,Jaj, hegedűs! Jaj, kedves
|nagyuska, 2013. november 15. péntek, 14:52
Where never living creature stirs,
Nor sunbeam pierces through,
Is a tomb, lichened and crooked--
Its faded legend gone--
With but one rain-worn cherub's head
Of mouldering stone.
There, when the dusk is falling,
Silence broods so deep
It seems that every wind that breathes
Blows from the fields of sleep.
Day breaks in heedless beauty,
Kindling each drop of dew,
But unforsaking shadow dwells
Beneath this lonely yew.
And, all else lost and faded,
Only this listening head
Keeps with a strange unanswering smile
Its secret with the dead.
|nagyuska, 2013. október 24. csütörtök, 15:18
|life to hear and sweet to smell,
But now with lights reverse the old hours retire
And the last hour is shod with fire from hell;
This is the end of every man's desire.
The burden of four seasons. Rain in spring,
White rain and wind among the tender trees;
A summer of green sorrows gathering,
Rank autumn in a mist of miseries,
With sad face set towards the year, that sees
The charred ash drop out of the dropping pyre,
And winter wan with many maladies;
This is the end of every man's desire.
The burden of dead faces. Out of sight
And out of love, beyond the reach of hands,
Changed in the changing of the dark and light,
They walk and weep about the barren lands
Where no seed is nor any garner stands,
Where in short breaths the doubtful days respire,
And time's turned glass
|nagyuska, 2013. október 22. kedd, 09:35
2008. június 07. szombat, 10:01