2020´s

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Fish-eyed, piss-European trip that´s mind-veneering even for the hardest of avant-garde-st getting bagged up drowned in the funny tasting river.

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Great for what it is: a moving-train jump into ageless redemption from the shards of bad casting trampling all over their own crystal skulls.

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Could easily be the far out-test comedy ever. A mummy-issued ego trip getting away with its masturbatory pretentiousness while begging for multiple visits.

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Impeccably not grainy but full of particles modern-talkie that feels much longer than only three hours long…ing still for more Gary Oldman time.

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Solid spectral shit surrounding sound-minded guests with an obscurantist‘s pain manifest that only blood itself could come up with if it had a conscience.

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Tense, biological comedy that rattles itself up like a rising sunset-snake squirming along a scuba-diving ray of light in a troubled water-sky.

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A promising meeting between Being John Malkovich and Fargo infused in Ben Stiller´s blue steel vision of what a good Black Mirror would look like.

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Bleak corridors into the void of meaninglessness expose and narrow down the subliminal morals and ethics of claustrophobic workplaces.

A riveting philosophical tour de force.

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Thundering riffs and hormone-injecting beats pave the way for angsty madmen, narrating intensifying anthologies of human misdeeds, while passing their point of no return.

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Disturbing short-lensed piece of horror stunningly justifying its budget with visuals that let both the right talent in and over-the-top gore out.

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Intimate acid dive into the stolen perspectives of the Dahmer-ed down victims of a seemingly parental crime that got out of God´s wrathful hand.

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Woven together from hallmarks of various action franchises. Popcorn for the eyes, but gnawing hunger for the movie enthusiast.

A visual testament to Netflix’ budget nowadays.

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With a completely incomprehensible and visual-demanding plot it’s easy to look stunning nowadays.
But nailing it with a well, bagel-circular story is rare.

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Balancing historically accurate brutality and well-rounded storytelling, this feast pushes its narrative of avenging men and succumbing women right into viewer‘s eyes and guts.

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Barking dogs don’t bite, but conceal their fragile masculinity under thick hides.

This psychological exposé intersects power’s balance with sharp angles and a descending score.

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Long-winded screw-eightball of a dark & daring political comedy for the news-aware long-attention spanner du jour expansively mirroring 1976´s “Network” efforts.

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Grinding it’s way through murkiest swamps of noisy Mathcore, this debut hearkens the sheer power-violence of early Converge, while creating their own hurtful recipe.

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The guitar sound, yum. Better pack a 2nd pair of panties before witnessing how your body is being choked, raped and nailed against the wall.

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Glossy voice with edgy ‚in your face‘ lyrics and humongous hooks, cemented by sticky NIN-esque drum & bass, portraying a fallen angel gone rogue.

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Feels like it’s been recorded inside an alien spaceship. Razorsharp guitar-swarming with icy elements and dreamy twists create a hostile sterility, dissecting ears… smoothly.

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Imagine you’re an energetic Stoner at a Hardcore show inside a barn out in the boonies during a hot summer.
This will be your soundtrack.

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Though not inventing the wheel anew, this 15th surgical cutthroat album full of tightly woven lead and rhythm precision exterminates every cockroach doubting their way.

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This shining 80s retro-phase closing dance creeper hits its target group with (dirty) daring synths and slashing female hooks. The future eats the past.

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Beyond the good one would expect as it beautifully boomerangs itself back to hoped-for Pulp Fiction territory only this time with a heavier cast.

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Organic structure of a bottle episode opener that transforms itself incredibly quickly and deeply into an anthologic prodigy.
A Pilot directly on it‘s master flight.

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Three of them fucked prostitutes already. Two are on their way to their right-of-passage-overdose. The drummer studies hard to become an engineer.

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Single most black & white modern period-film exquisitely monkey-grinding the royal Randolph hemp out of us with Reznor-sharp reel-changing monochromatic flair.

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The dream of doing whatever you want after being released from strict band(-c)ages is the strength of this multi-colored song collection.

Songwriter ingenuity.

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Improved chemistry between unique lead figures, coming from core, thrash and prog music.

Whether mid-tempo or full throttle, the formula works almost for itself.

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Pair of big shots talking shit on modern radio like normal while acting like they don´t actually put their pants two legs at a time.

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Take extravagant shock rock, spiced up with cool riffs, a pinch industrial pop and wrapped with sugar-sweet, refined bombast.
Voila; a popstar gone heavy.

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Heavy, raw but repolished highschool writing about social criticism. Sprinkled with self-references,  thrash anthem riffs from popular bands and played with lots of fun.

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Everything more than just “alright, alright, alright” for the first hour up until religion and Huston, Texas are brought up as buzz-killing subjects respectively.

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Might be the worst sequel “ever to happen to a man or jew”, but its raunchy, manipulative heart still points generously in the right direction.

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Transgressive-coersive effort that industrially scatters itself all over the place, deep-synthetizing just about anything standing its way while a versatile Sam Kinison sings.

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Excellent low-budget music video self-presentation that further & heavily exploits its innate-tentional limitations by adding a wonderful found-footage vibe to itself.

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Only a real life pandemic-craze of biblical proportions could stop the world long and deeply enough to let South Park truly be funny again.

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This thick monolith started immensely exciting and kidnapped me further into an emotion driven, alien luster space trip with no easy way back into reality.

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Merely and really the mono-thematic ghost of the former “Ghosts I-IV” (2008) album. Diluted while stringed together by ludicrous cries for emotional positivity.

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A familiar pub vibe while being on the other side of that shiny Rockstar mirror with a guy, who might otherwise get on your nerves.

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