It’s time to go fishing. Fishing is one of those things that seems like fun when you think about it but when you’re actually doing it you’re bored out of your mind and wishing you were at Taco Bell so you could actually have something to eat. Cursed is much the same way. At first you’re like, “Yes, deathmetal!” and you do a little Beavis and Butt-Head dance. Then you start listening to the album and you’re like, “Oh, this fully sucks.” And it does. It’s not fun like the Misfits, even though all their songs are about death and killing and stuff but they make it sound so irresistible with their harmony.
Cursed, on the other hand, wouldn’t know a harmony if they found one on their Satanic sacrificial altar. “Polygraph” is the lovely song about a man raping a dead body only you’d never know it by listening to the song itself, so scorched and torn is the singer’s voice. The rest of the album is pretty similar-stuff that is intended to shock but merely sounds so loathsome that it quickly becomes a smelly, snarled mess of dried guts and blood. Wait, sorry, that’s my tackle box. “Cursed One” isn’t for you unless you’re one of those metalheads that doesn’t discriminate and just wants more death. Or a fisherman.
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