I may be a little late to the burgeoning party, but sweet merciful fuck, am I glad to see the rally of support behind Bill Ward.

So Cole and Brad got my gears turning, but then I remembered—as annoying as the mushrooming chthonic categories and subterranean subgenres can be, they’re often necessary.

“War Pigs” set me down a ranting road, where I compare Black Sabbath to Drowning Pool (mostly in name) and then gush a little about ‘Vol. 4′.

No adjective is more vapid than “nice”, yet this is the very word used in 95% of all interactions between Metal folk when acknowledging each others’ torso ads for our favorite bands. Especially between guys.

At its core, Rock is a rebellious spirit. One that—lest we forget—has only been around about 60 years in the pantheon of musical entities, spawning a near-absurd amount of bastard children, half of whom play heavy. And we have let them run amok like a tantrum-addled toddler.