The submission of the male psyche to the perennial, impossibly tantalizing fishhook that is the eidolon of unbridled estrogenic expression has been the source of a veritable cornucopia of male pretentiousness and machismo. Fortunately, Darwin never lets us down, and evolution has seen to it that men still manage, by some utter freak of nature, to maintain the sexual upper hand in most visible, accepted facets of society. We have adapted to our environment, learning the arts of flattery, humour, and the subtle talent of offering to buy drinks without revealing just how desperate we really are. So far, we’ve even managed to keep a hold over female sexual expression, relegating the role of lingerie and nudity to the field of pornography or marketing- in the case of the former, horny men telling women what to do for the private benefit of other horny men; in the case of the latter, greedy men using sex symbols to beguile the always-dependable libido of hopeless customers into parting from their hard-earned dollars, in the vain hope that sexiness by association might possibly work. The fear, however, remains- as does the infinite appeal of the forbidden, of the frightening. While female sexuality has found its musical voice in the passive-aggressive whining of Alanis Morrissette and the dirty telephone line yelps of Karen O, it always seemed like Metal would retain its exclusively phallic expressiveness. Forced to live under the shadow of that depressingly homogenous erotic monolith, I can only say “thank fuck for the Genitorturers”.

Blackheart Revolution may be the sexiest record I’ve heard in Metal in the past 5 years. Frontwoman Gen’s aggressively seduce vocals puncture the listeners mind over a wall of slightly subdued guitar riffs, giving the impression of caged up power best described with the image of a lion tamer in S&M gear- at least, that’s what I think of. Gen’s singing sounds like she’s rubbing her crotch in your face and holding a knife to your throat at the same time. Hearing her quasi-orgasmic yells claiming to be a “Cum Junkie”, replete with invitations to “fill me up”, is definitely going to be the cause of many a lonely metal dudes getting their asses off the couch just to try and get that boner down again. The tribal beats, the infectious melodies, and the raw energy of the performance are top-notch. The atmosphere is reinforced by the healthy dose of occult imagery no doubt courtesy of David Vincent (of Morbid Angel fame), whose rapport with the Church of Satan is definitely correlated with an interest in the occult. I can only assume that “kabangin’” is in fact a portmanteau of “kabala” and “banging”.

The music is great fun, the melodies are catchy (although occasionally one can’t help but notice that the harmonies could be used to much greater effect), and the mood is fantastic. You could play this disc in a club all night long and no one would get bored. The expected tip of the hat to the obvious influence of Marilyn Manson is there, in the form of Confessions of a Blackheart, with a sleazy, yet atmospheric, glorification of the bestial. And don’t worry, a quick google of the band won’t result in paradox- Gen’s physical appearance is perfectly in line with the pheromone triggering voice she presents to us, cavorting around onstage in Marilyn Monroe hair, plenty of leather, and ever-visible panties. Unfortunately, it loses a bit to repetitiveness, both compositionally and aesthetically, but who gives a fuck? It rocks.

Need a soundtrack for dirty sex? Buy this album.