Have you ever listened to a conversation in a foreign language? That’s what sexual fetishes are like. They’re exciting if you speak the language. If you don’t, you’re left watching two people make noises with your mouth, your brain struggling to pattern-match their syllables against some meaning until eventually you give up.

I don’t find BDSM interesting, so much of Venus in Furs is a conversation in Putonghua or Sundanese. After I gave up trying to follow the conversation, I looked for a story, and there wasn’t much of one.

It’s a book within a book. A man reads a text about a “supersensual” man, Severin von Kusiemski, who falls under the spell of a woman with the South Park-sounding name Wanda von Dunajew. She wears furs. She captivates him – literally. He wants to be her slave. They go away on adventures together. The tone of the book feels like cordial that’s on the verge of fermenting into poison: a fantasy pushed as far as it can go.

Venus in Furs contains frank descriptions of a lot of things that would not have names for decades to come. It’s also unfocused, and suffers from the curious comorbidity of too much and not enough. The plot’s repetitive, with events looping around like a 12 inch record caught in a groove. But von Sacher-Masoch keeps adding in all these asides about metaphysics and gender roles and paganism, throwing the novel’s forward momentum into a talespin.

Sacher-Masoch likes to set up bowling pins and then forget to knock them down. Partway through the story, a few black female slaves assist Wanda in humiliating Severin. Could that have led to a reflection on real bondage? And the shallowness of what he experiences with Wanda? After all, Severin can reclaim his freedom and dignity whenever he wants, whereas some people can’t. BDSM’s just a fantasy, which is good in real life, but in a fictional book, why couldn’t he have gone beyond fantasy? Why not talk about real bondage? Venus in Furs dwells obsessively on saccharine instead of real sugar.

Apparently in BDSM there is a concept called “topping from the bottom”, where the submissive person uses the fact of their submission as collateral to manipulate or control the dominant. “I gave up my freedom for you. You really owe me, so let’s run this relationship on my terms.”

I’m the furthest thing from an expert, but Severin seemed like he was topping from the bottom a lot. One of his first acts is to make Wanda sign a contract of his servitude, stating among other things that she must always wear her furs. This adds a false, insincere dynamic to their relationship: like putting someone in chains and giving them the key. It’s like von Sacher-Masoch was topping me from the bottom. The book lures you in with the promise of revelation, intimacy, and one man exposing his secret heart. He immediately starts offloading mountains of ruminations on gender roles and metaphysics and paganism. This book could be subtitled “Dear Diary.”

The fetish-as-language metaphor breaks down. When you hear an unfamiliar language, the problem is that you don’t understand it. With a sexual fetish, you understand it perfectly well, it just has no meaning. After it’s possible to learn a new language, but I don’t know that it’s possible to learn a new fetish. If you can, Venus in Furs is no Berlitz Easy Language course.

You know that guy at work who can burp the alphabet? And does so at length? That’s what this dipshit’s voice sounds like.

Dethklok is the fictional band on Adult Swim’s animated TV show Metalocalypse. As happens to all fictional bands (Spinal Tap, The Monkees, the Blues Brothers), eventually someone smashed the fourth wall with a Flying V and made them real. Obviously it’s possible to beat a joke into the ground through overuse and thereby make it not funny, except Metalocalypse avoids that problem by not being funny in the first place. I’ve watched a few episodes of the show. What am I missing?

It’s just The Big Bang Theory, except about heavy metal. Shallow, pandering references and cheap namedropping, without any effort at serious analysis or commentary. I remember seeing an episode where they’re at a burger joint called “Burzum’s Burgers”. Lest you miss their writers’ sparkling wit, there’s a metal band called “Burzum,” who’s name sounds a bit like “Burger”. Let me try: Underoath Underwear. Bathory Bathtowels. Great stuff. If only I an aisle to roll around laughing in.

Is there good music on this album? Fuck no! Why would there be good music? This is an album made for people who don’t really listen to heavy metal and have no way to tell good from bad – who only appreciate it as a kind of fashion accessory. It’s just crummy unoriginal dogshit from beginning to end. I hate even thinking about it.

The drums have zero reverb and sound sterile and fake. The guitars have no body, and seem half as loud as everything else, especially Brendon Small’s voice. This is bad news, as he should not be twice as loud as ANYTHING, including the repairman working on the power lines next door and the bird crapping on the roof. Words cannot describe how shit his voice is, how utterly devoid of emotion and intensity.

“Murmaider” merely sounds like Pantera with bad production up until he does that incredibly annoying “Knives, check, rope, check, dagger, check” part. Remember Metallica’s “frantic-tick-tick-tick-tick”? This guy apparently decided that was the future of metal. “Awaken” – tonelessly shouting the song title over and over again, awesome. “Bloodrocuted” actually has two or three good riffs, a stupid chorus, and then they self-consciously switch it out and bring in an equally stupid chorus. “Hatredcopter” got a laugh out of me. “Face-Fisted” is more senseless chugging on an album that conspicuously does not need more senseless chugging.

Even when there’s actual songwriting happening, the weak production and bad vocals just cut everything away at the knees. There’s no sense of brutality or heaviness, everything sounds like a fake plastic-like slab of processed sound. The overall tone is something like Slaughter of the Soul era At the Gates with the guitars turned down 9db at the mixing desk, songwriting c/o a troupe of monkeys, with awful burpy vocals. What a horrible, horrible album. If your imam catches you listening to this in the back streets of Riyadh, you richly deserve beheading.

Out of the classic Manowar albums (1982 thru 1990), you could make a case for this one being the best, or at least the most consistent. Kings of Metal‘s best moments are better, but it’s worse moments are far worse. I can never get comfortable with that album, despite the greatness of “Hail and Kill” and “Blood of the Kings”. Listening to it side to side is like sleeping on a luxurious hammock that has several large holes in it. There are no Manowar albums with all killer and no filler, so don’t look for them, but there’s a difference between normal crappy and “Pleasure Slave” crappy. On Sign of the Hammer I merely skip a few tracks. On Kings of Metal I actually deleted several mp3s so I can pretend they don’t exist.

Anyway…

1. Shitty songs: “All Men Play on 10” and “Thunderpick”. The first is an annoying Spinal Tappish self-parody – Manowar is at their best when they’re playing with absolute conviction, not winking at the audience. The second is four minutes of unlistenable bass guitar masturbation. Can someone keep Joey DeMaio away from those higher frets? It’s like giving Bashar Al-Assad access to white phosphorous. It’s nothing personal, he just does not use them for the betterment of humanity.

2. Good songs: “Animals” and “The Oath” – really fun high-energy rockers, the first reminding me of KISS, the second a NWOBHM inspired speed metal song. Not much songwriting going on here, just a shot of Manowar’s larger than life energy, like an Epipen in your arm.

3. Great songs: “Thor, the Powerhead” and “Sign of the Hammer.” Holy crap these rule. Elaborate early power metal, rivaling anything done by Manilla Road and Fates Warning. Great vocals, great instrumentation, and great songwriting equals two bona fide classics. If Manowar sounded like this consistently I’d quit making fun of Joey DeMaio’s ego forever, because he’d have earned it.

4. “Mountains”: the standout track and one of the most incredible moments of Manowar’s career. A long-winded ballad that finishes on a massive emotional crest. This is the sort of song you point to when trying to convert someone on a band. Eric Adams has never sounded better than this.

5. The outlier: “Guyana – Cult of the Damned”. An odd doom metal song that I don’t hate, but it doesn’t really do anything to sell me. Some more bass shredding, some heavy doomy riffs, and a bizarre chorus that sounds like the band flailing around in free-time. An odd lyrical choice for Manowar, too. Just a strange, strange song all around.

I’m torn on whether to recommend this as a first Manowar album. One other thing is that Sign of the Hammer opens with terrible cheese while Kings of Metal opens with the great “Wheels of Fire.”

As is always the case with Manowar, you can get a much better album by just deleting all the garbage and dogshit. The trouble is: sometimes this results in a 20 minute long album. Sign of the Hammer fares better, you still get 33:00 or so of good stuff.