I often think in terms of “This thing reminds me of this thing.” Like, I’m apparently not the only one who thinks legendary comedian and actor Natasha Leggero looks like adult entertainer Riley Reid. [Unnecessary aside — I can recognize about a dozen football players and a dozen adult actors. It does not mean I’m a fan, nor that I know details about them beyond a podcast experience. It just means I’m a nerd.]

Recently, a friend was obsessing over Dream Theater. They have always reminded me of The Mars Volta, a band I listen to more. Nerds may point out that I have this association backwards. Regardless, this led to a satisfying Google, where I saw others have this same band association. One piece stuck out.

I grew up during early internet days. I still yearn to turn on a clunky desktop with my big toe, and patiently wait for it to boot. Hell, I’ve even thought of making my laptop’s fingerprint scanner learn my big toe.

It’s easy to get nostalgic over early internet’s viral images, forums and fads, all disturbing by today’s sensitivities. Something Awful was one major player in early internet. The peak of SA’s content was when I was too young to fully appreciate it. Still, I remember trying to get it. I remember smarter friends — doctors today — who got it. It’s worth revisiting these ancient-feeling posts.

So, yeah, I stumbled upon this work and loved it. If the author has an alert on his name, he’s going to be confused. I’ll emphasize that much or most of SA’s poignant and hilarious writing are considered offensive by today’s standards. That doesn’t mean they are offensive. Just a decade ago, they were completely normal.

Original link: https://www.somethingawful.com/garbage-day/dream-theater-volta/1/
Taken without permission. Some links were removed due to being long dead.

Dream Theater vs. The Mars Volta

Friday, Jul 03, 2009; Andrew "Garbage Day" Miller

June 23 spawned The Mars Volta's Octahedron and Dream Theater's Black Clouds & Silver Linings. It was a draining day, not only for people who masturbate about masturbatory music but also for the readers who hate such wankery/wankery worship so much that they sent messages demanding a public rebuke of both albums. Your voices have been heard. Sadly, Mike Portnoy's tough-guy bark, James LaBrie's sniveling snarl and Cedric Bixler-Zavala's quivering-hobbit squeal have also been heard, by me. Repeatedly. It's been a long fucking week.

***The partnership between Omar Rodriguez-Lopez, Satan, and Cedric Bixler-Zavala is The Mars Volta. These compositions are then performed by The Mars Volta Group.***

For months, I have been steeling myself for 6/23/09, the historic date on which The Mars Volta would challenge Dream Theater to a battle for prog-dork supremacy. In dread anticipation, I'd envisioned a war of attrition waged with unorthodox time signatures, obtuse lyrics, multi-part twelve-minute "song suites" and sweep arpeggios. Unfortunately, The Mars Volta forfeited, making Wankfest 2009 a strangely anticlimactic ordeal.

Singer Cedric Bixler-Zavala calls Octahedron the group's "acoustic album," which here means "an album recorded with electric instruments that still manages to be boring as fuck." Given that The Mars Volta's fanbase largely consists of self-congratulating assholes who pride their ability to "appreciate" music that smarter people rightfully dismiss as cluttered and obnoxious, it's hard to imagine how they'll spin Octahedron. Perhaps they'll laud the group for bravely continuing to record seven-minute songs, even when working with two minutes worth of ideas and instrumentation. Or maybe they'll listen intently to the barely detectable 90-second held note that opens the album, pressing their pricey headphones to their ears until cognitive dissonance finds genius patterns in the near silence.

Obviously, the guy in the skull-and-crossbones shirt handles the hardcore vocals.

Dream Theater certainly hasn't scaled back on its prog-fagginess. However, they've started coupling it with tough-guy metal affectations, which compound the hilarity exponentially. Occasional power grunts, blast beats and homoerotic promo shots notwithstanding, Dream Theater hasn't convincingly transformed into a metal act. For example, instead of taking a stand on important topics such as killer computers, homicidal maniacs, Satan's minions, and tiger rides, Dream Theater totally pisses itself about non-injurious car crashes, writer's block, and a benign foreign tour guide.

I prepared dual track-by-track reviews with the intention of pitting the albums against each other, but I stopped keeping score because it was such a fucking Dream Theater blowout, at least in the two primary categories: Wankiness Content and Fruitiness Quotient.

Track 1: The Mars Volta, "Since We've Been Wrong"

Octahedron recalls an experiment conducted by another Los Angeles annoyance, basketball jerk Kobe Bryant. When he was accused of ball-hoggery, Bryant refused to take a shot for an entire half. Perhaps The Mars Volta became so frustrated with criticism of their overbearing pseudo-virtuosity that they adapted the polar opposite approach, stubbornly releasing a collection nearly devoid of dynamics and rhythm. "What, you don't like pointless time changes, millions of superfluous notes, and long bird-noise interludes? Fuck you, plebeians, you're getting drumless ballads."

Thomas Pridgen doesn't appear until the five-minute mark. He sits out other songs entirely. This unlucky bastard thought he'd landed the drummer's dream gig, where he could just bang shit as fast and randomly as possible, and now he has to sit idly behind his ostentatious kit, listening to his bandmates harmonize like British dwarves.

Still, Pridgen fared better than "sound manipulator" Paul Hinojos and saxophonist Adrián Terrazas-González, who were dismissed from the group before the Octahedron sessions. (I encourage all rock bands to fire members with those job descriptions.) Presumably, Terrazas-González will take up residence on horn-section skid row, where members of '90s ska and swing bands perform muted-trumpet/sad-trombone symphonies about their own squalor.

"Since We've Been Wrong" isn't bad, but it's certainly pleasant, which for a Mars Volta elitist represents a fate worse than shittiness. There's nothing to "get" about this song. Even the lyrics aren't especially esoteric, from the ersatz pop title to the opening line "Do you remember how you wore that dress." Bixler-Zavala sings instead of scream-shouts, meaning he sounds more like an angelic choir-boy eunuch and less like a recent violent-castration victim. Even the most virulent Mars Volta detractors could probably sit through this lullaby and simply remark "eh" when it was over.

Track 1: Dream Theater, "A Nightmare to Remember"

Guitarist John Petrucci based "A Nightmare to Remember" on a car accident from his childhood, which apparently hit him "out of nowhere/without warning/like a bullet from the night." (Pity singer James LaBrie: Ventriloquist's dummies don't have lines this stupid stuffed into their mouths.) This insanely dramatic testament to a marginally upsetting event builds inexorably to drummer Mike Portnoy rapping in a monster voice: "It's a miracle he lived/It's a blessing no one died/By the grace of god above/Everyone survived." Then he bellows "RAHHRGHH" triumphantly, because nothing merits a ferocious metal roar quite like a religiously grateful account of a wreck that claimed no casualties.

Dream Theater defenders always say things like "don't worry about the words, just close your eyes and feel Petrucci's emotional solos." But for all the twiddling wizardry the group packs into a sixteen-minute frame, this fact remains immutable: The song is called "A Nightmare to Remember," and it's about being haunted forever by an accident that ultimately wasn't that big of a fucking deal. Also, the proper way to enjoy Dream Theater is not to ignore the lyrics, but to revel in their glorious retardation. And it's not like the music that's supposed to be so sacred is any less cheesy, especially when carnival organist Jordan Rudess starts playing one of his circus-monkey waltzes.

Track 4: The Mars Volta, "Twilight as My Guide"

Stephenie Meyer forever tarnished "Twilight" as an artistic concept: That sparkly-vampire glitter just can't be rubbed off the word's skin. Not that The Mars Volta scrubs very hard. In fact, it's conceivable that the group indeed used Twilight as its muse for this delicate blend of fey falsetto, acoustic strums and psychedelic swirls. When you succumb to this song's coma-inducing qualities, don't be surprised if some creepy stalker shows up to watch you sleep.

Track 3: Dream Theater, "Wither"

This sounds like a Bush song. Not Rush (though Dream Theater gives them the tribute-band treatment with "The Best of Times," later on the album) but fucking Bush. It's the lamest composition on either album, which means it has the best chance of crossover success. The lyrics address writer's block, which makes it an interesting prelude to "The Shattered Fortress," a medley of previously released compositions that smacks of creative desperation.

Track 5: The Mars Volta, "Cotopaxi"

The Mars Volta finally awakens to produce a Generic Mars Volta song, with all the typical elements (mutant funk, weird time signatures, nonsense lyrics -- "Up that hill go the last of my crumbs/That's why I'll magnify a hole") distilled into an uncharacteristically concise, wildly unrepresentative single. It's amusing to think of someone seeing this video, becoming excited, and buying this album, only to become catatonic before reaching track five. Then again, anyone enthralled by this song and video more than deserves any disappointments life sees fit to offer.

Track 4: Dream Theater, "The Shattered Fortress"

This three-part installment (X: Restraint, XI: Receive, XII: Responsible) concludes Portnoy's "AA saga," a sprawling twelve-piece suite that parallels the twelve-step program. As goddamn ludicrous as that sounds, the song exceeds the expected level of absurdity. First, LaBrie and Portnoy execute a call-and-response sequence in which Portnoy barks out a series of non-threatening words using his ogre delivery: "Freedom," "Serenity," "Happiness." Later, he recites Chapter 11 of The Twelve Steps with solemn gravity, like he's reading from the Necronomicon.

"The Shattered Fortress" incorporates music from the previous "AA saga" songs, which leads casual fans to wonder about the self-plagiarism, and hardcore enthusiasts to huffily assert this was all part of Portnoy's plan. I urge both factions to remain tethered to reality, which dictates that any discussion of a twelve-piece "AA saga" comes with the preface "I realize this whole thing is fucking ridiculous, but..." attached to every argument.

Track 8: The Mars Volta, "Luciforms"

"Luciforms" trudges through a couple minutes of watery vocals and undulating bass, before Pridgen escapes captivity to bang out some drumrolls. The album ends with the line "My fingernail choir will make your chalkboard sing," which seems to promise a next-album return to their usual irritating bullshit. Then guitarist Omar Rodríguez-López finally performs the record's first solo, giving cathartic release to any still-conscious/living fans.

Track 6: Dream Theater, "The Count of Tuscany"

This comedy classic stems from another riveting Petrucci anecdote, this time an occasion on which he inexplicably agreed to be driven "across the open country side" by a "young, eccentric man" who calls himself "The Count of Tuscany." He protests: "You took me for a ride/promising vast adventure/next thing that I know/I'm frightened for my life." John, people usually come to regret the decision to get into a car with strangers who promise "vast adventure."

Part of his discomfort stems from his introduction to the Count's brother:

If anything, the Count should fear these brutes.
A bearded gentleman
Historian
Sucking on his pipe
Distinguished accent
Making me uptight
No accident

Things look grim for Petrucci, especially when the Count extends the terrifying invitation "Come and have a taste/a rare vintage/all the finest wines/improve with age." But the song detours into an instrumental dream sequence that kills the life-or-death tension inherent in any confrontation with an oenophile and his hirsute pipe-sucking sibling.

The Count eventually speaks, which seems like the perfect time for Portnoy to use the scary-metal-dude delivery he's been practicing all album on words like "kindness" and "courtesy." Instead, LaBrie voices him sensitively, "Please don't be afraid/I would never try to hurt you." That poor, misunderstood Count of Tuscany. Petrucci wastes a third of the song on "I don't wanna die" whining, and nothing happens, not even a nightmare to remember (no accident).

This song epitomizes Dream Theater's awesomely literal-minded approach. "Luciforms" presumably describes bad things, based on phrases like "death factory," but The Mars Volta deals in vagueness. With those guys, a song called "Luciforms" will never detail Lucifer's legion forms. With Dream Theater, a song called "The Count of Tuscany" will always culminate in the Count of Tuscany announcing himself as the Count of Tuscany.

– Andrew "Garbage Day" Miller