Review Summary: Nothing but rubbery leftovers
First, let’s address the elephant in the room. It's generous to refer to
Eye For An Eye...Till' The World's Blind as a double album. This is an EP/LP split—whether Butcher Babies admit it or not—but the split makes sense. After all, the two halves are distinct. The appetizer embraces mid-2000s radio rock stylings, with sides of alt-metal and electronica. The entrée smacks of djent, modern metalcore, thrash metal, and nu/alt-metal.
So fine,
Eye For An Eye belongs in separate Tupperware from its’ heartier pairing. Unfortunately, it still tastes damn bland. Nothing here is outright disgusting; it’s a short slab of well-produced heavy rock music. The musicians are competent, the guitar tone is crunchy, and the choruses are catchy. That’s the thing though; most everything reeks of mediocrity. This is a recycled meal; more talented chefs already cooked it up and served it fresh. What’s on offer here is nothing but rubbery leftovers.
These rubbery leftovers taste as if BB heated them in a microwave running at half capacity. The gals’ approach is too hesitant, siphoning out potential flavor. In theory, "Bottom of a Bottle" and "Yorktown" are hedonistic, rock-n-roll odes to sex and substances. In practice, these songs fail to make the grade. They drip inconsistency, a meal patchwork with cold, hot, and lukewarm spots. The intros and verses of the pertinent tracks—boasting big riffs and cheerleader chants—liven the proceedings. The sugary, melodic choruses halt the momentum and tarnish the dish.
Worse still, the crew seems reluctant to dive into their metallic spice cabinet. There’s somewhat of a juicy edge here, don’t misunderstand. Yet, a gallon of mid-tempo gravy smeared all over masks that edge. So, the best results occur when BB embrace the campy chaos inherent to their name. “It’s Killin Time, Baby!” completely lets loose, with the best guitar work on the record, a faster pace, and ferocious guest howls courtesy of Escape The Fate’s Craig Mabbitt. The lyrics are silly (“part space cowboy/but you know I’m a rockstar”), all the better for eschewing some of the EP’s comparatively reflective tone. BB are at their best when they bound over the shark.
With more care and creativity, EFAE might have been a tantalizing appetizer. As it stands though, this is a milquetoast slab of heavy rock meat, resembling Hungry Man more than Ruth’s Chris. Don’t give EFAE its' pound of flesh.
