Posts Tagged ‘testosterone


TreeFiddy Review: Foo Fighters – Wasting Light

We’re trying a new thing today folks. Because you’re all a buncha attention deficit, slack-jawed, interwebs-trawling goofballs, I’m changing the way I write music reviews.

Gone are the days of long, sprawling, descriptive paragraphs about the delicate arrangement and superior production of song x, y or z. Fuck that, nobody cares.

From now on we’re stripping away all the bullshit here at SlickTiger Industries and pumping out reviews that are 350 words or less with rad videos, pics and tracks to stream. They’re easier for me to write, they’re easier for you to read, everyone’s a winner.

Oh, and did I mention these reviews will be peppered with gangsta rap lingo? Yeah, apparently that’s what the kids these days are into – fo’ SHIZZLE!

So, with no further fucking around, I present to you my first TreeFiddy review featuring my good friend Dave Grohl’s band, Foo Fighters and their new album, Wasting Light.


The Down Lizzo:

The Foos are back for album no.7 and this time around they threw all the modern new-fandangled methods of recording out the window and literally set up a studio in Dave Grohl’s garage and did the whole thing on brown analogue tape that they then cut together by hand using fucking razorblades for god’s sake!

Check out this sick NME vid that explains everything:


Sick Tracks:

“Bridge Burning” will make you thrash around the room like an idiot savant who just hit a bong and downed a pint of rubbing alcohol. The drums and fucking cannon blasts, the four-chord riffs are fucking machine gun fire and Grohl’s voice is a flame thrower, roasting everything in its wake.

“Rope” follows with the catchiest, most badass Foos chorous riff since “Low”. The bridge is a goddamn carpet bomb of awesome riffs and awesome soloing.

“White Limo” is sheer, hedonistic rock music at it’s most awesome. Just watch this fucking video. It stars Lemmy from Motörhead for god’s sake! How fucking badasss is that?!



There are countless other anthemic, arena-ready rock masterpieces on this album, so I’m not going to go into the rest. All there is to say is that there isn’t one ballad or poefta acoustic track among the 11 on this album, THAT’S how hard it is.



Should You Give A Shit?

It’s very simple. This album is a testosterone-fuelled, rock behemoth that will fuck your shit up. It is an unapologetic, insanely addictive, intravenous shot of everything that is badass and rocks about the Foo Fighters and you’d be a fucking saddo not to buy this album.


Final Verdict: 9/10




A hypothetical question if you will:

Your girlfriend strips down to her panties and runs into the sea with a whole bunch of her friends (also all girls) sometime around midnight after a night of excessive revelry – what do you do?

The answer here is a pretty simple one if you’re a SlickTiger. If you’re a SlickTiger you stand back, admire the view, carry on drinking your beer at a leisurely pace and get your jacket ready for your lady once she’s finished having a dip.



However, if you’ve been smashing tequila all night and are feeling a particularly strong surge of testosterone in your blood, which manifests itself in a ridiculously overprotective bout of male egotism, the LAST thing you do is stand by while your girlfriend scampers off half naked into the ocean.

This is when SlickRetard takes over. SlickRetard doesn’t even hesitate when his girlfriend starts running carefree down the beach, stripping off as she goes. SlickRetard vaults over the edge of the lifesaving club wall, strips down to his undies and sprints after his girlfriend like some wild-eyed lunatic.



Then, when SlickRetard finally catches up to her, he uses his body like a protective shield, wrapping it around his girlfriend and protecting her dignity from the perverted eyes of the naked group of men that sprang up out of fucking nowhere the second a boob became visible and charged toward the sea.

I guess at that stage, things could have turned out alright if SlickRetard had maybe not stripped his clothes off so close to the goddamn sea, because while he was desperately clutching his girlfriend, wave after wave was lapping up the shore, soaking his shorts inside which were his wallet, car keys and of course, cell phone.

Miraculously, even though the flippy key for my car didn’t so much flip open, but rather awkwardly grinded halfway into the erect position due to all the sand in there, it somehow still unlocked and immobilised the car, so we could at least go home to dry off, but I tell ya, the car ride back here WASN’T a happy one.

Why is it that the male ego always chooses the most retarded of times to raise it’s fucking ugly head? I should have just let her go. I learned my lesson. It cost me a cell phone, but I learned it.

Bottom line is if you’re THAT insecure about your girl gettin a little naked and running into the sea with her friends, then you’re being a fucking retard.


A Word From The Kind Folks At Nokia

August 2020