Let's be honest. About five years ago a guy named Trent shook things up a bit in the "alternative" scene with a certain record called Pretty Hate Machine. People were shocked, amazed and enticed by his strange and frightening combination of electro- industrial beats and pure narcissistic pain. Soon enough, bands who'd been working hard for a long time (and sometimes a short time) were afforded the opportunity to sign with the "big" labels in the frantic cash- in on the industrial craze. The two examples that jump out to me here are Stabbing Westward and God Lives Underwater, though there are surely numerous others. I can't blame them for signing. When opportunity knocks, open the door, baby.

Nowadays, Trent has become almost pure symbol, developing perhaps the least prolific portfolio of recorded music to be matched with someone subject to such adulation. The void that his infrequent releases leave have been appropriately filled with the likes of our boys, Stabbing Westward. From their debut release Ungod to their third, Darkest Days, they've striven to give us, the industrial- thirsty, a refreshing drink of what we love: self- loathing set to appropriate music. No, they don't take the risks that Reznor does. No, they don't push boundaries or infuse the genre with new life. They play. They write. They tour. There's no denying that the comparison between Nine Inch Nails and Stabbing Westward is analgous to the difference between an original Picasso and the print you get of it in the mall. The original is all heart and soul; the print is mass produced to satisfy a need. Trent digs deep, addressing the ugliness in everyone; Stabbing Westward seem most content writing lyrics to lost loves and bitter breakups. They do it well. Personally, I spent a two months listening to Ungod after a breakup and have suggested it to all of my bitter friends (and believe me, there are many). It's functional, real, and not quite so scary as the rantings of the Pennsylvania Madman.

Darkest Days is exactly what you'd expect from them at this point. They're still generating respectably miserable songs, and isn't that a relief! The record displays them with a glossy sheen of chunky electro- style beats, but nothing so extreme as to disrupt the machine. You still get the ponderous guitar chords, the vocoder, the wounded ego-- hallelujah. Their energy seems to be waning, though, and I can only imagine the relationships that they've been through to provide this much material thus far. I should try to hook them up with my ex-girlfriend. She'd fuck 'em all up. Her ass is as wide as... but I digress. Darkest Days hasn't strayed-- it works, and is highly recommendable as the soundtrack to your self- pity. So put it in, turn it up loud, clutch your pillow in your teeth, draw into the fetal position, and cry. Don't be ashamed. It was all her fault. There are other fish in the sea. You'll meet somebody. Hang in there, kiddo. Want some ice cream?

-James P. Wisdom