Long Live the Dream

I fantasize about fronting an a cappella black metal group complete with corpse paint and iconoclastic aesthetics. I am depicted on the album cover as decapitating a small horse with the sharpened point of an inverted crucifix. Critics compare the sound to the Nutmegs and Gorgoroth sharing a cathartic sexual experience and bearing an interracial lovechild. You may be thinking the concept sounds like an abortion on the surface, or at least some twisted incestuous relationship, but I know a guy in Baltimore who can perfectly emulate tremolo-picked riffs from a Christ-loathing, Scandinavian battle axe by reproducing the melody with his vocal chords. And my death growl is nasty, kid.