YOU MUST ACCEPT... ...YOUR FATE!
Their very moves stand as a living testament to our glorious simian ancestry: legs astride, heads nodding, hair flying, hips swivelling in simultaneous bop, lit-tle, BOO-sized Udo-Dirkschneider's mirror-shades reflecting a sea of sweaty denims.
YOU MUST ACCEPT... ...YOUR FATE!
FEATURES
Sylvie Simmons
Their very moves stand as a living testament to our glorious simian ancestry: legs astride, heads nodding, hair flying, hips swivelling in simultaneous bop, lit-tle, BOO-sized Udo-Dirkschneider's mirror-shades reflecting a sea of sweaty denims. Legs part, heads nod, hair flies, hips swivel, and chords crash, riffs roar, guitars attack, brains burn, vocals soar and swoop like a Messerschmidt, hnnnnzzzzgrrrrrng, direct hit on the solar plexus. The jackboots are scrunching up your spine. The truncheon is aimed at your skull. Accept are the grit in the bellybutton of metal, the art of bludgeonhood personified. And they’re good— ah, they’re good. And they’re from Germany, Scorpions country, Scorpions hometown too, for that matter—Hanover, a place described to me by Klaus Meine as “not a big, huge city or very exciting, but a good place to go back to.” Accept haven’t been back in a while. They’ve been around the world, veritable S&Mbassadors of can-the-gloomdom, taking their new album Metal Heart for a walk.