As some of you may be aware of, I call South Florida home. It’s hot, humid, and you sweat like a pig standing around concerts venues, staining your boxers with the most vile, acidic nut sweat you ever thought could come from your genital pores. And like any scene we have our fair share of acts that have garnered a reputation for one reason or another.

Wykked Wytch is one of those bands. See, if you approach a South Florida metal fan and ask their opinion of Wykked Wytch, 90% of the time you will get them to heavily groan, roll their eyes, and sigh “DEAR GOD.” A few years back, Wykked Wytch was on the bill at a packed show at The Culture Room in Ft. Lauderdale. Granted, the show wasn’t the turn-out for, say, Cannibal Corpse, but it was nonetheless a profitable night. And then Wykked Wytch came on.

They played. And played. And played. At one point, the band stopped the music to do one of those live moments where the vocalist will gauge the audience for a reaction. You know the type: “SOUTH FLORIDA, ARE YOU READY TO SLAY???” or something similarly retarded.

And then there was silence. Utter silence. That room full of people? Dead-panned stares. Everyone in the audience was almost statuesque. It was as if they saw the band bring a school bus full of retarded, crippled children onto the stage and begin furiously sodomizing them while high-fiving each other and licking the shit out of their lead singer’s crusty asshole while she furiously masturbated with the sharp end of a saw and scream the lyrics to “Yankee Doodle.” The audience was in total and undeniable awe of Wykked Wytch’s immense capacity to completely and utterly fucking blow.

There was one weak “Fuck yeah!” from the audience. And it was from Wykked Wytch’s manager.

Memories of a Dying Whore accurately captures this complete inability to write anything good. The music on this album is a mesh of vapid blackened gothic metal not unlike Cradle of Filth, with a blasting percussive element and useless symphonic melody surrounding the whole thing. And vocalist Ipek- in addition to being literally the ugliest woman in metal (even worse than “Marissa” from Cretin)- delivers a vocal performance that switches between the screams of a toothless, Baptist meth head ridden with gum cancer and the grunts of a 700 pound redneck in overalls trying to take a shit in a Lousiana outhouse while in the midst of constipation and cloggage from the anal beads his gay boyfriend was using to play with his ass.

Oh, and then there is a Eurythmics cover in the form of “Sweet Dreams” that doesn’t remotely even sound like the song. At all.

Wykked Wytch is easily one of the worst bands in existence. Even Cradle of Filth doesn’t sink this low. If you actually enjoy any of this, you probably need to be lobotomized. I can’t believe I actually listened to this for more than 5 seconds.

Review byNecro-tron